Page 112 of Fallacies

My eyes narrow on the Rogue guard now, still in the same position. He was on high alert when he first took his shift, but his attention is drifting. He’s been shifting more on his feet, and a few seconds ago I saw him yawn.

I’m supposed to have already signaled to Callan that I’m safe, but I don’t want to give him an update until I have something worth sharing. I certainly have a lot to report, but the Captures… I need to see them with my own eyes. I need to know exactly what we’re dealing with here.

A few minutes later, I watch the guard drag a chair to his post and plop down onto it with a grunt. Not long after that, his head is propped against the wall, arms folded across his chest, and when his eyes drift shut, a burst of adrenaline snaps my spine straight.

I give it some more time, waiting as his light inhales deepen, and soon, his snore echoes through the empty hall.

Carefully shutting the door to the broom closet, I turn and rifle through my things, grabbing a few mender pills out of my bag and tucking a knife into my waistband. I shove my bag behind a small wooden cabinet, flex the magic in my veins, and drape myself in Alesi’s appearance.

The illusion is strong, and it’s becoming easier to maintain, requiring less and less focus each time I conjure it.

Confident in my appearance, I mentally slip into Alesi. Recalling all the things Nix told me about her, I school my expression into that bored expression he described her to have, and gently push open the door to the closet.

I take a quiet step into the hall, the toes of my boots silent on the marble floor as I make my way to the guard. He’s still snoring, head knocked back and weapons unattended.

Blood rushes to my ears as I get closer. Close enough to see the hinges on the black door and the scratches in the worn frame. The guard doesn’t stir.

I reach for the handle.

The snoring stops.

Heart thrashing in my chest, I freeze, hand hovering over the rusted metal. Glancing in his direction, the guard shifts his jaw, eyes still closed. He repositions his arms, tucking his hands under his armpits, and when his breathing resumes its slow pace, I almost melt into the floor.

It’s by some miracle that when I pull on the handle, the latch doesn’t groan and the hinges don’t creak. I open the door only enough for me to slip through and take a quick step inside, carefully pulling it closed behind me.

Taking a second to gather myself, I inhale, grimacing at the foul smell I’m met with. Just like the rest of this place, it’s pitch black.

I cover my nose, squint into the dark, my eyes adjusting enough to make out the shadow of a railing. Taking careful steps towards it, the toes of my boots find the edge of the first stair.

Deciding I don’t have the time to waste, shuffling down each step in the dark, I spare a portion of Sol magic and cast a small orb of light—enough to illuminate a few feet in front of me.

I take the stairs as quietly as I’m able, the uneven steps winding tighter the deeper I go. As soon as I can see the bottom, I hurry down the last few stairs, jaw slackening at the scene before me.

“Light!” A weak voice croaks, chains rattling as a pair of bony hands push through steel bars, trembling fingers wrapping around the metal. “She has light!”

More chains rattle, echoing off stone, the clamor of movement heightened by sickly coughs and the murmur of voices.

“Gods,” I curse, stumbling a step forward.

There have to be twenty or so cages lining the walls, some larger than others. Some house large groups of people, thin mattresses, and dirty blankets strewn across the floor. Other cages house only a few, and anyone who can stand is pressed up against the bars, shackled hands outstretched, reaching for the light floating ahead of me.

“Here.” I shove my hands forward, offering streams of Sol magic to the first cage I come to. I pull it to the surface of my palms and press it straight into their cold hands. “Take it.”

Turning, I do the same for the Sol behind me, dipping further into my reserves than I probably should, but I do it without hesitation. I make my way down the line of cages, converting stored energy into soft light, then warming their outstretched hands with it.

I touch every hand I can reach.

The Sol cradle the light, the warmth, sobbing without tears, their bodies too dehydrated to spare any moisture. There are so many of them, and they’re all horribly emaciated—sunken eyes that have lost all their luster and skin that's missing its Solian warmth.

It’s the most horrific thing I’ve ever seen.

“Here,” my voice cracks as I offer up more, meeting the eyes of desperate men and women. The elderly are being helped up to the bars, unable to even lift their heads, but they manage enough strength to reach their hands out to me.

I turn, hurrying to the next cage. Then the next. And the next.

Every direction I face is filled with more stomach-churning terror. So much, I think I might be sick.

“Esme’s girl.”