“Before the pain took hold.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to jumble the thoughts into a pattern.“I heard voices.And then—then a scream.Everything went blindingly white.”
“Hmm.”
“What happened?I whisper, not daring to look at him.
“You said things,” he says quietly.“You spoke in a language that hasn’t been heard in Auria since the Cleansing.And—” He hesitates, removing his spectacles to wipe them with the edge of his cloak.“—and you called a name.”
He leans forward, elbows on his knees, his gaze fixed on me.Heat rises to my cheeks; I shift uncomfortably under the covers, exposed by a truth I don’t remember speaking.
My throat constricts, dreading the answer.“A name?”
An icy calm settles over his features, erasing every hint of emotion.“You called forher.Nyx.”
The way he speaks the name makes the shadows stir—a contained energy humming against my legs.
“That’s impossible,” I whisper.I close my eyes, trying to drag fragments from the haze—heat, light, the taste of copper—but the memories won’t form.
He leans further forward, voice low and cold.“And then you called forme.”
My eyes slam shut, trying to squeeze out the thought.What?Why would I shout forhim?“That can’t be right,” I say, the word thick with disbelief.
“Try and remember what you saw.”
“I can’t!”I shout, the words raw against my throat.
“Try,” he demands, leaning closer.
The command makes me flinch.His thumb presses the same spot Uri’s did, and hatred flashes hot in my chest—my body betraying me by remembering warmth when it should only feel pain.His grip isn’t cruel; it’s desperate.The shadows uncurl, sliding toward his hand to pull him off, but they hiss and recoil, hitting that invisible barrier.
I clench my teeth and glare at him, noticing the flecks of blue and green that shine in his eyes like shards of broken glass.“I told you, I don’t remember.Now—get your hands off me.”
He doesn’t let go.If anything, his grip tightens, his palm rubbing against the burn on my wrist.I bite down a whimper.
“Seren,” he growls.“You have no idea what this means, or what they are going to do to you.”
I pull, and I pull, but his grip is an anchor.
“And what do they want to do to me?”I force the words through gritted teeth.
“Things you cannot imagine.”
“Like what?”
“Something is living inside you,” he says, his voice dropping.“Something we have to get out.”
“Don’t you think I know that?I’ve lived like this my whole life!”I yank my arm back, finally breaking his hold.My breathing turns ragged.He doesn’t move; he stays perched over the bed, his face so close to mine that I can see his eyes glide toward my mouth.
Silence stretches taut between us, neither one of us wanting to be the first to break.I’ve never seen him like this—driven by a silent, jagged fury.
“Fine.I’ve tried helping you, but?—”
“You call this helping?”My lip curls, my teeth bared.“You don’t know the meaning of the word.You’ve done nothing but treat me like an animal, giving me a stylus with nothing to draw on, yet complain when I use the walls as my canvas!”
He flinches.He pulls away, reverting instantly to a soldier carved from marble.He smooths the invisible creases from his tunic, and adjusts his spectacles, as if my words physically struck him across the face.
His gaze finds mine one last time before he turns for the door.He pauses as his palm meets the metal, his back to me.
