When I wake, the first thing that registers is a pair of eyes, staring into mine from ten inches away. I think of how odd they appear, of how terrifyingly familiar. At the idea, my brain awakens all at once and my heart lurches, slamming against my chest.
Not this!
Doctor Sting straightens, pulling his sour milk breath away from my nose. I’m lying on a bed with white covers.
“Good,” he says with a smile that reveals his squared-off teeth.
Whatever is capable of giving this creature pleasure can’t be good.
“She’s awake.” He addresses someone whom he regards sideways with those goat-like eyes of his. I refuse to look in that direction and stare at the false ceiling instead.
My mouth is bitter with fear. Images of endless, empty corridors flash before me—the passages that will, once more and forever, become my prison. I won’t be able to claw my way out again. I know it. My arms jerk protectively toward my chest. The covers rustle and I’m surprised to find I’m not restrained.
“Hello, Azrael,” an unmistakable, accented voice says from my left.
Elliot walks to the foot of the bed and regards me with raised eyebrows. His gold-flecked gaze sparkles with satisfaction.
He’s still alive. He’s still alive.
My throat closes. The rhythm of my heart becomes anything but steady. A whimper tries to force its way out of my mouth, but I cage it behind clenched teeth. Death was too much to wish for. Death, I don’t seem to deserve.
“Shall I be on my way?” Doctor Sting says, his words an almost incoherent noise to my ears.
“Sure, sure.” Elliot waves dismissively.
Doctor Sting walks away from the bed. My eyes dart around the room looking for his implements. He reaches a door. I imagine a closet full of pokes, knives, and cattle prods. But when he opens it, it’s just a regular door—one he uses to leave.
My whole body sighs with release. Whatever they plan to do to me won’t happen just yet. As my gaze reluctantly moves back to Elliot, I notice another person in the room: Lyra, sitting on an armchair. She acknowledges me with a curt nod, then stands and takes her place behind her boss. I remember Lamia rushing in my direction, but Lyra getting there first and knocking me senseless.
Fear returns, rolling in waves, crashing against the pit of my stomach with nauseating force. They watch me with small smiles on their faces. And I know I’ll melt into a puddle of tears and blood, if they don’t stop staring. My cowardice embarrasses me. After all I’ve been through, I should be tougher than this, but all I can think of is the one thing I won’t have.
A quick, painless death.
“Your performance last night was noteworthy,” Elliot says.
Oh, I’m sure it was. He has taken note, and I’ve been found exceptionally disappointing. I don’t even want to imagine the punishment he has in store for me.
“You will serve as an example to everyone,” he adds.
So that’s what I’m to be. An example. A reminder of what happens to those who dare get in his way. My gaze flicks to Lyra’s green, round eyes. There’s a strange vibe in them that doesn’t feel quite right.
“Sounds grand,” I tell Elliot, my eyes cutting back to him, my voice steadier than I imagined possible.
Elliot tilts his head to one side, looks at me with amused curiosity. Behind him, Lyra puts a furred finger to her lips, indicating I should stay quiet. The gesture is odd. Not like a warning to keep my mouth shut, but a request to guard a mutual secret.
Slowly, I push up on the bed, look around. The room is clean and private—not like the barracks or the basement. The walls are painted a cheery shade of green. The bed is a regular bed, not a cot or a torture chair. There are paintings and lamps and armchairs.
My attention drifts back to Lyra. Her mouth tightens ever so slightly, as if repressing a smile. What is going on?
“You saved my life, Azrael,” Elliot says. “Of course it is grand. Our faction owes you a big debt.”
I saved his life?
“Lyra told me how valiantly you fought against those IgNiTe rebels and how you stopped Rooter. He went quite mad with rage in the end. Some of those large bullets actually pierced my car. If you hadn’t intervened in time, I loathe to think what would have happened, where our faction would be at this moment.”
My mouth forms a big “O”. I press my lips together and try my best to look smug, rather than shocked and incredulous and stupefied.
“That crazy son of a bitch,” I say, voice shaking. “Made him eat his own tusk. That, I did!”
“That, you did,” Elliot says, looking a bit put out by my response.
If he was expecting Crazy Azrael to have died alongside Tusks, he’s asking way too much out of his “example”.
“Well,” he claps his hands together, “I simply wanted to offer you my thanks.”
“My pleasure,” I say with a smile.
I can oblige any time, Elliot. Much more easily now that I find myself under your good graces.
But I guess I shouldn’t get ahead of myself, not without knowing what game Lyra is playing. And what about Lamia? What role does she play in all this?
“I’ll be on my way,” Elliot says. “Make yourself comfortable. You deserve a rest.”
He turns, gives Lyra a nod and walks out. She follows him, but before exiting the room, she mouths the word “later” then closes the door behind her.
I collapse back on the bed, wincing at all the parts that hurt.
Well, that was unexpected.
I close my eyes and try to tell myself that, today, it’s okay to sleep.
It doesn’t work, though.
Not when the sting of failure and questions about Lyra drive me to restlessness.