Page 48 of Dark Night of the Soul

Chapter 18 | Anna

I awoke to the strong medicinal scent of the room and nearly gagged.

Light pressed against my closed eyes. And when I opened them, I saw I was in the same place. The same ceiling tiles. Fresh. New. Perfect. The same lights burning overhead. Humming. Buzzing. The same IV stuck in my arm. Cold.

My body felt different. Heavier. My limbs were lead. My throat was dry. But there was no pain.

At least, not yet.

I lay there listening to the hum of machinery. Tuning my senses to my surroundings. There was no one else with me. That was likely by design. They wanted me to wake, confused. Perhaps they wanted me to lash out, defiant.

I was neither.

I was calm. Controlled. Restrained.

And deep down I knew that wasn’t mine. That was… not me.

I should have been afraid. I should have been screaming. I should have been trying to rip out the IV and leave.

I should feel something.

There was only structure. Clean edges.

I tried to make myself panic. To find that place inside me to react.

I pictured Kincade in chains. His wrists bloody. The way he looked at me before they took me.

My pulse didn’t spike. My breath didn’t hitch.

The mental image merely filed itself away. As though sliding into a file folder to be referenced later if needed.

That’s when I knew. They made me into something else. I knew that was the plan. But my mind—still fogged at the edges—refused to accept it. To understand it. To believe it.

There was no bandage around my head. No stitches. They did not shave my head. They did not cut me open. Only a slight pressure. A headache that sat too deep to be ordinary.

Whatever they’d done hadn’t required opening me up.

Minimally invasive. Guided. Laparoscopic.

They wanted me whole, intact, functional.

Ready to deploy. That’s what Sebastian said.

Terror arrived, crawling through my gut in a heated punch. I was no longer the same person. Forever altered.

There was a hot tightness in my cheek. Like the wound had closed but started to fester. Like they wanted to keep me wounded as a reminder of what they could do.

The door opened. The shuffle of feet. Someone checked my vitals. The nurse, I realized. I recognized her eyes as I looked up into them. She avoided my gaze.

“I’ll let him know you’re awake,” she said, as if I had any say in the matter.

Her voice was quiet. Lilting.

A moment later, Vormund returned. He leaned over me, his gaze flickering across my face looking for—what? What was he looking for? Weakness? Fear? He would get none of that from me.

His jaw tightened for a flash of a moment, then relaxed. Like he was pleased with the results.

“How do you feel?” he asked.