I sit down, and when the Bleeder asks for my arm, I roll up my sleeve and let her search for a vein.
“Did you drink enough water this morning?” The Bleeder beside me is trying to tease a vein out of Cole’s arm by flicking his inner elbow.
“Yes,” Cole croaks. I grimace at the half-full bottle of water beside him.
I focus on the Bleeder now drawing my blood and say, “I’ll give for my brother today as well.”
The Bleeder stops trying to extract a vein from Cole, unfastens the strap and tells him they will try again tomorrow. Cole fixes his gaze on the floor tiles while he fiddles with the cap of his water bottle.
Jax, however, gives me a stern look. I know I will be here longer than the others, so I sit back and try to relax and avoid a stiff back.
When the others finish drawing blood, they head to the mess hall.
“Can I stay?” Jax asks the Bleeder, but they place a hand on their gun—a warning.
Athreat.
With a clenched jaw, Jax storms out.
My brother still hasn’t looked at me. Instead, he exits the room after Jax with his head down.
There is only one Bleeder with me while all the others have left to do what Bleeders do: package our blood and send it off to the Undercity.
The room is hollow without them—spaces filled with red coats take on strange shapes. Sterile containers, blood bags, empty sacks, and used needles coated with our blood rest on trays next to every chair a Feeder once sat in.
I wonder about Bianca.Did they take her somewhere safe? Or is it a nightwalker settlement? Are they waiting for her to give birth so they can take her baby away?
Before long, a few Bleeders arrive to clean up the mess. I turn my gaze to the ceiling. I miss watching a television screen. Even though it was a constant reminder of someone I’d rather forget, I’d prefer that to silence.
The silence feels louder than a scream.
I count the ceiling tiles to wind down the clock. After the fifth time, an overwhelming fatigue sets in. As blood flows into a blood bag, my heavy head lolls…
Then I slip into unconsciousness.
Heat bites into my cheeks, and I open my eyes. Strands of pale yellow light cast across the valley with the morning sun. Blades of grass rustle in the breeze.
It is ethereal here.
Peaceful.
I don’t burn. There is a part of me that is real. Alive. Through my beating heart, life spills into my veins.
I lift my hand to the sky and let the sunlight pour through my fingers and?—
Clink, clank.
A clattering sound jolts through my body, and my eyes fly open. I scan the ceiling for the source of the noise, but I don’t hear it again. It was a sudden drop, like the sound of thunder followed by calm.
Is the nightwalker still here?
I look over at the Bleeder. “Did you hear that?”
She doesn’t respond.
I steady my gaze back to the ceiling and inspect the tiles. Did someone drop something in the airshaft above? The metallic sound reminds me of our steel cups filled with water.
“One minute left,” she says, her voice slightly higher than most Bleeders. My focus lands back on her. Was this Bleeder a good person before entering the Feeding Ground? Maybe someone who tended a garden and bakedtreats for her neighbours? She has that kind of voice—sweet and sugary.
