I’m either bait, or insurance. A hostage.

Before losing consciousness she thought she had seen King in the cell’s entrance. He had come for her. He would again. And that was the only reason she still lived. Though she wasn’t sure how much longer she would remain alive.

The headache meant she either had a serious injury she couldn’t yet inspect or was seriously dehydrated. Or both.

She tensed again in frustration, this time just pulling with her arms. Her hands came up almost all the way to her face, pulling her bound feet with them. She could clearly see the old rope that had been used to bind her. It was thin and flexible, but frayed. Pushing with her hands and pulling with her legs, she rocked herself forward into a sitting position, legs open, hands bound to feet.

She groaned as the blood draining from her head caused a new throb of pain. With eyes squeezed shut, she rode out the pain. With each beat of her heart, the headache dissipated. When she could finally think straight she looked down at her bonds. Had she not been kidnapped twice, drugged, knocked unconscious, and left for dead, she might have smiled. Her bonds could have held an adult, but she was a thirteen-year-old girl. She lowered her knees nearly to the floor and leaned forward. With her face at her hands she began gnawing at the rope, putting her flexibility and sharp teeth to good work.

Desperate for freedom, she ignored the oily flavor of the rope, chewing it like a rat. She spat out some fibers, allowing herself to feel a measure of hope. Hope isn’t just something given, King told her once, when they spoke about why it was important for people the team helped to sometimes continue the fight after they’d left, it’s something you have to believe in. The words rang clear in her thoughts.

She would break free of her bonds.

And then what? She didn’t know. But she was hopeful. Not for her escape, but for her rescue. Her hope was in her father. He’d come for her once. He would come again.

Her hope was shattered by a grinding of rock. She looked up and saw the stone wall parting. A man stood on the other side, silhouetted by a light source behind him. He wasn’t looking at her, so she quickly laid down and closed her eyes, pretending to be unconscious. A prick in her arm popped her eyes back open, but only for a moment. As the drug took effect, her eyes closed again, this time against her will. She heard a man’s voice as consciousness faded.

“Time to go, child. Babel awaits.”

Chapter Fifty

FORTY-NINE

El Mirador, Guatemala