Page 17 of Unseen Eye
His words trail off as he sees the depth of my confusion and terror. I scramble back, pressing myself against the headboard, my eyes wide with panic, everything around me spinning out of control—the darkness, the voices, the jagged memories tearing their way back into my mind.
Garet stops, giving me space, his expression a mix of urgency and concern. “Eva,” he pleads softly, his voice tinged with desperation. “We need to understand why they attacked the village, what they were after.”
“Kendry?” I whisper hoarsely, my voice cracking under the weight of grief.
Garet’s face falls, and the sorrow in his eyes returns with a devastating force. “He’s gone, Eva,” he says softly. “I’m so sorry.”
“No,” I protest, tears welling up and blurring my vision. “No, this can’t be happening.”
But Garet’s words smash through any fragile hope I was clinging to. Anguish twists in my gut, quickly morphing into a sharp surge of anger. “Where. The. Hell. Am. I?” I demand, each word cutting through the air, thick with disbelief. “How did I gethere?”
“Eva,” Garet says, his tone suddenly gentle, as if he were speaking to a child. “Please, calm down. You’re not the only one with questions.”
“Why didn’t you save him?” I accuse, my voice trembling with raw emotion. “You were there, Garet. Why?”
Garet meets my gaze, his own anguish painfully clear. “I tried,” he whispers hoarsely. “I tried everything I could, but... I couldn’t save both of you.”
“This can’t be real,” I murmur, shaking my head as disbelief tightens its grip. “None of this makes any sense.”
Garet’s eyes flicker with something unreadable, and I seize the moment. “Where are they? Finn and Nessa?” My voice trembles, barely above a whisper. “Did you see them? Are they safe?”
He hesitates, his face a mask of conflict. “I don’t know,” he finally admits, his voice low but steady.
The world tilts. Nessa’s face flashes in my mind—her bright smile as she teased Finn about his mismatched socks, the way her kind, steady eyes always seemed to anchor me when everything goes sideways. The thought of her gone, of her hurt, is unbearable. “You don’t know?” I repeat, my voice rising in pitch, filled with disbelief and anger. “You dragged me away, and you don’t even know if they’re okay?”
“I had to get you out,” Garet says, his tone urgent, trying to explain. “There was no time. If I had gone back—”
“You don’t get it!” I cut him off, my voice breaking as the tears spill over again. “They’re my friends! My family! I can’t just leave them behind!”
His jaw tightens, his frustration evident. “I’m trying to save you, Eva. I’m doing the best I can!”
The guilt is suffocating, a lead weight in my chest. My legs threaten to give out as the enormity of the situation crushes down on me, making it hard to stand, hard to breathe.
A wave of nausea sweeps over me, making it hard to breathe. My chest feels tight, my heart pounding as if it’s trying to break free. I clutch my head with both hands, as if that could somehow stop the flood of chaotic thoughts racing through my mind.
“How could this happen?” I choke out, my voice rising, teetering on the edge of hysteria. “How could any of this be real?”
The room closes in on me, the walls pressing down as the horror of what Garet has said sinks in. My hands tremble uncontrollably, my whole body shaking. It feels like the ground is falling out from under me, and I’m desperate for something—anything—to hold onto.
A heavy silence settles between us, thick with grief and unanswered questions. Garet steps closer, his hand reaching out, but I pull away, the chasm between us growing deeper with every passing second.
“I need to know what is happening,” I demand, my voice trembling but resolute. “Tell me everything.”
Garet gestures toward an adjoining room. The plush chairs and inviting couch stand in stark contrast to the tension between us, but I choose the chair opposite him, needing the physical distance to steady myself.
As I settle into the chair, I can’t help but notice how everything around me is—well, green. The furniture, the drapes, even the rug.
“It’s like a garden threw up in here.” The attempt at humor falls flat, barely cutting through the suffocating tension.
Garet leans forward, his hands clasped tightly, his eyes fixed on mine with an intensity that feels like it’s unraveling every layer of my being. The weight of his gaze sends a shiver through me, the kind that curls cold in your stomach and refuses to settle. “Eva,” he begins, voice low and relentless, “what I’m about to tell you will sound impossible. But I need you to trustme—no matter how much it tests you.”
The silence between us is tense, thick with things unsaid. My breath catches as an odd sense of dread creeps through me, growing denser with each heartbeat. “Right,” I manage, though my pulse is hammering.
Garet watches me, gauging whether to go on, then draws in a deep breath, the faintest weariness leaking through his steady tone. “Aetheria was… shaped by forces far older than you or me. Divine beings who answered prayers and brought prosperity. Their power wasn’t just the stuff of legend.” His gaze sharpens. “It was real.”
A laugh catches in my throat, but it dies under his steady, unflinching expression. “Real? Like Thalor, the goddess who turned spring leaves to autumn gold, and Valtris, the great warrior?” I shake my head, bitterness slipping out before I can stop it. “Those bedtime stories?”
His jaw tightens at my tone, but he only nods.
