Chapter 1

The water was up to my waist now. It was cold, thick with the smell of wet red clay and the metallic tang of the rusted iron bars above my head.

I pressed my back against the earthen wall of the cell, merging with the shadows. My hand gripped a jagged piece of rebar I had pulled from the crumbling masonry—a pathetic shiv against the assault rifles waiting in the moonlight.

* Crunch. Crunch.*

The sound of heavy boots on gravel vibrated through the ground, resonating in my hollow chest. I knew that cadence. I had marched to the rhythm of those steps for six years, ever since they dragged me out of my village schoolhouse.

Commandant Kaelo stopped directly above me.

Dirt sifted down through the grate, dusting my eyelashes. I didn't blink. I couldn't. If I moved, the water would ripple. If the water rippled, the moonlight catching the surface would give me away.

"He came this way," Kaelo said. His voice was a deep rumble, bored and lethal. "I smell his fear. It smells like piss and bad choices."

"The tracks end at the river, Commandant," a lighter voice answered. The Lieutenant. "Maybe the crocodiles took him."

"Juma is too stringy for crocodiles," Kaelo laughed. It was a dry, hacking sound.

I heard the distinct *zippo* click of a lighter. A second later, a glowing orange ember fell through the bars of the grate. It tumbled through the dark damp air and landed in the water inches from my hip.

* Hiss.*

The sound was microscopic, but to me, it sounded like a gunshot. I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood, willing my heart to stop hammering against my ribs.

"If we find him," Kaelo murmured, exhaling smoke that drifted down into my hole, "we don't shoot him. Not immediately. I want to see how long he can march without feet."

The water rose another inch. It was creeping up my stomach, soaking the tattered remnants of my uniform.

Something brushed against my neck.

I froze. It was light, frantic, and hairy. A spider, escaping the rising tide, scuttling across my collarbone toward my ear. The itch was electric. Every nerve in my body screamed at me to swat it, to thrash, to get it off.

I stayed statuesque. I let the spider crawl over my earlobe and into my hair.

Above me, the boots shifted. Kaelo was crouching.

The sliver of moonlight that cut through the grate vanished, blocked by the silhouette of his head. He was looking down.

I stared up into the blackness, locking eyes with the shadow of the man who had owned my life since I was twelve. I tightened my grip on the rebar. If he shouted, if he raised his rifle, I would thrust the metal spike upward. I would try to take his eye before they turned this hole into a barrel of fish.

Time stretched, agonizing and elastic. The water lapped at my diaphragm.

Kaelo breathed out, a long sigh through his nose. He stayed there for five seconds—an eternity—staring into the abyss.

Then, he hawked and spat.

The glob of saliva slapped the water between my legs.

"He's not here," Kaelo grunted, standing up. The moonlight returned, washing over my terror-stricken face. "The ghosts got him. Or the jungle."

"Let's move out," the Lieutenant said.

"Burn the village down the road," Kaelo ordered, his voice fading as he turned away. "Just in case he's hiding in a skirt."

The boots crunched away. Then came the roar of the diesel truck, growing fainter and fainter until the jungle silence rushed back in to fill the void.

I let out a breath that was half-sob, half-gasp. My legs gave out, and I slumped against the mud wall, sliding down until the water touched my chin.

I was safe. They were gone.

I waited ten minutes, counting the heartbeats, before I moved toward the center of the cell. The water was rising faster now, fed by the storm runoff channeling into the ruins.

I reached up, grabbing the iron bars of the grate.

"Come on," I whispered, my voice raspy from disuse.

I pushed.

The grate groaned. A shower of rust fell into my eyes, blinding me. It didn't budge.

I pushed harder, driving my legs into the muddy floor, straining until the veins in my neck bulged. The heavy iron frame, warped by decades of tropical heat and rain, had fused with the stone foundation. It was sealed shut.

The water touched my lower lip.

"No," I choked out. I hammered my fists against the bars. "No!"

I shoved the rebar into the gap, trying to leverage it, trying to pry the world open, but the metal just bent in my weakened grip.

The silence of the jungle pressed down on me, heavy and indifferent. I had escaped the war. I had escaped the Commandant. But as the cold, black water filled my nose and I tilted my head back for one last gasp of air, I realized the dungeon hadn't been a hiding spot. It was a mouth, and it was swallowing me whole.