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  She frowned, watching him go. The next five Dems selected their own utensils. She stuffed her hands in her pockets and looked down as they passed. Each thanked her, but she got the impression they only did it for appearances sake. She chewed her bottom lip. When her eyes rose, she noticed the other handlers watching her.

  "Knife," a familiar voice said, drawing her attention away from her audience. She moved to get a knife from the table, before she realized the order.

  "I didn't hear a question in that, Dem," a voice called from the other side of the serving table.

  Sarah jerked her hand away from the knife and looked toward the voice. An older handler scowled at Farran. Sarah's eyes quickly looked up at the Dem and widened. His eyes were quickly darkening. She looked back at the knives on the table.

  "Did you hear me, Dem?" the same man asked, again.

  She saw Farran visibly twitch. She glanced at the other Dems and saw them watching with rapt attention. Their eyes glistened with something dark and hungry. She cringed away from them, but they did not seem to notice. They appeared completely focused on Farran.

  "Dem?" Sarah whispered. She fought not to back away from his furious gaze. "Answer the question, Dem." Her eyes shifted to the other Dems who nearly vibrated in their excitement. In her mind, they were sharks scenting blood.

  "Dem!" The handler started to come around the end of the table. As he approached, the other Dems began to smile.

  Sarah looked between the handler and Farran with wide eyes. "Farran?" she whispered frantically. She stepped back when his gaze snapped to hers.

  "May I have a knife?" Farran asked in a clear voice.

  Sarah stared at him, only vaguely aware of the complete silence.

  Chapter Three

  Knocking Through

  "Handler Mackenzie?"

  Sarah jerked at the sound of her name. She tore her eyes away from Farran. Luke stood just to the left of the large Dem. His eyes flicked between her and the silent handlers at the counter. She could see the other Dems from the corner of her eye. They still stared.

  "May I have a word with you?" Luke said, after a moment.

  Sarah swallowed hard, but gave him a quick nod. Ducking her head, she skirted around Farran, careful not to make eye contact. She tried to ignore the other stares. Accusing eyes and curious gazes. She felt both and it only made her face burn hotter. She shoved her hands in her pockets.

  "Sir?" she said quietly.

  "Follow me." He turned away and stalked toward the door with a slight limp.

  She hurried after him, almost running to keep up. He looked over his shoulder once to make sure she was following, but he did not slow down. When they passed into the kitchen, the scent of food seemed thicker than the first time she had been there. She did not look around, focused on the man in front of her.

  Luke began pacing. After a moment, he looked toward the doorway. Sarah blinked at his muttered curses. She inwardly cringed at his language, even as she knew he had a right to be upset. Another mistake. So soon. She leapt out of the way, as he strode past her to slam the door.

  She flinched. "Sir?" she asked again, watching him return to his pacing.

  "Sarah, did you forget everything you learned in training?" he muttered, still pacing.

  Sarah looked down at the stone beneath her feet. "I…" She trailed off, unsure how to answer.

  "What is rule number one in The Corridor, Sarah?"

  "Never open the cell door, unless the Dem is in basic restraints," she whispered, the memory of Farran's recitation still fresh. She looked up to see Luke had paused.

  "What is rule two?" The obvious disappointment only fed the burn of shame.

  She could not meet his eyes. "Never call a Dem by name. Only use given names when referencing a Dem to other humans." She bit her lip. "I thought it was the only way to gain control of the situation." She looked up at the sound of a sigh.

  Luke shook his head, a small smile on his lips. "Normally, a violation of such a basic rule would mean suspension."

  Sarah cringed. "So, I'm suspended?"

  His smile widened. "No. Actually, I think you did very well. It was unorthodox, but given the circumstances…"

  "You mean, because Farran is level black in DCS?"

  He smiled slightly. "That, too."

  Sarah frowned. "What else?"

  "Farran is a difficult Dem for the best of handlers," he said.

  Sarah heard the rest of his sentence without him speaking it aloud. "But with so little training, I really don't have very good chances."

  For a moment, he did not answer. "That's not what I meant."

  Sarah nodded. "Thank you for that, but it's true." She looked toward the door. "I'm not sure if I am capable of doing this job."

  "I know you are, Sarah." He frowned when she looked at him in surprise. "But are you willing?"

  "I don't have a choice," she answered quietly.

  He looked at her and she forced herself to meet his gaze. "To do this job, you need to keep a healthy perspective." He walked toward her. "You need to be here when you are here, and leave everything in The Corridor when you are off duty."

  He stopped in front of her. "Taking this stress home with you is the best way to lose your focus. If there's one thing you need down here, it's focus." He looked at her for a minute longer, then stepped around her.

  Sarah looked at him when he paused.

  He turned his head and their eyes met. "Don't let this job be the thing that beats you." He patted her on the shoulder lightly. "Let's get back to work." He walked out of the kitchen, leaving her alone.

  Sarah stared at the door after he left. Encouraging or not, the words could not change the facts. Less than a week of training, left far too many holes in her knowledge. Farran did not consider her an equal, and certainly not a superior. She sighed. Do not let this job be the thing that beats you. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She could do this. Her hands shook, fingertips numb with the cold, but she pushed open the door.

  She scanned the room, avoiding the serving counter. Skipping past the curious stares of the other handlers, she looked over the empty tables. Her eyes landed on a two-person table in the right corner, farthest from the counter and the Dems. She felt their attention. Far heavier than the handlers. Her gaze briefly flicked to the left.

  Farran met her gaze, something that looked like amused calculation gleaming in his eyes. She tensed, waiting. A brief moment later, he looked away and served the handler across the counter from him. She turned her head before he could look up.

  She nodded to the other handlers as she passed, weaving between the tables. Many of the faces held curiosity, interest. She moved around the edge of the table, keeping her eyes on the smooth stone until she sank into the chair. Her eyes rose from the tabletop to see most of the handlers were busy with their own conversations. She let out a soft sigh, slowly relaxing into a slouch.

  Her hands curled into loose fists on the cold table surface, as if trying to escape the stone. As she stared at them, the room faded away. She studied her fingers, thin and pale like tiny spider's legs. The skin on the back of her hand smooth, without any visible imperfections.

  She frowned slightly and turned her hands over, forcing the delicate skin into contact with the cold stone. She ignored it, staring at her palms. There, the skin was rough and pink with scar tissue. Burns, cuts, gouges. She bit her lip and trailed her fingertips along the skin of her right palm. In the midst of the ridged burn scars, a roughly healed gash cut from below her pinky to the base of her thumb.

  Her fingers skimmed the old wound, feeling the ghost of a sharp edge. She jerked her hand away from the phantom pain. She suddenly felt her rapid heartbeat, her frantic breathes. She flipped her hands over, gazing at the unscarred skin until she felt herself calm. She jerked her head up at the sound of someone clearing their throat.

  Her eyes immediately landed on Farran. He stood perfectly still, less than four feet from her, watching her with cold calcu
lation. She watched his gaze drop to her hands where they lay on the tabletop. His eyes narrowed. She looked away from his expressionless face to glance around the room.

  Deserted tables, the other handlers already returned to work with their Dems in tow. She scanned the serving counter. It was deserted. Luke leaned in the doorway to the kitchen, his back facing her. She gaze returned to Farran in time to see him frown.

  "I have floor duty in Corridor One."

  Sarah fought not to cringe back from the growling tone. She watched his gaze slowly move over her, still oddly assessing. An uncomfortable feeling began to blossom in her stomach. As if he sensed her emotions, Farran's lips curved.

  She dropped her gaze. "Alright." She scooted her chair back, glancing around him.

  She watched the Dem from beneath her eyelashes, tensing as his head turned to the side. She watched him inhale deeply, then turn his head toward her again.

  Luke stood in the doorway, facing her. Their eyes met and she saw the concern in his gaze. She watched him look from her to the Dem and back. He raised an eyebrow.

  "I have work."

  Sarah nodded at Farran’s quiet statement, sensing the steel beneath the words. She stood from her chair, careful not to meet his gaze as she walked around the edge of the table. For a moment, it appeared he would block her path. She stared at the front of his suit, her head just reaching to his chest, and waited. After a moment, he took a step back and she exhaled.

  She saw his head turn as she passed him, watching her progress. She tried to ignore it, but it seemed to have physical weight. She slouched and fought not to glance over her shoulder. She did not hear him follow her toward the kitchen, but she felt his presence. She shivered.

  Luke stood in the same place, his blue eyes narrowed and pointed just over her shoulder. Irritation and something else. His gaze swung to her face when she stopped in front of him.

  "Handler Mackenzie," he said formally, a question in his tone.

  She gave him a small smile. "Handler Williams."

  She looked away without answering his unasked question. She saw him staring at her from the corner of her eye. After a tense moment, he looked away and stepped to the side. She felt Farran shift behind her, just a soft rustle of cloth. She walked into the kitchen and Luke did not look at her as she passed.

  The Dems stared. Their gazes slid from Farran to crash over her, cold hatred and predatory curiosity. The same emotional medley in every look Farran gave her. It set her teeth on edge, made her skin prickle. She quickly walked from the room.

  "Your hands.”

  Sarah froze, her hand on the doorknob to the main hall. She glanced over her shoulder, but did not speak.

  "Explain."

  His jaw clenched when she did not immediately answer. When she simply stared at him silently, he took a step toward her. He bent down until their faces were inches apart. Sarah blinked, but did not look away.

  "You will answer when I ask a question, Sarah," he said in a low, dangerous tone. The slow smile he gave her did not reach his eyes.

  The truth. "There was a fire." She leaned back against the door when he moved closer, his eyes boring into hers.

  "And the jagged scar?"

  A sharp pain. She looked away, and his hand grabbed her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. She could feel herself shaking, her skin cold and clammy where they touched. His smile widened.

  "Answer," he demanded. His eyes sparkled when she jerked at the barked command.

  Her mouth opened and closed, while she struggled to find the words. Memories assaulted her. Dozens of moments. Happy, sad, terrifying. He watched her struggle. Finally, the words tore free.

  "My brother," she whispered. The words felt sharp coming from her throat.

  Farran's eyes fell closed, as satisfied smile curved his lips. She watched him inhale her scent, as if he could smell the agony in the words. When his eyes opened they were nearly black. His head tilted to the side, considering.

  As she stood against the door, held in place by his gaze and the hand that had slid down to her throat, she forced herself to breathe. The air stuck in her lungs on every inhale, stuttering out of her mouth on every exhale. It seemed to intrigue the Dem.

  "You have work," she whispered, staring into eyes that were inhuman in more than just species.

  She froze, as his hand tightened around her neck minutely, just a twitch of the fingers. A moment later, he stepped back. His eyes moved from her to the door.

  "Go." He straightened and took another step back.

  Sarah turned and twisted the door handle, nearly jerking the door open. At the last moment, she remembered to move smoothly. An illusion of calm, to hide her unease. She kept her gaze down, as she stepped into the main hall. Even with her head down, she could see the Dems turning to stare at her as she crossed the room.

  The hand scans and doors were a blur. Inside the corridor, the last door closed behind them. She slowly turned to face the Dem. He was not looking at her, instead scanning the room. His gaze landed on something over her shoulder, and he walked away from her.

  As she watched him wheel a mop bucket from the corner, she relaxed slightly. Chores. Normalcy. She walked away from him to peer into the closest empty cell. It was identical to Farran's. A thin mattress on a stone shelf. No furniture, no blanket or pillow. She frowned. The next was the same. She turned away at the sound of running water.

  The Dem watched her, as the bucket filled. His eyes moved from her to the cells that filled both walls of Corridor One. When his gaze returned to her, an emotion she could not identify swirled into the mix of darkness. He looked away and shut off the water.

  She watched him easily lift the large bucket from the sink. He dropped a mop into the bucket and the soapy water sloshed onto the floor. She turned to look down the corridor, the spotless stone floor flat and dull under the bright lights. She looked over her shoulder.

  “Why do you have to mop it if it is already clean?”

  Farran wrung the mop and dropped it to the floor. He sent her a dark look, but did not answer.

  He cleaned in a grid like pattern. Sarah watched his movements with interest. The task was executed without wasted effort, every action perfected to cover the most ground with the least movement. He did not look at her as he worked. It was not until he stopped in front of her, she realized she was in the way.

  "Sit," he ordered without looking at her.

  Sarah backed up until the back of her knees hit the bench. When his eyebrows lowered, she pulled her legs up in front of her. Without another word, he went back to his duties. She wrapped her arms around her knees and watched him in silence. It was pointless, menial labor. He did not acknowledge her presence until he finished the task.

  As he walked past her with the bucket, she heard him chuckle softly. She looked up. He continued to the sink, dumping the water before he returned the bucket to its place. When he turned to face her there was a dark amusement in his eyes. He walked toward her slowly.

  "You amuse me, Sarah.”

  Sarah looked back at him with wide eyes. "Why?"

  Warning bells went off in her head, as he came to a stop beside her. She gasped as his hand grasped her arm and jerked her to her feet. She went still, staring at the fury that suddenly filled his eyes.

  "You are free to leave this place?" he demanded.

  She stared at him, struck silent by the odd question. She gasped when he shook her roughly.

  "Are you free?" He grasped her other arm, his grip tightening.

  “I-” She nodded hurriedly. “Yes.” Her answer seemed to enrage him further.

  He jerked her off the ground until her feet dangled, the toes of her boots brushing the course fabric of his pants. "You can leave here? You have a life outside this place?" Darkness swirled in his eyes, until it swallowed his gaze entirely.

  "Yes," she whispered, unable to tear her eyes away from his face.

  “You think you and I are so different. Our lot in life so far apart.”
He released her and she fell to the ground, stumbling into him as her knees buckled. "You are a fool."

  "Why?" she whispered, her hands gripping the front of his suit for balance. Her eyes rose to the hand scanner on his chest, then his face.

  He leaned down to her level. "Because, you think you are free. You think I am the prisoner." He straightened. "But you are just as much a prisoner as I."

  She cried out as he grabbed her wrist. "How am I a prisoner?" She watched him tense, her palm pressed to the scanner for his restraints. As the shocks died away, the chains released, leaving dried blood to flake from his wrists.

  He held her hand away from him, studying her palm. "Because you cannot see." He released her arm, turning his back on her. "I may be here, but it is more than walls that hold you." Disgust laced his tone.

  Sarah wrapped her arms around herself, watching him walk into his cell. He did not look at her, again.

  "You're wrong," she whispered. She pressed her hand to the scanner beside his door, locking down all the shields.

  For a moment, she stood outside his cell, staring at the darkness of the shield. She could not see him, but she could feel his gaze. She turned away. Her foot nudged the pile of chains and she crouched down to retrieve them, trying to ignore the cell at her back.

  When the door to the corridor slid closed behind her, she sighed and leaned against the wall. The stone was frigid against her heated face. She closed her eyes, suddenly feeling the faint pain at her wrist. She looked down at her arm and gasped at the blackening bruise.

  A clear outline of each of Farran's fingers on her pale skin. She quickly looked down the hall. Empty. She pulled her sleeve down to hide the mark. A light touch to her upper arm made her wince. She reached up to touch her neck lightly, before pushing away from the wall.

  The hallway to the main hall seemed longer walking alone. As she raised her hand to the scanner, the door slid open and another handler nearly crashed into her. The man muttered an apology and rushed passed, barely sparing her a look. She slowly turned her head to look at the Dem who stood between her and the door.

  Her eyes widened at the assessing look her gave her. He tipped his head to the side, his eyes narrowing, as his nostrils flared with his deep inhale. When he exhaled, his gaze changed slightly. The sharp edge of coldness, rounded into curiosity.