He opens the door, and I keep my head bowed, my breathing even. I wonder if he can hear the rapid beating of my heart.

I can feel the man’s eyes on me, not the tray, as he lifts it off the ground. I wait until my bowl is close to his face before crying out, “Be careful! There’s a scorpion in the bowl.”

He looks down. Jumps. Almost drops the tray. I push off of the wall, dumping the other scorpions into my hand. One of them stings me, sparking a burst of pain in my palm. I raise my open hand long enough to make sure the guard sees the contents, and then throw the creatures onto him. He drops the tray, and I snatch the keys from his belt as he brushes desperately at his clothing. Then I run out the cell door and lock it shut behind me. The guard shouts in outrage.

“Demon!” he snarls at me. But he doesn’t run for the door or try to reach through the bars. He’s still too busy shaking his clothes off.

“Stay still,” I say to him. “They won’t attack unless they’re provoked. You can survive one bite, but it’s doubtful you can survive two.”

A string of curses trails behind me as I run for the prison door. I know that the next change of guard doesn’t come in until tomorrow morning, so with any luck, my absence won’t be found out until then. The door is heavy, and I brace my feet to pull it open. Cool air rushes in. I stumble outside—and nearly run straight into a second guard.

It’s a wonder we don’t collide. He’s the one who jumps back, windmilling his arms for a couple of steps before he regains his balance and draws his sword. I stumble back against the wall.

Two guards. Why hadn’t I realized there were two guards watching us? And then I see the smooth, unmarked brown of his face and realize the answer. He’s never had the plague. The shifts must be arranged so that an umbertouched guard was always here for closer contact with us, while a second unmarked guard provided backup against outsiders.

He steps squarely in front of me, blocking my way to freedom. “Where’s the other guard?” he asks.

The man is bigger than me, stronger than me, and he has a weapon. I can’t outrun him. I hold back a frustrated sob.

The guard takes a threatening step toward me. “Get back in the building.”

He’s blocking my escape, but he keeps his distance. Why hasn’t he attacked me yet?