My heart slams against my ribs. “I don’t?—”
“Don't play ignorant with me,” she snaps. “The entire chamber is buzzing about it: some kind of magical surge in the dragon pens.”
Before I can respond, she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a small glass vial filled with black liquid.
“Drink this,” she orders. “Now.”
I recoil. “What?—”
She catches my jaw in a painful vise-grip. “Just drink it if you value your life.”
The raw intensity in her eyes—it's enough to make me reach for the vial with trembling fingers. I uncork it and raise it to my lips.
The liquid burns like fire as it slides down my throat, tasting of ash and metal. I choke, fighting the urge to spit it out. Is this poison? Some kind of execution method that leaves no trace?
But as the burning sensation spreads through my chest and into my limbs, I don't feel weaker. Just different… in a way that I don’t have time to fully process.
Selen snatches the vial from me the moment I’m finished drinking and stows it in her pocket. Then she grabs a lens from one of the shelves, grips my arm, and pulls me back into the corridor—where Zeriel waits, eyes fixed on me, dark and piercing, as though he could peel the truth straight from my skin.
Selen's mask of cold indifference has returned so completely that it gives me whiplash and I almost doubt the fear I just witnessed. “Now that we’ve collected the correct lens, we may proceed to the main chamber,” she explains coolly, to neither of us in particular.
With that, she leads us through the main doors into the processing chamber, where the familiar nightmare of my arrival awaits: the sterile tables, the ominous equipment, the clinicalefficiency of technicians who see other fae as mere objects to be cataloged.
Two white-coated bog fae stand beside the scanning device—that strange, articulated arm with its crystal-tipped probe.
But it's the figure sitting in a chair behind them that makes my blood freeze. Commander Marrek himself, hands clasped over his lap, observing the proceedings with cold interest.A commander supervising an individual scanning? How can what I’ve done threaten them this much?
I glance at Zeriel and catch a subtle crack in his mask: a flicker at the corner of his eyes, a tautness in his shoulders. But if this is my last hour, he’ll shake it off quickly. He’s ruthless enough to carve his way to victory with or without me.
“Four-Three-Seven,” Selen announces, her voice echoing in the chamber. “Step forward for examination.”
I move to the marked spot on the floor, fighting to keep my breathing steady.
“What is the purpose of this examination, Handler?” Zeriel asks, his voice carrying just the right note of cool curiosity.
Marrek answers instead, his silver-streaked head tilting slightly. “Routine security, Champion Caelith. We've detected... anomalies... in certain areas of the facility.”
Well, that confirms Zeriel’s theory.
The technician activates the equipment, and the crystal-tipped arm begins to hum with energy. As it sweeps toward me, I feel an unnerving pressure building behind my eyes, like something inside me is straining against invisible bonds.
“Remain still,” the technician instructs as the crystal passes inches from my face.
I stand frozen, terrified that any movement might betray me. The crystal glows faintly as it moves down my body, the light pulsing in rhythm with my heartbeat. Can they see it? Can they tell something's wrong?What did Selen even give me?
The detector pauses at my chest, hovering there longer than I remember from my first examination. The technician frowns,adjusting something on the control panel with his long, tawny fingers.
“Is there a problem?” Selen asks, stepping closer.
“Interference pattern,” the bog fae mumbles. “Common in recruits who've been in close proximity to dragons. The residual energy can sometimes mask the readings.”
Marrek's eyes narrow. “Increase sensitivity.”
The crystal’s glow intensifies, and the pressure behind my eyes builds to a near-unbearable throb. I grit my teeth, struggling to keep my composure as something deep inside me twists, writhing like it’s trying to break free.
From the corner of my eye, I see Zeriel shift his weight, but he doesn’t step closer.
The detector completes its circuit and returns to its resting position. The bog fae studies the readout, his deep, lined brow furrowed.
