Trigger Warning: This chapter deals with torture and abuse, especially in the second half. It is not very graphic, but if this puts you at risk, please don't read it.

Ellie woke up a couple hours after Emma's arrival, and the smaller girl was shocked to see another person in the cell. She didn't recognize her companion at first, as she was in a weakened and vulnerable state foreign to the child. A bloody Emma was uncommon, but it had happened before. The difference now was how defeated she appeared. Ellie had never seen the other girl lose. Besides that, her dark hair had been released from her ponytail, and since her hands were bound, she was unable to stop it from covering her face.

    "Who- who are you?" Ellie asked nervously. At that, Emma's head snapped up, and Ellie was able to see her clearly for the first time. As the older girl suspected, her younger counterpart was unbound, and she quickly ran over to her friend. "Emma! Are you alright? What happened? Why are you here?" She removed the gag from the girl's mouth and sat across from her.

    "Ellie, quiet down," Emma whispered, "I'm going to get you out of here. I have a plan, okay?"

    "Did they send you here? Are they coming to get us?" Ellie asked, a hopefulness rising in her voice. She'd been so frightened over the past day, and the prospect of a possible escape was wonderful.

    "You mean the Ravens?" Emma said, "No, they didn't know I left. But you're alright? Did anyone hurt you?"

    "I'm okay, they didn't do anything too bad," Ellie said. She had plenty of new scratches and bruises, but everything would heal. Emma smiled, extremely relieved that the girl she came to rescue was healthy enough. At that moment, however, the door to the cell flew open, and in walked four people, two of them carrying guns. The two left unarmed, Emma figured, were their leaders. Still, the pounding in her head prevented her from gaining a clear image.

    "Back away," one of the leaders snapped at Ellie. This girl had a soft face framed by soft, brown curls, but it was clear from the edge in her voice that she was dangerous. Emma knew exactly who this girl was back before the plague. She was the high school bitch that almost everyone hated. Poor girl, even her old friends would have turned against her in a heartbeat. Now it seemed that her cruelty had found its calling. There was room for wickedness in the wild.

    "So who do we have here?" the girl hummed, walking slowly up to Emma. A staring contest proceeded between the two, as the prisoner was not about to give up a single piece of information, nor would she look away and suggest that she was scared. It didn't matter how nervous she truly was, she was set on maintaining this aura of confidence. The Condor was the one to break the eye contact, nodding to the guards behind her. On cue, they seized Ellie by her arms, pushing her against the other wall. The younger girl looked to Emma in fear, eyes wide and terrified.

    "I'll say it again. Who do we have here?" the Condor threatened. Emma looked up at her younger friend in a pinned position.

    "Let her go," Emma said with a cool confidence behind her words. She was glad her hands were bound behind her because it meant that the Condors couldn't see them shaking.

    Her captor laughed, "Emma, darling, that's not how this is going to work." By including the prisoner's name in the sentence, it became clear that she knew more than she was letting on, and that she would likely know if she was being lied to. Even then, by no means were these two girls strangers. They had never been allies, but they had long known of each other's existence and allegiances.

    "Then you're wasting your time," Emma said, "As long as she is in this camp, you won't get anything from me. You let her go, you take her home, and I won't try to fight you. I'd say it's a good deal."

    The leader paused, considering Emma's offer. She knew that Ellie was there purely as bait for a more important member of the Ravens, and Emma was just the girl she desired. Having Ellie in their camp only meant there was another mouth to feed, and she was not worth their resources. Besides, young Cora would feel better knowing her friend was freed. If anything, it would show her that becoming a spy was not wrong; it would push her to be a better Condor.

    "Megan, you can't actually listen to her," the unarmed boy said. It was his first words since entering the room.

    "Quiet, Mason," Megan snapped. Without consulting her partner, she whipped around to the guards, "Let her go." They obeyed, loosening their tight grip on Ellie, and causing her to stumble a tiny bit.

    "Ellie, listen to me. Tell them I'm alright," Emma said, enunciating her words as clearly as possible, as if to emphasize how important this was. She looked at Megan, who was waiting for her to continue, "Tell them not to come after me. Promise me you'll tell them that?"

    "No!" Ellie shouted, "No, I'm not leaving you here!"

    "Go, Ellie," Emma directed, her voice stern and stable. The younger girl was in tears, but she listened. One of the guards dragged her out of the cell, and they disappeared from Emma's sight. She closed her eyes and sighed, questioning whatever decision she'd just made. She moved her right toes slightly, and felt an uneven bump underneath the sole of her shoe. That was the most comfort she'd felt since arriving in the Condor's camp. Almost two years earlier, her shoes had begun to fall apart, and so she created her favorite contraption, a secret compartment that was just the size of the smaller of her favorite two knives. She knew the first one, which had been secured in her belt, was confiscated upon her capture. This was alright though, since they were unaware she was still in control of a second blade. As long as she kept her weapon, she knew it was a fair fight. She knew that she would survive.

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    It had now been two weeks since Emma first awoke in the Condor cell, and her condition had changed slightly. She was no longer tied to the pole, for one thing. That was good. Her ankles were unbound as well, but she still lacked full access of her hands. The Emma in that cell though, after a fortnight, appeared to be much weaker than the girl who had arrived. This girl had been tortured: burned and whipped and cut so many times one would think she'd have to have broken. She hardly had the strength to move anymore. Although this may have been the most vulnerable state Emma Gail Harlem had ever experienced, her focus was crystal clear. Her mission, her silence, and her duty to protect her brother and their friends, were the only things she could truly manage to think about. Throughout every grueling, painful hour, her purpose was all that swarmed her mind. She understood fully that her being in the Condor's camp, her refusal to provide accurate information, was keeping them at bay.

    The door opened, and in walked Mason alongside two guards. Emma realized by now that there were always guards outside of the cell as well, but it wasn't like like she'd have anywhere to run if she could manage to get out that way. Besides, her presence was keeping them at bay. Her presence was keeping them at bay. Her presence was keeping them at bay. It had become her mantra over the past two weeks; that line was all that kept her sane.

    The guards grabbed her weakened body off the ground and hoisted her up against the pole, retying her wrists to the rough wood. This position was nothing new. It was where they could interrogate her, and where she couldn't move to fight back. She closed her eyes and moved her foot slightly, checking to make sure her handy blade was still present in her shoe. It was, and she knew it was, but remembering it was there provided her some strange sense of comfort.

    Your presence is keeping them at bay.

    "We're going to try this again," Mason said coldly, "How many people are in your camp?" Emma just stared at him, raising an eyebrow slightly enough, as if to ask if he was really going to repeat the same question he'd been asking every day since she first arrived. She had never given them any sort of answer. Mason nodded to one of the guards next to him, and she promptly slapped the prisoner hard along her left cheek. Emma grunted slightly, but turned back to her captors with gritted teeth, the guards handprint having left a red mark along her skin.

    "How many people are in your camp?" Mason repeated, hissing into the girl's face. Mason always appeared to be more merciful than Megan. While the girl was just plain heartless, Emma always had an inkling suspicion that Mason only wanted to make his partner proud.

    "How does it feel to be your girlfriend's bitch?" Emma muttered. As always, she showed no signs of fear. She knew this little line would only cause her pain, but it would also portray the image that she was unafraid. Soon Mason was right up against her, his own knife pushing against her throat, threatening to make the final cut to kill.

    Your presence is keeping them at bay. Sebastian will live.

    "You don't get to say that to me, you slut," he snapped, pressing his blade harder as Emma gulped.

    "At least I'm aware of what I am," she said, not breaking her eye contact with her attacker. They stood there for at least a minute before he backed away, and Emma let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding.

    "I need the name," Mason demanded.

    "I don't know who you're talking about," Emma said. She did know exactly who he meant, but she had developed a story that she was sticking to.

    "The shooter," he repeated, "But I know you knew that."

    "I told you what I know. It wasn't one of us," the prisoner lied. It was, technically, the truth, since Mai had not yet returned to the camp and was acting as a Rogue. Emma didn't care about that loophole, however. She wasn't afraid of lies. Mason came upon her again, placing his knife on the exposed part of her chest. He drew a deep line of blood, causing her to gasp as the incision was made.

    "You and I both know that's not the truth," he said, "We can keep playing this little game for as long as you want, or you can tell us who the murderer in your camp is."

    "Don't sound so high and mighty, you're guilty of murder too," was all Emma said back. This was followed by another hard attack from one of the guards, but she didn't seem fazed. She hardly even reacted anymore; it had all become protocol. It was all a routine. She couldn't help but notice just how uncomfortable Mason appeared after that remark. Could it be that he felt guilt? Emma doubted that, instead she predicted that perhaps he'd never taken someone's life directly. If he was truly a killer, she was sure she'd made enough comments that she'd be gone by now.

    Your presence is keeping them at bay.

    "You really want a killer living around your people? How long before they attack your friends? Your brother?" Mason was seething with anger now, as she had effectively attacked his honor twice now in the span of five minutes. This was the most entertainment Emma could get. How far could she push him before he broke? How could she make his life as miserable as possible? It was a cruel game, no doubt. But she had found herself living in a crueler world than she'd ever believed could exist. Survival came first, always.

    "I told you," Emma restated her claim, "They weren't a Raven. I'm sure the woods are just brimming with news about it, too bad you're too busy with me."

    "You lying bitch!" Mason screamed, and Emma almost smiled. It seemed that she'd won, she'd broken him first. He began to hit her repeatedly, and she took his shots cleanly. With no defenses, she had no choice but to let this boy beat her.

    Another guard handed him a lighter, which he pressed up against her stomach through the rips in her dirty t-shirt. The fire burned her skin, and she let out a scream. No matter how many times they used this punishment, the flame was one thing that could always destroy her tricky arrogance. It was one of the few times it became clear who had the real power, who could toy around with their enemies, who was in control.

    As Emma screamed in the dark room in the middle of the night, she pushed to the forefront of her mind an image of Sebastian, and she managed to regain some composure. All of this pain she suffered was in order to protect her brother and the rest of their people. The pain was worth it, the pain was manageable. She could handle it. If it meant her friends could live, she would not break, no matter how much agony she would have to endure. Whether or not her precious mantra was the truth, it was all she had.

    Your presence keeps them at bay.

    Oh, how she wished it was true.