I edged closer to my unconscious boyfriend cuffed to a chair nearby.
My judges gathered in a tight half circle a few feet away.
Probably so they could see me better as I failed their test.
The guard's face looked bored, as if to say this was nothing personal. Which was a lie. This was totally personal. And all my fault.
He reached inside his inner jacket pocket and took out two items. . . a syringe and a scalpel. Their clear plastic protectors made loud snicks as he removed them.
I gulped, the air rushing in and out of my lungs in noisy gusts I couldn't hide within the silence of the cold cement room.
The guard stepped closer to us. My thigh muscles tensed, the instinct to fight pulsing through me, and the guard's eyes grew cautious. He knew I was desperate. But that didn't make me stupid. The guard was big, built like a linebacker beneath his badly fitted suit. And even if I could somehow fight him off, my audience of judges would step in to stop me.
I struggled to breathe, calm down and think straight. Time for logic, not emotion.
Okay. So we were in deep this time. But we weren't totally doomed. Yet. The judges had promised that I had only to pass one test, and then my boyfriend could go free.
An innocent boy who wouldn't even be here if I hadn't fallen in love with him. My fault he was in danger. . .
No, no time for a guilt trip right now. I had to focus on passing this test so we could go home.