Helovesme.
This is a nightmare, and I’ll wake up.
I have to wake up.
He loves me.
“Xen,” I whisper with a sob, and my voice splinters, breaking on his name.
Tears blur my vision, streaming hot and relentless down my face as they drag me farther away, my heels scraping useless furrows in the tile.
“Take me back,” I plead. “Take meback!” A scream rips from my throat, louder and wilder, raw,animal, and full of everything I can’t name.
Betrayal burns like swallowed fire, confusion claws at the inside of my skull, and the sudden, brutal realization hits me that the man I love is letting them take me.
He’slettingthem pull me away.
My chest caves in, ribs collapsing around a heart that’s being torn out while it’s still beating. Every breath is a knife, every heartbeat agony. I fight harder, my arms straining against the zipties until they bite bone deep. Sobs jolt my body as I pour every ounce of my energy into breaking free, but it’s all in vain.
This is a battle I won’t win.
The van doors loom ahead, open and waiting like a grave, and I’m sure I’m dying as they shove me inside.
My body slams against the metal floor, but I scramble up, lunging for the gap in one last, desperate attempt. The doors crash shut, and the lock snaps with a sound that feels like the end of everything.
I throw myself against the metal until my arms and shoulders are bruised and bleeding, screaming his name until my throat is raw. Through the narrow window, I see Xeni standing in the doorway.
Still just watching.
His face is a mask, but his hands… they’re shaking. One fist presses to his mouth, like he’s holding back words, or a scream of his own.
Then the van starts moving, and he turns away.
Slow, deliberate, shoulders rigid.
He walks back inside.
The door closes behind him.
And just like that, he’s gone.
Xeni
Phantomsensationsshootthroughmy head. The blinding mid-morning sun is rising right where I’m trying to scout, and I’m convinced it’s trying to sear away my vision. My hand flies up to shield my face, but it takes a few seconds to clear the green bursts from my line of sight.
It doesn’t hurt, exactly. Eyeballs don’t have pain receptors, though I wouldn’t recommend losing one for the sake of scientific discovery. The injury itself doesn’t actually feel anything; my brain simply hasn’t caught up with reality yet. Every time it wants me to focus, it signals something that no longer exists.
The ensuing short circuit isn’t pleasant. Blurred vision and thumping headaches, along with dull pressure spread like Elas’s fingertips across my head.
Thatpart hurts.
My fingers slip underneath the eyepatch and trace the sunken skin behind it, but I pull myself out of my head. I force the memories back into their box and squint at the wall again.
Years have passed since I was last here. I don’t know what’s changed, or what’s been reported about me. For all I know, the military believes I was killed in the attack at Ljómur.
It’s the best-case scenario.
My body wasn’t there, but the wreckage was absolute. Plenty of remains were buried under the rubble, and there’s no question some were destroyed beyond recognition.
