It took time to unravel the mess, to outthink whoever was responsible for hijacking the networks, the more Maryanne disrupted their work, the more she understood what they were really doing.

It was fucking horrible, sloppy even, as if there was no concern for the consequences. For that reason alone, Maryanne continued to ghost her cyber-attack right against their gates. Sneaking behind their firewall, she found something she could not wrap her head around.

The rebels were the party responsible for ruining the Dome. It was their chatter back and forth that showed units spread all over the city working in unison to stir up riots. They were using the very civilians they claimed to be fighting for as human war fodder.

For all her flaws and selfishness, even Maryanne was disgusted.

Because she felt like a salty bitch, and because she could, Maryanne seized control of the networks completely and shut the whole fucking thing down. She might not be able to save the idiots of Thólos, she didn’t even really want to, but she could offer an alternative.

She set up a new message to stream over and over.

The only safe place is underground.

Knowing what was down there, what was up here, Maryanne was not sure if she had offered mercy at all.

A nausea inducing feeling of vertigo broke through Claire’s stupor the instant a hard smack landed against her cheek. Blinking, confused at the circles of lime deposits she saw on an unfamiliar ceiling, she tried to touch her head and found her hands bound together, stretched above her body and fixed to something she could not pull away from. As she struggled, a beautiful face came into view—a beautiful face belonging to an incredibly evil woman.

Even with the drugs in her system, a feeling of terror brought ice to Claire’s veins from one simple sight of those psychotic eyes looming over her again. Careful to keep her face blank, to not give the woman the pleasure of feeding off her fear, Claire nodded and said, “Hello again, Svana.”

“Hello, pretty one.” Svana gave a small, knowing smile, a facsimile of the smile that had played on her lips when her hands had circled Claire’s throat months ago. “I see you’ve been studying Jules’ art of expression.”

Claire felt a chill creep over her skin, and it was not only brought on by fear. She was cold because all her clothing had been removed, and the cot Svana had put her on was bare of blankets. Instead, it was covered in blood stains and stank of foulness.