The second possibility was much more disturbing. What if Abby hadn’t mentioned Sara because she knew exactly what had happened and wasn’t ready to talk about it yet? What if she’d seen what they did to Sara?

“Faythe?” Abby said, pushing a sweat-damp curl from her forehead.

“Sorry. I zoned out again.” I decided not to ask her about Sara. She’d tell me what she knew when the time was right. For her, not for me.

Abby drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them.

“Yeah, wel , zoning out may come in handy later.” Her eyes drifted down to a spot on the floor between our cages, making it impossible for me to interpret her expression.

Oh, no, I thought, sitting across from her as she sniffled and refused to look at me. Because she was alive and apparently unharmed, I’d assumed they hadn’t touched her. At least not yet. But I was wrong.

Before I could work up the courage to ask her what had happened, wood creaked overhead, and her focus swung up to the ceiling. Mine followed automatical y. It was the first sound I’d heard from outside the basement since regaining consciousness. I knew what it meant, but Abby said it for me.

“Someone’s coming,” she whispered, hugging herself in a gesture so automatic I was sure it was unconscious. She scooted away from me on her backside, putting as much room as possible between herself and the door to her cage. “Pretend you’re stil out, and he’l leave you alone for now,” she said, her eyes wide and shiny with unshed tears.

“What do you mean?” I rose to grip the bars, dread twisting my stomach into knots.

“Shh,” she hissed. “Lie down. And don’t move, no matter what. I’l be okay.”

Something squealed overhead: an old doorknob turning.

There was no time to consider the wisdom of taking orders from a seventeen-year-old. There was no time to do anything but comply.

Slick with nervous sweat, my hands slid down the bars. I dropped onto the mattress just as light flooded the basement from an open door at the top of a wooden staircase.

For one precious moment, the whole room was il uminated, but from my position, I saw only cinder-block wal s and a third, unoccupied cel . As I watched with one eye slit open, a pair of boots appeared on the top step. They were unfamiliar, as was the voice accompanying them.

“Good evening, Abby-cat.” He closed the door, and the light winked out, blinding me again until my eyes had another chance to adjust.

Abby didn’t answer. I couldn’t see her without moving, but I heard her shoes slide across the concrete as she continued toward the back of her cage, now on her feet.

The boots clomped down the stairs, marching into view beneath a pair of faded jeans and a plain white T-shirt. The man wearing them had wavy blond hair and a build sturdy enough to strain the material of his shirt. He was a tomcat, and definitely not a stray, based on his smel . But try as I might, I couldn’t identify his birth Pride.

He sneered, twisting his mouth into a frightening approximation of a smile as he stepped down onto the concrete. “Aren’t you going to say hi, Abby-cat?”

“Fuck off, Eric.”

I almost laughed out loud. I’d never heard my baby cousin cuss before, but she did it wel . I was proud.

“Now, that wasn’t very nice.” Eric pulled his shirt off, dropping it on the floor just outside her cage, and my heart ached as I stared at it. “We’l have to work on your manners.”

He dug into his front right pocket and came up with a key, which he used to open the padlock holding her cage door closed. I couldn’t see him anymore, but the squeal of metal on metal assaulted my ears as he opened the door.

Abby’s heart rate increased, and I knew that as a cat, I would have smel ed her panic.

Eric’s heart sped up too, but in anticipation, rather than fear. “Are you going to behave yourself?” he asked.

She huffed at him. “Are you?”

He laughed, and a chil traveled up my back, making my imaginary fur stand on end. “Never, Abby-cat.”

“Quit calling me that.”

Metal clanged as he swung the cage door shut, but I didn’t hear him lock it.

“What would you prefer?”

“I’d prefer that you take a few deep breaths underwater.” Abby sounded scared, which I’d expected, but she also sounded weary, as if her big talk was merely to cover up how tired and hopeless she real y felt. Lying there listening, I knew her rebel ion wouldn’t go beyond words. She might have fought in the beginning, but now she was too worn down.

Eric’s boots clomped twice. Rubber slapped the concrete as Abby dodged him, presumably running for the cage door. She’d only taken three steps when I heard a scream, followed by a dull thunk and her moan of pain. Then there was nothing but twin racing heartbeats and his deep breathing.

I turned my head for a better look, but Eric was too preoccupied to notice my movement. He was using a handful of Abby’s bright red curls to press her face against the bars.

That’s how she got the bruise, I thought, fury scorching a path from my heart down to my toenails.

Eric’s free hand slipped beneath her shirt. Abby whimpered once, then her jaws tensed as she gritted her teeth. “That’s better,” he said in a falsely soothing voice. “See, it’s not so bad.” He ran his hand down her stomach and beneath the elastic waist of her jogging shorts. Abby stiffened and closed her eyes. A tear ran down her cheek.

Son of a bitch! I couldn’t just lie there and watch, no matter what she’d said.