every bump in the road jolts every far too sore muscle in her shoulders, her arms. she was able to get her legs tucked beneath her well enough to stop the entirety of her body weight pulling against the rope with every bump. it does nothing to soothe the broken ribs or the throbbing in her head. thatâs the fourth time the lantern has switched on, rolled away. it will come back, and on another unfortunate pot hole theyâll be plunged into darkness, if this can even be considered light.
          her mouth is dry, and her throat hurts. sheâd whispered the name, screamed it, sobbed it, prayed it, at this point she would moan it if she thought he might actually show his face, but it seems heâs abandoned them. maybe the reception out here is that terrible, maybe he canât be summoned into moving vehicles, she doesnât know. what she knows is that it hurts now, but sheâs in transit to something far worse, something bloodier, something vindictive. she flinches when he asks her what happened, and her hair made loose and wild by the ride falls in front of her face when she turns her head, obscuring the worst of the visible damage.
           â  heâs not coming. â   her voice is hoarse and quiet, only just loud enough to be heard over the sounds of the road below. these trucks werenât made for passengers, they were made for hauling cargo and she is far too aware of her status. she does not have the words to tell him that she is the lamb for the slaughter, and he the unfortunate caught in the trap beside her.   â if he does⊠itâs going to be too lateâŠÂ â
diego pulls at his restraints in frustration. itâs not the first time heâs been thrown in the back of a van, kidnapped â well, âkidnappedâ for a training exercise back in the academy â but at least then he hadnât had to worry over his siblings. em, now, sounds like sheâs given in. given up. lost all hope of anything. and his head is still hazy enough he knows he wonât be much use.
    â  heâs n - n - not ...?  â Â
diego bangs his heels on the floor. câmon, D, get it together. he takes a minute. a breath in, a breath out.  â  it wonât be that bad,  â  he continues, preemptively wincing for a stutter that doesnât come until :  â  we donât nee - need h - him,  â  he clarifies with a grunt, lips twisting into a frown. in theory, he and em are perfectly capable of handling their own. theyâre academy kids. this is literally what they were brought together to learn. but in practice? diego has no idea what theyâre being driven into. as much as heâs always striven to play at number one, heâs never really been a numbers guy â especially not when he canât bounce ideas off his siblings let alone get his tongue to cooperate or his head to focus. he shakes his head, blinking up at em as they bounce through another pothole.  â  wh - where âre we headed?  â  at this point he can probably take an educated guess, but thereâs some part of him that wants to hear it out loud. not to punish her, although thatâs probably how it feels, but for the reinforcement that theyâre as fucked as she says. he knows arkaley is no joke... but he canât shake the ego of number two, thinking he can take the lot of âem with one hand behind his back.
