He pushed the hair back from my face and lifted my eyelid with a thumb.
I tried to stay unfocused, I did. But when he blew a puff of air into my eye, my gaze automatically fixed on his.
He smiled. “Well, there she is. Aren’t we happy to see you.” He had dark eyes, well-cut black hair, and a strong, square jaw. It was a face I would remember, but I couldn’t place him from any of Brendan’s files. He called over his shoulder, “Find some water, we’ll get her cleaned up.”
“You’re not supposed to be here alone,” the other man said from behind him.
His jaw clenched, but he didn’t take his hand from beneath my chin, didn’t turn from my gaze. “One more and you’re meat, Fisher.”
“Sir.” Fisher turned from the room without another pause. He’d left the door open, and I could hear commotion at the news that I was awake.
“What are you going to do to me?” I asked, my voice rough and cracked.
The man let the pressure off my chin, brushing the rest of my hair back. “Not to worry. It won’t be long.”
The second man reappeared, bringing a damp cloth and a basin of water. He stayed several paces back from me, placing the basin on the floor and scooting it forward with the toe of his boot.
“That will be all,” the one near me said.
“I’m not leaving,” the other replied. The man in front of me turned, and the other added, “Sir.”
My eyes flicked between the two. The dark-haired man must have been a leader of sorts, but it was more than mere rank. His presence was potent.
“Who are you?” I whispered.
He raised a brow. “You don’t already know? How disappointing.”
The sarcasm in his voice was caustic, but when he wiped my face clean, he was overly careful. The rag came away tinged with pink and he rinsed it in the basin.
“Can I have a drink?” I asked.
He brushed the cloth along my arms, streaking dirt and plaster over skin. “Not yet.”
He dropped the cloth into the basin and stood. “I will see you soon, Brianna Drake.”
Both men walked from the room, the second taking the bowl without so much as a glance in my direction. The door banged shut, leaving me damp and alone in the dark room. How many men were outside—fifteen, twenty? It could have been more. How many would it have taken to overcome the Division’s security? How many had been lost there? How the heck was I supposed to scratch my nose?
I blew a puff of air out, wincing at the pain it caused in my shoulder. It did feel better having the dust wiped from my face, but my eyes were still dry, my head throbbing. I closed my eyes and leaned against the wall, trying to clear my thoughts, but I was still too groggy from the drug. I dozed off, waking occasionally to the empty room, but the thirst and the numbness were getting worse.
I yanked again at the bonds, which were now cutting into the meat of my wrists, but the only relief I could find was in shifting my legs. I was counting the hours, but there was no way to know how long it had been. Six hours? Ten? Thirty?
I’d drifted to sleep once more when the door slammed open, and my head jerked to find the noise.
There was no sound outside, but I knew the other soldiers were there. The dark-haired man stood in the doorway, a bottle of water in one hand. He tilted his head to look at me, as if deciding, and then walked the rest of the way in.
He knelt beside me, bottle in hand, and tipped it toward my mouth. I leaned my chin up, head scraping the wall, and drank.
“There,” the man said, pulling the bottle free, “that’s enough for now.”
I sucked in a breath, relieved at having at least something to drink, but desperate for more. He stood, placing the cap back on, and I croaked, “Wait.”
He shook his head, rolling the half-empty bottle in between his hands. “That’s all for now.”
And then he was gone.
I decided in the hours he was away that the next time I saw him, he was going to die. But what came through the door next, was not what I’d expected.
“Morgan,” I breathed, the sight of him—suit clean and pressed, face smooth and calm—made my chest ache with a sudden horror.
He smiled. “Brianna, so lovely to see you again.” He crossed the room to me, stopping the toe of his slick black dress shoes just inches from my outstretched leg, and crouched down to face me.
My chest was rising and falling too fast. How had he gotten free? How was he standing here? What did it mean for the others?
Why had I not seen this?
He wet his lips, reaching a hand up to trace my cheek with the back of his finger. “I hope they’ve been treating you well. I know how unpleasant captivity can be.”
I felt like retching. I couldn’t even think of what had to have happened for Morgan to be free, not to Wesley, not to any of them.
“I can see you have questions,” Morgan purred. “Let me enlighten you.”
He snapped his fingers and a man I’d not seen in my shock moved the chair closer to him.
“Go,” Morgan commanded, sitting casually in the dirty chair. The man disappeared, leaving the door open behind him. I could see light through the opening, large metal pipes low to the ground. It was a factory, but not one we’d been to on our search.
Morgan edged forward, elbows resting over his knees, and said, “It’s given me a lot of time to think, Brianna, being trapped inside their room.” He pronounced my name like he owned me, and I hated it. He leaned back, pulling a thin silver blade from his inside jacket pocket, and my eyes followed the motion as he gave it a twist, balancing the point against one finger and the grip on the other. The metal reflected light from the vents, from the open door. “How could this have happened, I thought,” he continued. “How could Emily have been the chosen, if you had the power to give us?”
He stared into my eyes with a ferocity that made me certain he was trying his sway, and then he shook his head. “I’d known it wouldn’t be easy. Of course there would be opposition. But Brianna, this was more.”
His hand shifted and I caught sight of a long scar across his palm.
He saw me looking. “Yes, it wasn’t a clean extraction, but it doesn’t matter. I heal at extraordinary rates now.”
So he’d been sleeping. They’d saved him during the fight, when they’d taken me, and he’d been recovering. For how long now, how many hours or days had I been strapped here? They were under his command and they were keeping me weak on purpose. For him.
He closed his hand over the blade. “If you would listen to me, Brianna dear, I am trying to tell you something important.” My eyes came back to his. He smiled cordially. “There. Now, as I was saying, I’d heard whispers of it before, when I was a boy.”
“Are they alive?” I asked.
He clicked his tongue. “You are testing my patience, Brianna. Let me tell you the story.”
I waited.
He sat staring at me for a few seconds before starting again, as if to be sure I would actually comply. “I know what the others think,” he said. “But Tarian was my ally.”
It took me a moment to recall where I’d heard the name, but Morgan saw when recognition lit my face.
“That’s right,” he said. “The man they claim was responsible for the death of my father.” He tapped a finger on his leg. “Tarian had things prepared for me, Brianna. He created an army.”
“Morgan—”
He held up a hand to stop me. “Granted, I’ve had to build it up myself since then, but he gave me the tools I’d need to survive.” He leaned forward, a hint of awe crossing his features, and said, “I didn’t believe him. For all those years, I never thought it was possible. They were no more than legend”—he shook his head—“but even lore had them killed off so long ago. There was no living record of them, anywhere.” He moved closer, drawing a strand of my hair between his fingers. “You’re so like her, Brianna.”
My jaw went tight, the wounds at my wrists pulling hard against their bonds. Morgan
closed his eyes, taking in the scent of me. “I should have seen it then. She was so strong, so confident she knew what to do to win. I was a fool. How could anyone have seen the truth, have believed it? But it’s the only way. The prophecy makes sense now, because of the two of you.” His nose brushed my cheek, his breath slow and easy as he brought his lips to my ear and whispered, “Shadow.”
Chapter Sixteen
Secrets
I tried not to react to Morgan’s words, but the shock was too much to hide. A satisfied breath escaped him, brushing my skin. “Yes,” he whispered. “I know why you can do what you do, Brianna. I know how it is that you have the power to give us back our gifts. I know.”
He drew back so I could see his face, but kept his voice low. “And your sister, I understand now why she was the chosen. You are like two halves of a whole. The scales of justice, if you will.” He smiled at his analogy. “Tarian was right, Brianna. And I will have my due.”
His face tightened, and when he straightened in the chair, I could see blood welling in the grip he’d had on the knife. “It wasn’t as if I never expected my brother to betray me, Brianna. But the prophecy, my fate, is not his.”
“What are you talking about?” I tried for some doubt to seep in, to at least give him pause, but it didn’t work. He’d already decided.
“Aern has the power if he has the chosen,” Morgan said. “But without her …”
He smiled again and my eyes closed in defeat. I could feel it. It was over. Everything we’d done to get here, gone. Morgan would win. The world would end in fire. In death.
Metal scraped across the floor and Morgan’s footfalls began to recede.
“If you touch her,” I hissed, “there will be no help from me.”
He stopped, turning back to face me. “Do you know how I escaped their inescapable prison, Brianna?” He slid his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “Brendan.”
He shifted the heel of his shoe on the concrete floor, giving me a moment to let that sink in. “Brendan was so distraught that you’d been taken, and under his care no less, that he rushed to my quarters and tore the door open. I don’t know what kind of little trick you played with the ginger boy, but you didn’t do it to Brendan. And the moment I touched him…” Morgan smiled, emphasizing the ease of his sway, and said, “There is no better leverage than hurting someone you care for, Brianna. You will do as I say.”
The door closed behind me, leaving me in darkness. Alone. I stared at it, the names of those I had lost, those I was about to lose, falling helplessly through my mind.
Wesley.
Brendan.
Emily.
Aern.
Every soldier I’d met at the Division. The entire staff of Council. Every person who had ever helped me would be gone.
But there was one name that didn’t come, one name I couldn’t bear to think of. Because it was probably already too late for him.
When the door opened again, I had no idea how much time had passed. I stared numbly on as the man who’d been called Fisher approached, carrying a basin of water. He crouched beside me, a full arm’s length away, and sat the bowl between us. The damp cloth touched my face, trickling a bead of warm water down my neck. I didn’t look at him when I said evenly, “He wants me cleaned up for him. You didn’t do a good enough job.”
The man didn’t respond, trailing the cloth down my skin as he reached over the basin, arm fully extended. He was staying as far away from me as possible. And he’d come in alone.
I glanced at him sideways. “Where is the other one?”
He didn’t answer.
“Your boss, dark hair, GQ face?”
His eyes narrowed the tiniest bit, but he still didn’t reply, only moved to wash my other side.
I stared at my feet, smudged and dirty. I had full movement of my legs. I could wrap them around him, if he got close enough. If he were to just move within striking distance, I could snare him, a quick twist and snap his neck. Couldn’t I?
And then what? I’d still be tied here. A dead man lying at my feet. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t taking his eyes off me, wasn’t going to move closer. He would leave, without so much as a word. “Fisher,” I whispered, “you know who I am.”
The movement of his cloth faltered, but he didn’t reply.
“Morgan told you,” I said. “He told you all that I was important, that I was a prophet.” I wet my lips, desperate for water, and went on, “But he didn’t tell you what I see.”
The man shifted, drawing his hand back from me, creating more distance from what he clearly thought was danger.
“I see the world end,” I told him. “All of it, in fire and heat and ash.” My eyes came up to meet his, the promise of truth undeniable. “Morgan will bring this future, Fisher. Morgan will be our undoing. Yours,” I whispered, “and mine.”
His hands wrapped around the rim of the bowl, ready to bolt from the room.
“Wait,” I begged. “It doesn’t have to be this way. There are things I can do, things Morgan doesn’t want you to know I’m capable of.”
He hesitated, facing me for the first time with something like curiosity.
“You know,” I said. “You’ve seen it. You hear the rules. No one with me alone. No one else sees me except you and the other. No one but Morgan.” I tilted my head, gesturing toward my legs. “And he left the strongest part of me free, Fisher. My legs are unbound, but my hands, my tiny, useless hands, are strapped to the wall behind me.” I leaned my head toward him, voice low. “You see it, Fisher. You know. I’m just a girl, a hundred pounds of nothing, and he’s got me strapped here. So no one can get to my hands.”
He leaned back, but it wasn’t fear on his face. It was indecision. He was deciding whether to run.
“That’s all I need, Fisher. Get my hands free and I can show you why Morgan hides me, why it’s so important I’m kept from everyone.”
“Fisher!” a voice called from outside the door, its echo muffled through heavy walls.
He stood, knocking the basin in his haste to move clear of me.
Water sloshed free of the bowl, running toward me in a dirty rivulet as he leapt forward to sop the mess with the damp cloth. His fingers were inches from mine, but he didn’t touch me.
“My hand,” I whispered, “my hand.”
He looked up at me then, our eyes level, close enough I could see the color in them, a lush green under dark lashes, beautiful and unnatural. “I can’t,” he said, and I knew it for the utter truth it was. Morgan had instructed him, given him orders under sway. There would be no help from this man.
“Gods save you,” I whispered to his back, “because no one else can.”
I was wondering how long it would take—which of the people I cared for Morgan would be dragging in to bind to the wall across from me, and how he would torture them to get me to obey—when the door came open again. It was different this time, slow and deliberate, and I looked up, waiting for whatever new horror was coming. It was the dark-haired man, GQ.
He strolled forward, chin dropped as he focused on me as if I were a naughty child, an animal that needed to be disciplined. As if he planned to enjoy it. Wiping his hands on a towel, he crouched near my legs, daring me to use them. I had to admit the urge was overwhelming, but there was something that stopped me, some instinct to stay still.
“Brianna,” he admonished, tone low as he shook his head, “you should have known we’d be watching you.”
I froze, not allowing my eyes to find the corner of the room, knowing it was too dark there. I’d already looked. There was nothing to be seen, nothing my eyes could detect. He smiled, somehow knowing the thoughts that rushed through my mind, and tilted his head toward the material hanging on the far wall.
“Doesn’t take much these days.” He tossed the cloth he’d been using aside, dark material damp with something even darker, and tapped a finger to the side of his nose. “Just keep that in mind in the future. Fisher was a good man, he’d have m
ade a fine soldier.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but my heart dropped; the smile and the rag and the words all screaming that it was too late. I’d gotten him killed.
One side of GQ’s face rose when he saw recognition in my expression. “I see we understand each other now. Bring her some water,” he called over his shoulder, and the second man disappeared through the open door. GQ leaned forward, voice dropping to a whisper, and said, “Maybe Morgan isn’t the only one you should be worried about, Miss Drake.”
My heart raced, his warning, his proximity generating a push in me that wanted to tear free and fight. It was too strong, too intense.
“What are you?” I hissed.
He smiled, moving to stand as the second man returned. “Give her the whole bottle. She’s going to need her strength.”
He stepped out the door, the mass of muffled footsteps—a dozen or so men following him—fading as he disappeared from sight. I didn’t drink until I was sure he was gone.
Fisher’s replacement didn’t give me a chance to try and persuade him, simply grabbing the towel and empty water bottle to disappear from the room the moment I was finished. I breathed deep to the sound of the heavy metal door slamming shut and leaned the inch or so my restraints gave me to the side. My hip was better, the drug at least giving me the ability to sleep when I wouldn’t have been able to otherwise, and the swelling on my mouth had gone down. But my shoulder still needed to heal some, so I closed my eyes, not wanting to think about Morgan and his plans for me or the others.
It was a long while before the vague feel of a half-sleep dream came, the far-off sounds of banging, shouting, thunder. And then I jerked, torn back to consciousness by the sound of rapid gunfire outside my room. It grew louder, coming from every direction, a ceaseless torrent of clatter. It didn’t make sense. My mind was convinced that it was already too late for all of us, that Aern and the Council were gone, and I had to force myself to believe, to hope it was true.
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