black veil ◦ scorch trials || thomas

14.

     "What...do with her?"

     A chuckle. Not a nice or soothing one. It sent shivers down her spine but she continued to listen.

     "I say...have...fun," another voice replied.

     "Jorge wants to question her," the first sentence that was loud and clear and somewhat comforted Evan. At least now she knew she would see the sunrise.

     "I'm sick and...Jorge," the other said, his voice gruff and annoyed. "I say...deal with...on our own."

     The footsteps resonated around her once more. Evan saw two figures appear form the corner of her eye. She feigned ignorance and continued to eye the wall before her. It was interesting enough. There was a crack in the shape of an odd looking knife. It didn't have a hilt, just steel. One part of the wall was a darker grey than the rest and there were bars, as if there used to be a window.

     Evan evened out her breathing, though she was almost positive the two men could hear her heart hammering against her chest. She ignored them when they let their nails graze the metal cell gate.

     One let out a breath. "Maybe she's as deaf as she is wretched," he snickered, twirling a small revolver around his index finger. "WICKED sure has stooped low, taking in a scrawny deaf chick."

     "But," the other spoke up, "how will Jorge question her if she's deaf?"

     She could almost picture the eye roll. Evan breathed out through her nose and was more than tempted to put the small stones on the ground in her ears if it meant not having to listen to the two anymore.

     He seemed to ignore his partner. "Who made him the boss anyway? Everyone here knows that I'm the best choice for the job."

     She couldn't contain her snort. Her annoyance was surging and Evanna had trouble keeping it down. Janson had always warned her about her impulsive behavior and rash decisions. She could only give him credit for being right, because here she was, stuck in a cell underground and all alone. Again.

     "You got something to say?" he asked her, undoubtedly quirking an eyebrow.

     Evan couldn't help herself. "Oh, I've got plenty to say. Just not to you, or your friend." She kept her eyes on the wall. The knife had begun to take the shape of carrot. Maybe she was just hungry. She hadn't eaten in a few hours, perhaps half a day. Her mouth was dry, too.

     There was a gust of wind and Evan heard the cell door swing open. A hand curled around her upper arm and pulled her up from the ground. She was pushed against the surface behind her and something cold and sharp pressed against her neck. She only looked at the wall over his shoulder.

     "Listen here, you little rat," the gruff voice spat. She glanced at him only briefly. He had more hair on his chin than on his head. He had beady eyes and rotten teeth and it was all Evanna could do to not grimace and educate him on the use of a toothbrush. Though, she supposed, that was the least of his worries. "I don't care what Jorge says, I'll slit your throat if you don't pay some respect."

     "Can't pay for something that's not there," she said, dully.

     Her voice came out softer than she would like. The cold metal pressed into her skin before the man pulled it away and brought it to her face. He moved a strand of her hair out of her face with the tip of his knife.

     "I wonder how you'll talk when I cut your tongue out."

     Empty threats, Evan thought as she looked at the wall again, they're not even that good. I've heard worse.