Movement from behind me pulls me from my thoughts, and I find Walker re-entering the room with a device in his hand.
“What exactly are we doing in here?” I grunt, dragging my free hand through the ends of my hair,which are starting to stiffen from the blood clinging to strands. My other hand holds onto the clipboard as if my life depends on it.
“We need to collect their stats,” he explains, not lifting his head from the device in his hand.
“What stats specifically?” I push, eyes narrowing as I try to understand what it is we’re supposed to be doing.
“Vitals, bloodwork, and their overall condition,” he states, looking at me with a sigh. “Then we can break down who needs the tanks to heal and recover.”
I blink at him.
Heal and recover?
What are they doing to them to require that?
“You can do it while I sort a few things out. Don’t worry, I won’t be leaving you unattended,” he promises, handing me the thick pen-shaped device. “All you have to do is press the tip against the pulse point in their throat. The screen will tell you everything you need to know. Make a note of it, then we can reassess our next steps,” he explains, tapping the clipboard, and I quickly realize the blank spaces after the initial information are there to collect their data. Nodding, I don’tbother to answer him as I trudge to my right, opting to start a full circle of the room from this spot, but before I can do anything, Walker’s voice carries through the air. “Make sure you take note of it all: their vitals, bloodwork, condition scaling, and their overall heal tank recommendation,” he reiterates, and my eyebrows furrow in confusion.
“Shouldn’t they eat? That would help with their recovery. What are you feeding them?” He looks at me funny, tilting his head slightly. “What?”
“They don’t,” he grunts, scrubbing the back of his neck, as if he can’t stop himself from feeling the tinges of embarrassment at that statement. It takes everything in me not to rear back in blatant disgust. “The vials give them everything they need,” he explains, like I know what he’s referring to. I can’t look at him, my emotions will be on full display, so I glance at the room once again instead, truly taking in their condition. “It seems you don’t know your brother as well as you thought you did,” he adds, almost a hint of amusement lilting his tone, but I don’t find the humor.
Sadly for me, he’s wrong. I know my brother well enough to know that these are kind conditions. I’ve seen the alternative.
“Is that why you’re his loyal servant?” I ask, ignoring him as I return my attention to the woman before me.
It’s no surprise when Walker doesn’t answer. He can’t. Neither can I right now.
Instead, I crouch down, focusing on the lady leaning against the wall. Her legs are crossed in front of her, her fingers laced together in her lap, but it’s that familiar bleakness to her gaze that tells me just how wrong all of this is. As I move closer, she tilts her head, offering me the spot she knows I need to press the device against. Thankfully, I don’t have to apply too much pressure for the screen to flash with a reading and her name.
I hurry to jot down the details so I can give her space again, but her demeanor doesn’t change as I move. Quickly enough, I’m shuffling along to the next prisoner, writing down their vitals, and before I know it, the next person is Jenkins.
He doesn’t meet my stare as I press the device against his throat, and all I can hear is the thundering of my pulse in my ears. I didn’t know him long, but it was enough to form a bond, a connection.
When you’re awaiting your punishment within The Sanctum, you become reckless, like spilling allof your truths before you cease to exist, or fucking the most beautiful girl in the bathroom, certain you’re never going to see the light of day again.
I told him things.
He told me things.
Whispers of what life could have been, the pain and reality we had to carry, but it was the hopes of freedom that became the hot topic of conversation. And although he’s not dead, this is no life of freedom either.
The device beeps in my hand, confirming the data is available. The moment I press the pen against the paper, his head tilts toward me.
Peering up through my lashes, I find his gaze fixed on mine. He wets his parched lips before parting them. “I never thought I’d see the day, brother,” he rasps, the sound so hoarse I dread to imagine how long it’s been since he last spoke. Or is this the consequence of my brother’s actions? What has he done to him?
“What the hell is all of this?” I whisper, and he cocks a brow at me, but the challenge in the move isn’t as sharp as I’ve seen it to be.
“You tell me,” he retorts, raking his eyes over me, and it takes everything in me not to shuffle back from his unwavering stare.
“Ithought you were dead,” I murmur, and I’m sure I spoke too quietly for him to hear before he subtly shakes his head.
“I wish I was.”
His gaze bores into mine, pain radiating from every inch of him, and I think I’m going to be sick.
“What’s taking so long?” Walker grunts from the door, startling me, but I manage to keep my composure as I fill in Jenkins’s details.
Despite the burning in my chest, I rise, moving on to the next person without a backward glance, acutely aware of the man at the door accessing my every move.
