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She fucked me over and I'm innocent in this.
I just need to hold on.
"Tick tock, Oberon. We can do this all day."
"Clock's broken," I reply, my voice a hoarse whisper.
"Fix it."
"Need a better mechanic."
"Or a better incentive."
"Shop's closed."
His fist connects with my stomach, and I fold as much as the restraints allow, coughing, spitting out the metallic taste that floods my mouth.
"Last chance," he says, the false kindness dripping from his words like venom.
"Make it count."
Silence falls between us, heavy as the chains around my wrists. He's waiting for me to crack, to plead, to bargain. I do none of those things. Instead, I focus on the pain, let it fill me up, let it remind me of what's at stake.
"Very well."
The electricity doesn't come this time. Instead, there's the scrape of metal on metal as the shackles are unlocked. I'm hauled to my feet, legs unsteady beneath me. He shoves me toward the door, and I stumble into another room, toward a swinging yellow light.
I blink in the semi-darkness, my eyes adjusting to the single bulb hanging from the ceiling.
Then I see them.
Star's things scattered on a metal table: her scarf, a paperback she loved, her hairbrush...a pair of light purple underwear. My fists clench at the sight, the familiar anger boiling in my gut.
"Like what you see, Vega?"
"Go to hell."
"Maybe later. For now, get her scent, for old times' sake."
I lunge for the scarf, pressing it to my face. Her scent is there, beneath the grime and fear. It's like a punch to the chest, that smell. It's home. It's war.
It's a beautiful girl in a place called Dreamland--a place where she didn't belong.
"Enough of this," I growl, dropping the scarf.
"Feeling motivated yet?"
"Always was."
"Then let's see it. Show us that Eclipse spirit."
"Watch and learn."
My fingers close around the paperback, thumb brushing over the creases in the cover where her hands must've held it ahundred times. The memories flood back, unbidden–her laugh, her defiance, her fire.
I love her, she's a victim.
She left me.
