Don’t come.
The thought forms automatically.
Don’t come.
I know the bond doesn’t work that way. I know Varek can’t hear my thoughts the way some mates can, but that doesn’t stop me from trying.
Don’t come.
Don’t be stupid.
Don’t walk into this trap just because they’re hurting me.
The guards drag me upright again. This time they use a baton.
The first strike smacks across my thigh with a cracking snap. Pain flares instantly. The second hits my shoulder, and the third slams into my ribs again.
Every blow drives the air from my lungs. Each impact feels like it might finally be the one that breaks something important.
I grit my teeth and force my mind somewhere else—the warehouse, the canal district, Varek standing in the morninglight with that stubborn, infuriating patience of his while he waits for me to stop being angry at him.
Don’t come.
Please don’t come.
Another hit follows. Then another.
Eventually they stop. Not because they’re tired, but because they’ve decided that’s enough for now.
One of the Glowranth crouches beside me and grabs my chin, forcing my head up so he can study my face. Blood drips from my lip onto the stone.
“Still breathing,” he says.
His companion shrugs. “For now.”
They drag me back onto the cot, the movement sending fresh lightning through my arm. I nearly black out again.
Time blurs after that.
They come back.
Leave.
Come back again.
Each visit is the same.
Blows.
Pain.
No questions.
The worst part isn’t even the injuries. It’s the waiting. Knowing exactly what they’re doing and being powerless to stop it.
Hours pass. Or days. My sense of time dissolves completely.
At some point I wake to the sound of voices outside the cell door. Two guards are talking. I’m too exhausted to move, so I lie still and listen.
