CHAPTER NINE
CASSIA
The drop to my bunk is like sinking in thick tar—not that I would know what that’s like—every muscle crying out in protest. My body feels like a patchwork of bruises sewn together with threads of unending exhaustion. I’m a marionette with frayed strings, a vessel filled with elastic pain that snaps with each tiny movement.
Stars above, I never knew a person could hurt this much and still be conscious. Or alive.
Sleep beckons me, promising sweet oblivion from this agony, regardless that the mattress might as well be made from rocks for all the comfort it provides my battered muscles. I want nothing more than to surrender to it.
Unfortunately, I must shower first.
The thought alone requires more effort than I can muster. Showering means standing upright. Standing upright means engaging muscles that are currently staging a full rebellion against their owner.
Not to mention the risk of encountering other recruits. Men. Naked. The thought sends a fresh wave of anxiety through my already overtaxed system.
I can only delay so long. The now-dried grime on my skin is like a second layer of clothing, one that’s gradually bonding to my actual flesh. My best chance at privacy will be to wait until the others have retired for the night, so that’s what I’ll do.
At least they gave us soap—simple, unscented bars that do the job. Enforcer efficiency extends even to personal hygiene.
Shifting to more appropriate activities, I scan the food I’ve hauled back. It’s a veritable feast by my standards—double portions of the protein stew they were serving, three bread rolls dense enough to be used as weapons, and a small mountain of steamed vegetables that smell a bit medicinal. Plus extra water.
With a groan that sounds more animal than human, I force myself vertical. The room spins a moment before stabilizing, and I drink half the water in desperate gulps. As I eat, I admire the items I managed to sneak out of the dining hall.
The best thing about having no companions means others are rarely looking for or at me.
I’d noticed a small container of ice wrapped in cloth near where the meals are prepared. I pilfered a handful of mint leaves, two small spoonfuls of salt, and a single slice of aloe from a potted plant in the corner. The staff would have noticed if I’d taken more, but these items are exactly what I need to prepare a simple salve.
My fingers, clumsy with fatigue, work to prepare what my mother taught me years ago.
“Mint contains menthol,” I murmur to myself, grinding the leaves between the back of a stolen fork at the bottom of my water cup. “Menthol activates cold-sensitive TRPM8 receptors in skin cells, producing a cooling sensation that blocks pain signals.” The mint releases oils, encasing my small room with a sharp, clean scent that calms my nerves. I melt just enough ice to create a paste with the mint. “Salt draws out inflammation,”I continue, adding a precise amount to my mixture. “It creates an osmotic gradient that pulls excess fluid from swollen tissues.”
The aloe enters last. “Aloe contains ecemannan, a complex carbohydrate with anti-inflammatory properties, plus enzymes that reduce swelling and stimulate blood flow to damaged tissues.” I really need to stop talking to myself.
After stirring the mixture, it thickens—not the ideal salve, but it will serve.
The process drags up unwanted thoughts of home. It’s not that I don’t wish to think about my family, it’s that ithurts.
What has their reality been like since I left? They must be worried sick while keeping Lachlan hidden, afraid he’ll be seen and reveal there are two of him. What story would they have concocted to explain his absence to neighbors or his employer? I didn’t specify where I was leaving to, only that I was…
And my mother. Stars, I’d be surprised if she was sleeping at all. I imagine her lying awake at night envisioning all the terrible fates that might befall her daughter.
I press the heels of my palms against my eyes, stuffing away the pressure that’s built behind them. I knew leaving would be hard for me. I didn’t fully accept how it would devastate them, and the horror of that realization settles over me, causing a tear to slip free. Followed by another.
I swipe at them angrily. This is pointless. I’m tired and overwhelmed, my emotions bubbling too close to the surface after suppressing them so hard. When I’m stressed or overstimulated, these feelings rise like flooding water, threatening to drown me. I’ve always been this way, though I don’t have the time for this right now.
I suppose it’s better to let it out here, instead of risking a breakdown in front of the others. I allow myself a few more silent tears, vexed at my weakness while acknowledging its necessity.
My head whips around to a sharp knock at my door.
I freeze, my heart suddenly hammering against my ribs. For an endless moment, I can’t move, can’t breathe or think.
The knock comes again, louder this time.
“Open up, recruit,” a voice demands. Elias?
My mind races through possibilities, each worse than the last. Room inspection? I’ve been too careless and someone saw me take the supplies for my salve, so he’s here to drag me away. Shit.
My hands scramble to hide the evidence of my identity—shoving my notebook and the salve under my blanket, wiping my face dry, and gathering my hair into bun.
