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Grey stepped back, closed his eyes, and took a deep calming breath. Calm down. Think.

They didn’t want them for the Hunt—at least, that’s what it seemed like since the doctor didn’t give a shit about Noel and tried to use him as trade bait. And even then, Grey’s focus had been so fixated on Doctor Cavan, he’d traded with him before it could reach Noel—and before Trin used his sciomancy to knock him out and drag him away.

He half-turned toward the door to find Trin’s shadow lingering under the handle side. Grey slowly made his way over, wincing at every little sound he made. A gentle press downward on the handle, and Trin moved. Grey shuffled back.

“It’s locked,” Trin said quietly. “Lay back down.”

Grey didn’t move, twisting his bound wrists as he gathered up the courage to speak. “What do you want with me?” he rasped, immediately feeling like that was the wrong question as he recalled Doctor Cavan’s question he supposedly didn’t answer in the basement. “What did he mean when he asked what I was?”

Trin remained quiet for a moment, the frame complaining like he was leaning against it. “He was asking you if you’re a changeling.”

“Changeling?” The word tumbled out in surprise. “I-I’m not?—”

“We know.” A calm, gentle reply. “You wouldn’t have been able to heal when Cavan used iron if you were.”

“I don’t understand. Why are you keeping me here? Please, I?—”

“Keep your voice down,” Trin said, his voice low and urgent. “If Cavan hears you, he’ll have me put you back to sleep.”

Grey’s shoulder’s fell, hope bleeding out of him as he stared at the door—a physical manifestation of the prison in his dream. His hands curled into fists, fed by that slow-building frustration that strained against his restraints. He yanked on the handle again, pushing down on it with all his weight.

“Grey,” Trin warned, sternness lacing that even tone. “I already said it’s locked.”

Tears sprang to his eyes from the ever-increasing pressure. First the Calling, then the Hunt, now Doctor Cavan and his twisted ideas—whatever they were. He let go, his arms shaking as he collapsed to the floor.

“Would you like to go back to sleep?” The question sounded like his uncle asking if he wanted to be left alone for a while.

“No,” Grey sobbed. “I want to leave. Where’s—” He choked back Noel’s name, fearing they might try to use it against him in whatever way they planned on using Grey’s.

“Your friend?”

“Where is he? Is he okay?”

Trin’s boots scuffed against the floor. “He’s fine for now. Bandaged and upset, but fine.”

He sniffed, careful to brush his eyes against his hoodie sleeve. “You’re going to kill him, aren’t you? So why keep me?”

The lock clicked, and Grey’s head jerked up in time to blink back light pouring in from the hallway. Trin’s frame blocked it as he slid inside, pulling the door shut behind him and crouching in front of Grey. His gloved hands rested in his lap, his shadowed features a blur of blacks, dark browns, splashed on a bronze canvas in Grey’s vision.

“The more questions I answer, the more noise you’re going to make,” he said softly. “So, you can either lay down on the mattress and be quiet, or I can put you under until tomorrow.”

Warmth slipped down Grey’s face, his stomach churning from the mere idea of digging his fingers into this man’s flesh and letting his hemomancy take control. He wasn’t even sure how far he’d get before Trin knocked him out anyway—his touch would likely win out in a matter of seconds.

So, Grey bowed his head and crawled back to the mattress, watching as Trin rose. His hand rested on the door handle for a good twenty seconds as they locked eyes, Trin’s gaze filling with remorse.

And then Grey was alone again.

9

GREY

Mist obscured the creeping greenery of the forest, making the hairs on the back of Grey’s neck stand on end. He rubbed his arms, the soft fabric of his hoodie not doing much to warm him. The light snapping of twigs underfoot echoed with each careful step forward.

Where are you going?

Grey spun on his heel, searching for the source of the voice—a lilting, husky tone filled with teasing bemusement. Fair folk.

Are you lost?

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