“I’m not going to let that happen,” Constantine repeated. He’d been saying this since he woke up, but neither of us believed it. How could he save us? We were all the same. Weak, malnourished, and hurt. Over the years, they’d beaten us, deprived us of sunlight and fresh air, and forced us to listen to the Minister’s sermons. We prayed to a god I never understood. If the Minister’s god was the best one, then why did he require sacrifices? “We need a plan,” Constantine continued, ignoring Kansas’s meltdown. “You’ve been upstairs. How do we get up there without being seen?” I asked. Constantine
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