Page 105 of Twilight Tactics

“Time for your first confession session,” Iris said.

Elena looked up at her sister, searching for any trace of the little girl she’d once known. There was none.

“Not interested,” Elena said.

Iris smiled. “You misunderstand. This isn’t optional.”

Two men appeared behind her. One held a stun gun.

Elena’s muscles tensed, preparing for a fight she knew she couldn’t win. Not yet. Not here.

“Take her to the confession room,” Iris said.

The key turned in the lock and Elena held still. Fighting now would only get her beaten. Better to appear compliant, look for opportunities along the way.

The door swung open. Elena stood slowly, favoring her injured knee more than necessary. Let them think she was weaker than she was.

“Move,” one of the men grunted, gesturing with the stun gun.

Elena stepped forward, scanning her surroundings. The hallway had no windows. The confession room would be at the end of the corridor.

But between here and there was the office. A desk. Papers. Maybe keys. Maybe weapons. And her coat and shoes?

Elena focused on each step, each breath. Her plan had changed, but the goal remained the same.

Get free. Get out. Get help.

“You’ve caused quite a stir, Eleanor,” Iris said, walking behind her. “LaVoy’s business partners are particularly upset about their losses.”

Elena kept her eyes forward, cataloging everything and going by memory of the way this situation worked. Two guards outside the entrance. One at the desk with a soundproof room that cut out all the noise and lights. Three exits: the main door, a side door that likely led to storage, and the back hallway to the confession room.

“Nothing to say?” Iris prodded. “The silent treatment won’t work here.”

The office came into view, and Elena noticed a ring of keys on a hook behind the desk. She caught sight of her coat hanging on the wall, her boots tied together and looped over the coat. Good. Still there.

A radio sat next to a half-eaten sandwich. The guard, a young man she didn’t recognize, watched her warily.

Elena stumbled, buckling her injured knee on purpose. She fell forward, catching herself on the edge of the desk.

“Watch her!” Iris snapped.

Elena’s fingers closed around a pencil lying on the desk. She palmed it as the guard yanked her upright.

“I’m sorry,” Elena said. “My knee is injured. A gift from the car wreck you helped make happen.”

“That wasn’t me.”

“Right. Okay. Your friends then.”

Iris smiled, but it was an empty cold curve of her lips. “They have been good friends, that’s true.”

The guard with the stun gun jabbed her in the back. “Keep moving.”

It had to be programmed to a low setting, but pain still arced from the contact point. She bit her lip. She wouldn’t cry out. She wouldn’t. The pencil dug into her palm, much like the key had just a few days ago. She wasn’t sure how she would use the crude little weapon, but it was better than nothing—and an idea was forming.

She continued her walk. The confession room would have restraints. Once she was strapped in, escape would be impossible.

“In here,” Iris said, opening a door at the end of the corridor.