Page 9 of Klaus

4

Ainsley

Ican’t wait to get back to where things make sense.” Leslie nearly glowed, she was so pleased.

I could all but feel the excitement coming from her in waves so strong they nearly knocked me over. Or so I told myself. I’d been known to give in to flights of fancy, of course, so I took even my own opinion with a grain of salt.

“What’s so sensical about home?” I asked, leaning back in the seat with my head turned in her direction.

Oh, I was tired. So very tired. It seemed a monumental struggle to even keep my eyes open. Yet I knew if I tried to sleep, if I rested my weary bones in a bed or even lowered the seat back a bit and slid a mask over my eyes, sleep would evade me as surely as night fled from day.

“You’re crazy,” she laughed, waving a dismissive hand. “You miss it as much as I do.”

That I did. I missed the way it was before, however. Before we’d been attacked and sedated and spirited away. Before they had done things to us.

We never spoke of it, Leslie and I, and I didn’t know that we ever would. Weeks had already passed since our liberation, and not a word had been spoken of what was done to us while we were in our separate cells.

Was she waiting for me to start the conversation? Or was I waiting for her?

Did she even have anything to share with me? What if nothing had happened? What if she hadn’t been changed at all and it was only me? I wished I was brave enough to ask.

Asking would lead to questions. Why did I want to know? What had been done to me?

I couldn’t tell her. Couldn’t tell any of them. And I’d known them my entire life—our existences were the same, or as good as. I’d never been truly alone. There had always been someone to talk to, no matter the subject.

After all that time, I’d finally found something I couldn’t share. The knowledge of it weighed heavy on my heart.

“I do miss it,” I admitted, smiling softly as I remembered. “The mists in the valley, before dawn. The way the sunlight paints the land as the morning begins, inch by inch, and the light spreads and flows like water over the trees. And Dunsapie. I miss it, too.”

“I miss the air. Don’t you miss the air? And flying. My dragon’s been screaming for days, sometimes so loud, I swear I can’t hear anything else for the noise. She’s dying to fly.”

“Mmhmm.” I closed my eyes, bringing an end to the conversation.

I’d have to pretend to be asleep if I wanted to get out of discussing things any further. I made sure to keep smiling even in my false sleep. Anything to give Leslie the idea that I felt peaceful and content.

The way everyone else seemed to.

Why couldn’t I be like them? Why was I the only one?

I’d been watching them all so closely, dissecting their every movement, every glance, every word. I knew them as well as I knew myself, all of them, and I surely would’ve noticed any changes, if there were chances to be noticed.

Nothing. I’d seen nothing.

Certainly, we’d been a bit sluggish on leaving the laboratory. It had taken several days for all of us to get our energy back, to feel even slightly clear-headed. It was like walking through a fog, or a waking dream, until whatever had been injected into our bodies left them.

It had been quite a relief, being able to think clearly again.

Until I realized what was missing.

I’d thought at first that I’d only imagined it, that the lack of a second ever-present voice in my head was merely an effect of the drugs. Something was blocking my dragon. Or silencing it. But it would come back once the drugs wore off.

This was a perfectly good excuse.

Until the drugs wore off and the voice was still silent as ever.

It still hadn’t come back.

I had lost my dragon.

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