I hadn’t realized I had shut my eyes until I opened them and found myself on my knees. Sam stared at me. There was no compassion, no history, no shared secrets. There was nothing of the Sam I knew left in the person sitting on the chair in front of me.
“So,” she began as I pulled myself off the floor, “how shall we start? With your last rights that no longer exist or your explanation of everything you know about the High Order and all its affiliates?”
Sore and wobbly on my electrified legs, the disappointment and rage of being abandoned by the closest friend I had forced me to realize that I had nothing left. Nothing left to fight with. Nobody on my side. I was done listening, done obeying the rules, done trying to pretend that I could actually come out on top victoriously and be called a hero. Or even just a “good guy.” In a game that you’re meant to lose, there’s only one chance at survival. Improvising.
I stood for a moment, keeping my balance, and stared straight at Sam. She looked back, unblinking, waiting for my answer.
“Oh, I dunno,” I started nonchalantly, “I’d rather start with your surrender and your explanation of what the blazes you’re all up to.”
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