With another quiet word, Ren closed the door and I noticed that he now had a glass of water. He walked slowly to my side. He approached with caution, as if I might attack him. I wanted to laugh, but I couldn’t bear to hear that awful sound again.

“Drink this.” He offered me the glass. When he saw how badly my hand was shaking, he put the lip of the glass to my mouth without asking.

Instinct overpowered my desire to shove the glass away. I doubted I could do anything close to shoving anyway. I probably couldn’t swat a fly away.

I swallowed through the rawness of my throat. My tongue was thick and parched in my mouth.

When Ren took away the glass, letting me catch my breath, he said, “They told me they were giving you food and water.”

I was surprised to see him frown.

He gave me another swallow and I decided to try talking again.

“They do,” I rasped. “But not that often.”

“I’ll fix that,” he said. “There’s no reason to treat you this poorly.”

My lip cracked when I smiled. “Since they’re going to kill me soon enough anyway.”

The news of my execution didn’t come as a surprise. I’d been expecting it every day. Even after I lost count of days. At this point I was ready to welcome it. I wondered if Bryn was dead. And Mason. Had the Keepers decided to eliminate all the young Nightshades?

I squeezed my eyes shut tight, having made that terrible mistake: thinking for even a moment about Bryn. I had to push the memory of her away. I’d heard her screams coming from another cell, their tinny echo bouncing off my cell walls, worse than any torture the Keepers could have subjected me to. Then the screams had been replaced by silence, which scared me even more.

“They’re not going to kill you.” Ren’s voice broke through my slide into despair over Bryn.

I forced my eyelids up. “Why not?”

“Because it wasn’t your fault,” he answered. “It was hers.”