Page 328 of Eight of Swords, Part Two

‘OK, just twenty minutes.’

‘Good.’

‘I made a mess of her room.’

‘I will clean it up.’

Tears slide down his nose. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me.’

‘I know. I’ve got you.’

‘Not useless, and even if you were, we would still love you.’

Danya firmly escorts him to his own room, draws the laminar alloy-threaded curtains across the window to smother the daylight and then pulls the covers over Lachlan when he settles.

‘Everything is going to be OK,’ Danya tells him.

And Lachlan trusts him, so he believes it.

It’s really that that’ll gut him later.

✴

He’s dreaming about sharks.

The alarm finds him underwater.

A high, mechanical note pierces the dark.

Alarm.

Alarm.

ALARM.

Lachlan tears himself awake.

The room is pitch black.

It’s fucking night.

For several seconds, he has no idea where he is or how long he’s been unconscious. His limbs lie dead against the mattress. His tongue is thick, thoughts slow and slippery beneath something chemical.

Drugged.

The alarm continues to scream.

His watch shows ten-oh-six.

He slept for six hours.

Lachlan forces himself upright and his balance fails instantly, vision washing grey before he catches the bedside table.

His rig is lying there.

He doesn’t remember taking it off.

He jams the earpiece in.