Needless to say, I get caught—over and over again. I hadn’t really planned on actually leaving this place—not when I still intend to carry out my revenge—but I was hoping that, while on the lam, I might find a sharp object to skewer the horseman with at some point.

We are enemies, after all.

Unfortunately, if there are weapons lying around, I don’t find them.

After my fourth attempt, the horseman simply says, “Flee again and I’ll use my plants to keep you in place.”

Now that is an effective threat. I’m surprised it took him this long to truly intimidate me. My captor is the infamous Famine, after all.

So, I relegate myself to the reality of my situation: that I’ll be stuck inside this room until Famine decides it’s time for us to leave.

Bored and alone once again, I raid the closet, changing into an outfit more suited to my taste. The cotton dress I settle on is brightly patterned and flowy. I opt to keep my old boots, however; my feet are bigger than this room’s former occupant.

I poke around at a few more of the girl’s items, flipping through a few books stacked on her bookcase before I move on to a series of diaries that occupy a whole shelf. I can only assume they were written by the girl who lived here. The entries are just as entitled and inane as you might expect from a rich, sheltered teenage girl, each one signed off “Eternally Yours, Andressa.”

I strive for such drama in my own life. Alas, even amidst the apocalypse, I haven’t managed to attain it.

What I don’t expect are the salacious love letters I find hidden under the mattress, each one from Maria, a mysterious woman who, by the sounds of it, knew her way around a vagina. I mean, she really seemed to know her way around a vagina.

I need to get myself a Maria.

Those letters entertain me for a while. But there are only so many of them.

After that … boredom. Hours and hours of boredom. So much boredom that somewhere along the way I fall asleep, sprawled across Andressa’s bed, her most intimate letters and writings spread out around me.

I wake to the sound of my stomach growling. Outside the first rays of sun have lightened the sky. I can hear the low murmuring of voices, and for one second it all feels so terribly normal that I almost forget that I’m trapped in a house with a horseman of the apocalypse, and those voices belong to some of the last humans alive in this city.

My stomach growls again, and withholding food was most definitely a brilliant threat on Famine’s part, damn him.

It takes another hour for me to hear the confident footfalls of what can only be the Reaper. No one else dares to walk around this place with that much confidence. They head towards my room, only stopping once they’re outside my door.

Clearing my voice, I call out, “Unless you have coffee or food, I don’t want to talk to you.”

A moment later, the doorknob turns and Famine walks in with a glass of water and a slice of fruit in his hand.

He holds the items up to me. “Because you managed to go a whole twelve hours without trying to run,” he says.

I think I’m supposed to be grateful.

But, as the poet’s might put it, fuck that shit.

“A papaya?” I say, recognizing the fruit. It’s not even a full papaya either; just an itsy bitsy sliver. “I’m a full-bodied woman, not a bird.”

“Perhaps you forgot who I am—Famine,” he stresses. “Feel fortunate that I’m feeding you at all.”

“I want coffee. Then I’ll feel fortunate. Maybe. Some cake would definitely make me feel grateful.”

“You are a human-shaped headache,” he mutters.

“What a compliment to headaches everywhere.”

“Do you ever stop talking?”

“Only if you put something in my mouth,” I say. “I’m partial to food, but dicks work too.”

He glances heavenward.

Ah, blessed reaction.

“This is what you get, Ana,” he says, setting the items on the ground. “Eat it or go hungry. I really don’t care which.” He backs away from the room, a scowl on his face. “Meet me in the stables. You have five minutes.”

I use those five minutes to raid the house’s pantry. I do manage to find some cake, along with a few other treats. No brewed coffee, unfortunately. I do find a knife, but there’s literally nowhere to store it while traveling, except maybe my boot. But again with my luck, I’d probably end up jabbing myself with it. So I leave the knife behind.

When I finally meet Famine just outside the stables, he’s frowning at me again. I think this is becoming a thing for him, where I’m concerned.

His ferocious black horse is saddled and waiting, and his men linger nearby, readying their own horses.

Not for the first time, my situation feels surreal. Forget that I’ve survived through the destruction of two separate cities, or that I live in biblical times. Simply the fact that I went from nursing this man to health to attacking him to being his semi-willing prisoner is strange enough as is.

I dust off the last of the cake from my fingers.

He notices the action, his frown deepening. “You’re late.”

A mistake I intend on repeating so long as the two of us are together.

“Just be happy I didn’t run again,” I say. Not that I really, truly would. Stabbing him requires close proximity.

He studies me with those unsettling eyes for a moment. Then, the corner of his mouth curves up.

Uh oh.

“If you are so determined to escape me,” he says, “then perhaps I need to treat you as a proper prisoner.”

I give him a perplexed look even as the Reaper moves over to his horse. “You have been treating me like a prisoner.” What does he think he’s been doing with me over the last twenty-four hours?

Famine reaches into one of his saddlebags. I hear the clang of something heavy right before he pulls out a pair of iron manacles.

Iron. Manacles.

Because of course this freak would just have a spare pair tucked away.

Crossing back over to me, he catches my wrist.

“Hey—”

I try to jerk out of his grip, but it’s useless. A moment later, Famine begins clamping the heavy shackles on.

“What are you doing?” A note of panic has entered my voice.

The horseman finishes one wrist and grabs my other. “Now, if only there was something for your mouth …”

I take a steadying breath. “Don’t you think this is a bit overdone?” I say.

I mean, I haven’t run. This is all just bluster.

My skin pricks as I feel the stares of Famine’s men.

Rather than responding, the Reaper leads me towards a dark bay horse. Grabbing me under the arms, he hoists me onto the beast.

“Really?” I deadpan, looking down at him. “I’m supposed to wear cuffs while riding a horse? Now this is most definitely overkill.”

“Not my problem,” the Reaper says, walking back towards his steed.

I scowl at my horse. “You do realize that I could simply …” I was going to say ride away, but before I finish the sentence I realize that the horse isn’t wearing any reins; instead, the creature is bound by a length of rope to one of Famine’s mounted men.

“So, does this mean we’re going to another town?” I call out to Famine.