Will reels back, and I see genuine emotion in his eyes. Remorse. Regret.

I square my jaw. “I won’t do what you ask,” I say, my body still burning with fury. “You will have to torture me.”

“Serenity.” Will’s voice drops low. “Please.”

“Screw you, asshole. No.”

Will exhales. “Fine.” He looks over his shoulder at the one-way mirror beyond. “Omar, can we run that clip of the queen?”

A few seconds later the screen in the interrogation room winks on. It glows white for a moment, and then footage appears. I suck in a breath at the sight.

I watch myself step into the doorway of a jet. The short dress I wear is in tatters, and it flaps in the breeze. But it’s not what flares my nostrils as I watch myself descend the stairs to the ground. Maroon blood is caked all over my body, and strange dark flecks of what must have once been flesh are splattered across me. I want to puke at the sight of myself.

“That’s what will hit the Internet,” Will says. “The king won’t be able to sweep that under the rug—and if he does, we’ll start posting the recordings and emails from the Resistance meetings that incriminate you until he is forced to do something about it. He will kill you. And he’ll enjoy it. Still want to refuse my offer?”

I close my eyes and swallow. “I never thought you’d be the one to betray me, Will,” I say.

“That’s not an answer.”

I open my eyes. “If you want to sentence me to death, so be it. You already received my answer.”

Will’s nostrils flare. He strides to the table, grasps a chair, and flings it at the one-way mirror. “Goddamnit Serenity, stop being an idiot!”

I watch him. “Is that supposed to scare me?”

His chest heaves. “You will be imprisoned, tortured, killed if you don’t agree to do this. Do you care so little for your life?”

“I live with the devil. I’ve already died and gone to hell. So no, I don’t care.” The truth is, I don’t want to die, and torture scares the shit out of me. But I’ve already bent to the will of too many men. I’m done compromising.

Will stands motionless. I can tell he doesn’t know what to do. He probably assumed that I’d willingly agree to his plan, and that if I didn’t, pain would sway me. He hadn’t counted on me folding out altogether.

An alarm in the corner of the room sounds, and then someone radios Will. “The king’s men have found us. The warehouse has been infiltrated.”

For a split second, Will’s distracted. This is my chance to escape. I don’t want to be the Resistance’s pawn anymore than I’d wanted to be the WUN’s or the king’s. I lunge at him, my hand reaching for his weapon.

In one smooth move I flick open his holster and pull the gun out. I see a flash of betrayal in Will’s eyes when I point the weapon at him, but I feel no remorse.

“So what, you’re going to shoot me?” he asks.

“I’m seriously considering it, you fucker.” My words burn like acid.

Will tilts his head. “You really are a traitor queen.”

I pull my arm back and slam the gun into his temple. He crumples to the ground in front of me, unmoving.

I crouch next to him and avoid looking at his face. It’s hard to reconcile this discontent man with the strong, kind friend I grew up alongside. Of all the ways I thought war would affect me, this is one I hadn’t predicted. I never imagined that I could lose one of my closest companions.

Beneath my fingers I can feel Will’s pulse. It’s a little sluggish, but he’ll be fine. For now.

Shots ring out somewhere around me, and I can’t help feeling like a sitting duck in this room, even though the king’s men have come for me. They’ve come for me.

I search Will’s pockets for a key or a card—something that will get me out of this room. But he has nothing on him, and judging by the look of the door handle, there isn’t a keyhole nor is there a keypad. It seems the interrogation room has been designed to only unlock from the outside. Just my luck.

Five minutes later the door bursts open. I already have Will’s gun trained on the door, ready to blow away anyone who considers using me as their ticket out of the warehouse. But instead of a Resistance soldier, one of the king’s men surges into the room.

We make eye contact and I can see the relief soften the expression on his face and loosen his taut muscles. I drop the gun in my hand and kick it away.

The guard grabs a radio from his belt and calls in. “The queen is alive and secure. Repeat, the queen is alive and secure.”

Will moans on the floor at my feet, and the guard’s eyes snap to him. The guard glances down at my bloodied hospital gown and sucks in a breath. He cocks his gun and points it at Will.

“It wasn’t him,” I say. “This wound was from when I was shot outside the hospital.”

The guard radios in a second time. “The queen is injured. Repeat, the queen is injured. Requesting a stretcher.”

“I am not leaving this building on a stretcher,” I growl out.

Over my dead body would that happen.

I glare up at the hallway’s florescent bulbs as I’m wheeled out. Around me several guards push the gurney, and I swear they’re suppressing smiles. Pricks.

Somewhere ahead of me, one of the king’s soldiers leads a handcuffed Will. But most of them surround me.

From the brief glimpses I get as I’m rolled out, I see bodies littering the floor, most lying in pools of their own blood. One of them is Nadia, the nurse that stitched up my gunshot wound, her eyes glazed and empty. The Resistance members here have been massacred.