Page 1 of Fractured Memories

CHAPTER 1

EDEN

The lights overhead flicker. It’s subtle enough, but given how on edge I already am, it draws my attention immediately. I’m not supposed to be at the cages right now. Shit, I’m not supposed to be this far down the mountain. Something I’ll surely hear about later.

I set my jaw as I level my gaze on the man in front of me, blood already dripping down his face. For such a large guy, he shouldn’t already be sagging against the restraints. “Don’t make me ask again.”

He coughs, blood dribbling down his chin, but doesn’t answer.

The lights flicker again, and it’s enough to pull my gaze away from him. I glance to the door, knowing my guard’s eyes are already on me. “What is that?”

“I don’t know.” I can read his face so well that I know he doesn’t want to admit it. “Maybe we should go up⁠—”

We’re plunged into darkness as the lights go out altogether.

My stomach drops. I knew that it was a risk to be down here. I knew that it would get me into trouble—just not this kind. I thought that I would be fine, that everyone else was too paranoid.

I guess, just this once, I was wrong.

“We need to get you out of here.” The voice—the guard—is familiar. One I know I should trust. “I never should have brought you down here without⁠—“

The door slams open, and I can’t see a thing. I react on instinct, pulling out my blade and sinking back, looking for the wall that should be at my back. But people are pouring in, the air choking me, and my senses are nearly blind now.

I know I take down a few bodies from the grunts and thuds, the slick warmth on my hand that I easily recognize as blood. I only have a flicker of worry that stabbing blindly will hurt the wrong people.

A low whistle catches my attention, directing me. It’s an easy way for us to communicate in case of situations exactly like this. I answer back with my own, trying to fight toward the noise. But he doesn’t answer. He doesn’t give me another guide.

Where the fuck is⁠—

“I got her.”

A low and gruff voice says right as a muscular forearm wraps around my throat, and I do everything to break free. But this guy is no amateur, and even stabbing my blade into his thigh only earns me a grunt.

Something cool and wet covers my face, sealing perfectly over my nose. I thrash more aggressively, not daring to breathe as I kick the handle of the knife, trying to get him to loosen his grip.

But he holds out longer than I can. His arm tightens on my throat, and my lungs are on fire. I have to breathe, despite knowing the chemicals I’m about to inhale.

I thrash and kick, but there’s no way out. Not when I’m lightheaded, and without even a conscious thought, my body overrides my mind, and I suck in a deep breath⁠—

My body jolts awake, sucking in long, deep breaths. My mind is whirring, trying to make sense of what just happened. It felt so real, but as I glance around, noting I am in a darkened room of some kind, I realize that I must have been dreaming.

My lungs still burn as I fight to get my breathing under control. My eyes are quickly adjusting, and I don’t recognize where I am. Not one bit.

My head is throbbing, and when I try to remember what happened, a pain shoots through my skull. I clutch it in my hands, breathing through my nose as I fight off a groan and wave of nausea.

No idea where I am. No memory of how I got here. In no condition to fight. Just fucking great.

When I finally feel steady enough to move, I shift, taking in my surroundings. It’s not a room like I originally thought. It appears to be a large tent with minimal furniture inside.

Across from me is the flap, which is closed but not zipped shut. Based on the light seeping through—which looks to be coming from a fire, not the sun—someone is outside of it. Even without knowing where I am—or being able to make sense of the dream I just had—my body is screaming to tread carefully.

On silent feet, I climb out of the bed. I don’t like not having a weapon on me, but I can’t risk making a noise to go rummaging for one. Instead, I strain my ears, trying to hear anything.

“...should give us enough time.” The voice is deep and raspy, not one I’ve heard before.

A second, gruffer one answers, and there’s the slightest tinge of recognition when I hear it. “You really think that we’ll have that long? He’s probably looking for her now.”

I’m not certain, but it feels like they are talking about me.