Page 38 of Unhinged Omega

But Nikolai just listens quietly, his head tilted slightly as if he's considering my words. "How do you know it's the same monster from your dreams?" he finally asks.

I let out a harsh laugh. "Are you kidding? It's not like he has a common look."

Nikolai chuckles at that, the sound surprisingly warm. "No," he agrees, "I suppose not." He shifts in his chair, leaning closer. "Do you know what it is?"

I hesitate, my fingers playing with the edge of one of the blankets. "No," I admit. "But it's your turn to answer my question. How did you capture it?"

He nods, accepting the deflection. "My men and I ran into it—literally—on our way to Surhiira. It was walking like it had a mission." He pauses, studying me so intently through those red lenses that I feel exposed. "Maybe it did."

Terror churns in my stomach at his words. The thought that my nightmares might have been more than just dreams like everyone—even Azarel—insists, that the monster was actually searching for me all this time...

I knew he was real.

But having itconfirmedis something else.

It should terrify me, and it does.

But a part of me is… relieved?

Because I'm not crazy. At least, not because of this.

"It took out more than two dozen of my men before we managed to subdue it," Nikolai continues. "Had to wrap it in chains and drag it here."

"And now you're keeping it in a pit," I finish for him, trying to keep my voice steady. "Why?"

"Ah," he says, wagging a finger. "That's another question. You'll have to earn that answer."

I glare at him. "I already told you about my dreams."

"And I told you how we caught it," he counters. "One truth for one truth. That's the deal."

I want to argue, but exhaustion is starting to creep in again. The familiar fog that comes after one of my episodes makes my thoughts feel sluggish and disconnected. "Fine," I mutter, sinking back against the pillows. "What do you want to know?"

"Back there, after I pulled you back from the ledge—you're welcome, by the way," he says pointedly, "You said something about giving you back. Were you talking about the Knight?"

"The Knight?" I echo, frowning. "You named it?"

"No, that's just what it's called," he says flatly. "Answer the question."

I sigh. "I don't know what I was talking about, okay? I've been kidnapped, kept in a cramped, dark, tacky,smellyroom, and then I almost fell into a pit with the machine-man hybrid who's been chasing me in my dreams my whole life. I could have been talking about the fucking solstice goose, for all I know."

He snorts at that, clearly getting my reference to the old Vrissian folk tale. About time someone did.

"Fair enough." He pauses, growing serious once more. I think I like it better when he's just an asshole. "You have those episodes often?"

I bristle at the reminder. It's a subject my family, even my mother, has always been content—no,determined—to ignore. Like it'll just go away if we never talk about it.

And for a while, it did.

At least for them.

I just learned to hide it better.

To say I needed to go to my room because I didn't feel well, or dismiss the post-fugue haze as the consequences of a bad night's sleep.

But that's the thing about embarrassing secrets. They never stay buried forever. Eventually, they catch up with you.

They're a lot like monsters that way.

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