I WAKE up strapped to a chair, the smells of smoke, body odor, and despair hitting my nostrils, and my stomach turns as I squeeze my eyes shut tighter. There’s rustling and quiet murmuring of two women in here, the noises a sign of them cleaning something here in the tent up, and I don’t want them to know I’m awake yet.
It’s hard to keep the disgust off of my face.
The stench here is familiar, a particular blend of gross that I’d been hoping to never come across again, and I have to choke back the bile that creeps up the back of my throat. Kieran and I were separated right away but not before I’d been forced to watch three guards beat the shit out of him.
No one lifted a finger against me, but I already knew they wouldn’t.
Once he was bleeding from about ten different places and there was a rattle in his chest that suggested some serious internal injuries, Kieran had been dragged away to one of the holding tents unceremoniously by a couple of low-level thugs.
I had been escorted to the priority tent, somewhere I’ve spent way too much time.
“Why the fuck are we waiting on some sheep-bitch? It’s demeaning, she should be eating slop in the cages with the rest of them.”
There’s a quiet grunt and then the other woman replies, quietly but in a rougher, aged voice, “She’s a VIP. Her gift means she gets real food, a bath when she needs it, and she’s off-limits to the men for a bit of fun. Don’t worry about it, she’ll be torn up good by Davies just the same as they all are.”
Gross.
For one, I do not want to hear his name, but there’s also something about the women talking so casually about the horrors that happen here, like it doesn’t even matter to them what happens here after dark and in tight quarters, that makes my blood run cold. I guess I don’t have to feel guilty about killing them all when the time comes. Does that make me just as bad as them?
I hope not, but I’ll also accept it if it does.
“VIP… what does that even mean? Is she a Neuro? Davies doesn’t usually keep those around for long.”
Of course not, they’re competition for him. Okay, they’re not at all, because I’ve never heard of another Neuro who can do the shit he can, except Gryphon. As strong as my Bonded is, he’s no match for that man.
I’m no match for him either.
It’s terrifying.
I know how much power is pumping through my veins, so much that my body still can’t use it without taking a three day nap to recover, and he could end my world without a second thought. Our gifts might be eons apart in ability but there’s too many parallels with the destruction we’re both capable of.
The woman with the rough voice mutters, reluctantly and somewhat reverently, “This girl, this little white-haired bitch who looks like nothing special, she’s the Infinite Weapon. They’re going to use her to end the war and finally let us Gifted take control of this country like we deserve. No more making nice with the non-Gifted. No more living shackled to laws that shouldn’t apply to us because we’re above them. No more sheep in control, living in their mansions while the rest of us struggle to survive.”
Fucking hell.
I’d almost forgotten how delusional they all sound, as though they’re going to love living in the Wild West Dystopia that they’re all gunning for when really… they’ll all probably die for the cause. That man wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice them all to get what he wants.
Ultimate power.
There’s more movement and then I hear one of the women walk away, rustling the tent flap, and then the smell of hot chicken and gravy hits my nose. My stomach rumbles and a wave of nausea hits me, the same as it always does when I wake up from one of these power-use naps.
I blink my eyes a few times as they stream against the harsh lighting and I get a look at both of the women. I don’t recognize either of them, but I catalog their features anyway, storing away as much information as I can, in case I need it later.
Doing that has saved my life many times before.
The older woman is holding out the plate of food and with a downturned mouth, she says, “I’m not going to free your arms to eat, but if you try to stop me from feeding you, I have orders to force it down your throat with any means necessary.”
I shrug and open my mouth. As obedient as it may look like I’m being, the eyes she gives me says she doesn’t believe it one bit.
Hilarious, because I’m too hungry to bite the bitch or attempt to mess with her.
The other woman, who only looks a few years older than I am, watches us both with her hands fisted at her side as though she’s ready to fly over and break my jaw the second I prove myself to be the unruly ‘sheep’ they think I am.
They really have no idea.
I eat the entire plate without a word or complaint, chewing the delicious chicken and gravy while keeping my face blank. I don’t want them to know how much I’m enjoying it, how much I wish I could have seconds. Once the plate is clean, the woman holds a bottle of water to my lips and lets me down the entire thing. It feels like the elixir of life to my dry tongue and chapped lips.
Then the women both leave without another word.
I take a second to look around, but the tent is bare, completely empty, other than me and the chair I’m chained to. It feels a little too familiar. I wouldn’t put it past these assholes to have brought in the exact one I’d spent two years parked on just to mess with my damn head a little more.
That’s kind of ugh, Silas Davies’ thing.
As if my thoughts conjured him, the tent flap parts and the man, the nightmare, himself steps into the space with me.
After so long of forcing myself to not think about him, to not even acknowledge that he exists in the world, it’s weirdly uneventful to see him standing there in his carefully put together outfit. I know for sure that he puts in a lot of thought about how he dresses, a lot of thought on what color he’ll be donning for the day, because I never wanted to see him on days where he’d wear white.
He enjoys the patterns of blood spatters, and there was always a sense of pride in him when he would leave the torture tents covered in the fruits of his labor. I think it also helped keep the other Resistance members in line because between that and the manic grin on his face, he definitely looks like the crazed torturer you wouldn’t want to mess with.
“Little Soul Render… not so little now though, are you? You’ve grown up a lot since you ran off on me.”
His voice is low and melodic. I keep my eyes on his boots for now while I focus on getting my heart rate back down to normal levels and not where it’s currently sitting… which is pounding out of my chest.
I hope Gryphon can’t feel this.
It’s too dangerous to so much as think about him and my Bonds right now, even though I can feel him trying to contact me at the edges of my mind. Of course I know that he’d attempt it, the quickest and easiest way for him to find me is to just ask, but to speak to him now, with Silas in the room? That’s a huge no.
It’s also hard to block Gryphon out without making it too obvious.
Everything is a freaking mess.
“Are we really going to go back to the silent treatment, Weapon? I thought you might have grown out of this.”
I smother the shiver that runs down my spine, forcing my shoulders not to move and give away just how much the mere sound of his voice scares me. I hate this man, sure, but I’m also completely aware of just how terrifying he truly is.
I need to keep my head together.
At my continued silence, Davies steps further into the tent, his footsteps slow and measured. He’s an expert at drawing out the terror in the room, and I’m not entirely sure if it’s a natural talent or the copious amount of experience he’s had ruining people. I can’t help but tense when he steps behind me, but then he steps back into my eyeline with another chair, carefully shrugging out of his jacket and slinging it over the back as he takes a seat.
He has this very careful and measured way of folding himself into it that makes my skin crawl. Ever the gentleman, but it’s only a mask, a ruse he wears to cover the sadistic creature he really is.
I know I’m a monster, and I hate myself for it, but this man loves being this way with every fiber of his being… and that’s why he scares the absolute fucking shit out of me.
Finally, I meet his eyes.
He smirks at me, enjoying just how much I hate looking at him, but it’s actually easier to stay a blank canvas when I’m staring into the deep, evil abyss that are his eyes. There’s nothing normal or human in them, nothing but the cold-blooded, sadistic man that he is shining there.
He doesn’t say another word to me for a full minute, and then he leans back in the seat again, crossing his arms. There must be a camera in here, because the action triggers more people to enter the tent.
Two heavily armed men, to be precise, dragging a bleeding Kieran behind them, one of his legs jutting out at a very wrong angle.
Well, fuck.
The men drop him at my feet so that he’s wedged between Davies and I and then walk out. I take a very slow, and hopefully discreet, breath.
Davies sighs and tuts at me again. “I have to say, it hurt my feelings, you know?”
I keep my eyes trained on his, because I cannot look at Kieran. You don’t last here in the camps if you show your weaknesses, and all they know about the two of us so far is that we came here together.
That’s already too much.
Davies drawls on, “You never spoke to any of the Gifted here, not the loyal or the sheep, and yet you came right back to us with some weakling Transporter? It cuts me deeply.”
I am an expert at blocking this man out though. I think I would’ve gone crazy in the two years I’d spent stuck in the camps if I hadn’t learned how to just tune his honeyed, poisonous monologues out. I hope Kieran is doing the same down there in the dirt, otherwise he’s going to die a thousand slow and crazed deaths listening to it all.
“I guess we’ll have to do something about him… something extreme. The punishment should fit the crime. How dare a lower-tiered Gifted befriend our Little Soul Render when she’s spat on the rest of us, time and time again? How about the rack?”
Oh, fuck.
My eyes flick down to Kieran’s bloodied and bruised form on the ground without meaning to, a reflex at hearing Silas’ favorite torture machine mentioned. You’d think with all of the power pumping through his veins that he’d torture people with his gift, but no… he prefers machines that belong in the Middle Ages, you know, when they were invented.
No one survives the rack, not a single person in the two years I was here, and if I don’t do something, Gryphon’s second is about to die, all because I asked him to bring me here.
My voice cracks, “You can’t.”
I finally look down at Kieran but he’s glaring at me, a soundless command to shut my mouth and let him take the pain and suffering for us both. He probably knows he’s about to die, but typical macho man shit says he wants to do it honorably.
I’m not built like that. He should know that by now.
Silas turns and smirks at me, his handsome face curling into a ghoulish mask. “And why is that, Little Render? Give me one good reason why I should change my plans for the Transporter.”
He really thinks he has this over me, he really thinks he’s going to use Kieran’s death to mess with my head… Well, trump card, asshole.
“He’s my Bond.”
The best thing about my bond is that it understands a life or death sort of situation and toes the goddamned line when I need it to, so when I look down at Kieran again and see the horror in his eyes, my own don’t shift in retaliation. It’s a win.
How the hell am I going to get him to play along here?
“You stood there and watched him get beaten. You expect me to believe you’re Bonded to him?” Davies’ voice drips with derision but when I glance back at him, he’s tense, his body practically vibrating at the carrot I’m dangling in front of him.
How long had they tortured me for the names of my Bonds?
How many times had he promised me things, evil and glorious and kind things, if only I’d tell them who my Bonds were?
It’s another piece of the puzzle that makes no sense to me, especially now that I know that someone in the Resistance has been messing with the labs and the Bonded groups, but it’s clear that they still don’t know about my Bonds.
I wonder why that traitorous bitch Giovanna hasn’t told them? And how could Atlas’ dad be here, very obviously a part of the Resistance, but hasn’t told them?
Too fucking confusing.
Davies snaps his fingers in front of my face, and I shift my eyes away from the scowl on Kieran’s face to mutter, “You said it yourself, you have to be cold-hearted to rip the souls out of people and watch them die. Besides, we’re not Bonded yet, and you weren’t killing him. My bond was happy to watch you test him out a little. The rack is too much. If you break him, you’ll break me, and I’m not signing up for that.”
I watch as the feverish glee fills his body. Me, his beloved weapon, back in his grasp and now with one more round of ammunition with me. A Bond.
He straightens up and turns on his heel to stalk towards the entrance of the tent, his usually fluid movements jerkier with his excitement, and I take the moment to do something incredibly risky. Risky but necessary, because Kieran looks like he’s a second away from chewing me out for lying about him like this just to save his freaking life.
My eyes shift to black, and I send up the tiniest of prayers that Davies really is too busy having his world rocked by getting me and one of my Bonds that he won’t notice what the hell I’m doing.
I need you to tell Kieran to play along.
Gryphon’s response is immediate and desperate sounding, WHERE ARE YOU?
I take a good, hard look at Davies as he turns back to us, my breath catching in my throat, but he’s too busy eyeballing Kieran like he’ll find my name branded on his skin if only he looks hard enough at him, so I take the chance to keep the conversation going for a moment longer. Life or death situation here, Bonded. I need you to hack into Kieran’s brain RIGHT NOW and tell him to play along, or your second is dead. Do it. I’ll contact you again the moment it’s safe. I swear on our Bond.
There’s a slight pause and then Gryphon says again, his blinding rage at me and this situation we’ve found ourselves in making my ears ring, How did you know I can reach him? How did you know my Gift had grown that much?
I want to slump in the chair against my restraints in relief but that would be too obvious, so instead, I send one last message before I block him out entirely again. A lucky guess. I’ll keep him safe, Kyrie too. I’ll let you know the moment it’s safe for you to come get us. I’ll come back to you all, I promise. Tell North I didn’t run.
I don’t know why it’s so important to me to tack that onto the end there, but I do, stupidly thinking that at least if Silas loses his mind and kills me off, at least North might… believe that I wasn’t the worst choice for a Bond.
God, what a depressing thought.
I see the exact moment Gryphon gets through to Kieran. His shoulders square up, ever the obedient second in command. It’s a much better look on him than the pissed off, bloodied TacTeam member who wants to murder me, that’s for damn sure.
Davies finally decides to actually do something and walks over to Kieran, grabbing him by both arms and pulling him onto his feet. His bad leg doesn’t support any of his weight, lolling out, and he grunts a little as he’s probably blinded by the pain. I wish so badly that I could heal him, or take his pain away from him, but he’s not actually my Bond, no matter what I tell Davies, so there is nothing I can offer him.
Davies doesn’t notice his leg, or doesn’t care, and starts one of his usual honeyed monologues. “A Transporter. I’m a little disappointed at how mediocre that is. I was expecting something magnificent, to be paired with a beauty like you. I suppose I’m stuck with a Healer, so it makes sense that we can’t all be once-in-a-lifetime powers. Still, I can’t say I wasn’t hoping for more.”
My bond flashes to the forefront of my mind again, not liking the way he’s speaking about our Bonds, even if he’s got the wrong guy. It doesn’t throw a tantrum or act spoiled the way it has for weeks back at the Draven mansion, and for once, I feel safer with it taking the reins for a bit. It always did do whatever was required to keep me alive, whole, and sane.
Kieran stares at Davies blankly, nothing showing on his face now that he’s playing the good soldier and following Gryphon’s orders. I feel oddly proud of him for not cowering in the face of this terrible man… but he also probably doesn’t know the extent of his evil.
Not the way I do, anyway.
Davies shoves him to his knees at my feet again and though he grimaces, Kieran doesn’t make a noise at the pain that’s very obviously shooting through his body. I look at him now that my bond is at the helm, safer now that Davies can see the cold and aloof look of my void eyes because he’s never seen the hungry look in them before… he’s never seen me look at my Bonds and make demands of them.
Mine.
God, I miss them all already. What I wouldn’t give to be sitting in a stupid Gifted 101 class with Nox snarling up at me, or sitting in the dining room with North making demands and Gryphon ignoring my existence. I’d take all of their bullshit right now to be back there with them.
I really have fallen.
Davies stares at me, watching my bond peruse Kieran and deciding it’s not just a show put on for him, and the victory in his grin makes me feel sick. “Little Render… you’re going to Bond with him, and then we’re going to test you out all over again. God, how I’ve missed your screaming.”
And then he leaves the tent, leaves Kieran on the ground at my feet, and me chained to my chair with cold, black, void eyes.
