Page 25 of Powerless

Blair archer

Ace Elway

Braxton hale

Hera Colt

Sadie Knox

My eyes scroll down the list of names quickly.

And then my heart skips a beat. Maybe a dozen.

Because the final name scrolled in large letters for all to see is far too familiar.

Paedyn Gray

ChapterNine

Kai

Blood seeps through my shirt.Some of it mine, though most of it belongs to the Silencer—which is what I still have to call him since the bastard refuses to even give up something as insignificant as his name. Even despite howpersuasivemy actions can be.

In short, I’ve been torturing the man for hours. I’ve made zero progress, and my small amount of patience is now nonexistent. I’m annoyingly amazed at how much torture this man can tolerate, although, I suppose that pain becomes a familiar thing when you are continually inflicting it upon others. You become numb to it.

The Silencer and I are starting to sound very, very similar.

The dungeons below the castle are dark, dirty, and riddled with death—so at odds with the light, lush castle above. Cells line the walls, some filled with prisoners, others filled with the remains of previous ones.

The Mute lining each of these cells is the only reason I’m still standing before the prisoner, inflicting my own kind of unimaginable pain upon him. Since the material was created with the help of Silencers before the Purging, it’s become extremely rare, forcing the king to hoard it. The Scholars used Transfers with their ability to place power into objects, putting the Silencers smothering strength within materials. Over the decades, this limited supply of Mute has been used to craft cells, cuffs, and shields around the stands within the Bowl Arena.

Other than the Mute cell, I’m also accompanied by my father’s loyal Silencer. Because, ironic as it is, Silencers can silence each other, assuming one of them is stronger. So, I work while the solemn Silencer stands by, and the one at my feet screams.

Without the protection that the Mute and Silencer offer, I’d likely be rolling on the floor in agony. Again. I can’t stop replaying the scene in my mind, remembering the pain splitting my skull. The utter helplessness as I lay there, completely at the mercy of a mere man.

But then she showed up.

Paedyn.

A Mundane. A Psychic, a fighter, a thief. And yet, the only one willing to help for whatever reason. The only oneableto help.

Or so she says.

Although I’m skeptical, her demonstration was impressive. She shouldn’t have known about the Scorches, the banishment, the fight—any of it. And seeing that I don’t know a single thing about Psychics, nor have I ever encountered one, I can’t exactly prove her wrong. There are dozens of powers I have yet to witness, considering that my training consisted of mostly Offensive abilities. Father made sure I never wasted my time, stooped so low as to learn the powers of lesser Elites.

But even in my haze of pain, the glimpses I caught of her fighting were captivating.Shewas captivating. Yes, she was skilled, but what intrigued me most was how much emotion she channeled into each blow. The passion packed in each punch; the rage rolling off her.

I take one last look at the bloodied, slumped man in the corner of his cell before turning to my father’s Silencer. “I’m done here, Damion. You’re free to go.”

Wiping my bloody hands on my already bloody shirt, I step out of the cell to stride down the long hallway of the dungeon, passing glaring prisoners as I go. I make my way up the stone stairs leading to the main floor of the palace and nod to the Imperials stationed beside the heavy metal door at the top.

The king will be expecting an update of what I’ve learned from the interrogation, which happens to be absolutely nothing. I steel myself for the unpleasant conversation we are about to have.

Far too soon, my feet find the worn rug that covers the floor of his study, a victim of being paced and trampled on for years. My eyes roam over the large desk and cushioned chairs before settling on the two individuals sitting near the stone fireplace.

Relief washes over me at the sight of my brother. His blond hair is messy, like he’s been running his hand through it for hours, mirroring father’s ragged look.

“Well, someone’s been...playing with the prisoner for quite some time now.” Kitt’s tone is dark, but his eyes brighten when they land on me.

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