I gather Darius has had a minimum twenty-four hours of disrupted rest. Possibly more.
“Good morning,” Idris says. His voice is gentle, but I sense an alertness. “Sorry, we got here late.”
“You’re not late,” Darius responds, his tone clipped. “I considered calling you both here earlier, but I had to discuss matters with Father first.”
“What happened?” Idris asks, sounding urgent.
“At 4:13 a.m.,” Darius says, “security reported Jonathan Wazowski running down Deck Two, barefoot and partially dressed.”
My grip on my tablet tightens by a fraction. Jonathan. Jon. Subject Two. I want to ask what happened to him, but Darius is still speaking.
“Security attempted verbal contact,” Darius continues. “He did not respond. They assumed panic or sleep disturbance. When they intercepted him, they realized he couldn’t respond. He was physically unable.”
Idris’ brows draw together. “Unable how?”
Darius’ gaze doesn’t waver. “His tongue was missing.”
The ship feels as if it’s tilting again. Sound recedes behind a high ringing noise in my mind. For a moment, all I feel is my own body. A sudden rush of heat up the back of my neck. Cold spreading up my arms. A constriction in my chest that makes air feel thick.
I register each symptom like I’m observing someone else. But it hurts to breathe by force.
“Em,” Idris whispers from somewhere beside me.
His hand rubs my back, fingers firm and warm through the fabric of my lab coat. It’s meant to ground me, I’m sure. My mind recognizes the intention. Yet my fingers feel too stiff around my tablet.
I try to push the sensations back, away from the front of my thoughts. Yesterday, there was space to do that. Today, it feels rather crowded in my head. As if every feeling I shoved aside has pushed itself against the same door, waiting to burst out.
I can’t tell which one will push through first. Fear, guilt, confusion—all of them stack on top of each other, leaving little room in my mind.
“Is he alive?” Idris asks. “Is Jon alive?”
“Yes,” Darius says. “He’s been in the MedBay. Stable for now.”He flips open the stack of papers on the table. “He’s under observation.”
He’salive. For a moment, my lungs remember how to pull in a fuller breath.
“The security feed shows he moved under his own power,” Darius continues. “He navigated the corridors of Deck Two well on his own, eventually alerting security. He followed their verbal prompts to stop, to sit, to accept assistance. Motor function is still intact. Visual tracking appears intact as well.”
Beside me, Idris breathes out slowly. I hear some of his strain leave with it.
“But as I’ve said, Jon can’t speak,” Darius adds. “We’ve given him pen and paper to communicate with us.”
“What has he shared?” I ask. My voice comes out thinner than I’d like.
Darius flips to a page and reads it. His eyes scan quickly over the lines. “He reports falling asleep at approximately 10 at night. A typical time, according to his prior logs.”
That matches the previous nights. My mind clings to the consistency. Bedtime routine stable. Sleep onset typical.
“Around 4 in the morning,” Darius goes on, “he woke up, feeling unusually groggy. He says his vision was ‘swimming’ and that he had trouble breathing.”
Idris’ thumb draws circles on my back. “And then?” he prompts.
“He realized he was choking,” Darius answers. “There was a sensation of fullness in his mouth. He tried to swallow and couldn’t. When he put his hand to his lips, he saw blood on his fingers.” Darius pauses to sigh, jaw working with his frown. “He reached further into his mouth and realized his tongue was cut out, presumably in his sleep.”
My tongue presses reflexively against the roof of my mouth. Jonathan woke up to the absence of it. Bile rises at the back ofmy throat. I swallow it down, but the burn remains.
“He states he doesn’t remember pain,” Darius says. “Only panic and confusion. I’d add shock to this list. He writes that he ‘stumbled to the door’ and ‘couldn’t scream’, so he ran.”
“Did he see anyone?” Idris asks. “Hear anything? Anything unusual yesterday?”
