Page 190 of Cerulean Truth
“My name is Logan,” he said politely, still smiling. “Logan Stark. I’m First Offensive, trained in Area 4. I apologize for the rough manner in which we brought you here. I would have preferred a more natural approach, but given your formidable protector and our looming deadline, our options were limited.”
Logan? The name didn’t…feel right. I wanted to respond, but my mind felt dulled, hazy.
I tried to move, but my limbs were stiff and unresponsive, like I’d been stripped of any physical control. Fear edged into my thoughts, urging me to make sense of this.
"I feel... weird," I managed, uncertain of what else to say.
Logan nodded, his expression flat and emotionless. "Yes, you're experiencing the last remnants of sedation, necessary to ensure your arrival here."
Sedation?What the heck?
"We had hoped to complete our mission while you were still under, to return you none the wiser, but it seems we need you awake."
"Thanks for that. I’d hate to deprive you of all my charm and wit." Oh, look at that—my sarcasm decided to show up.Worst timing ever.
Logan’s brow lifted in surprise.
As if a switch had flicked on every light in my brain, I asked, suddenly more lucid, "What? Never had a talkative captive before?"
He shrugged. “No, but there are easy ways to make that stop, so I’m not too worried.”
I swallowed hard, his clear threat sparking a rush of adrenaline. Keeping my voice steady, I replied, as dryly as I could, “Keep talking like that and I might prefer whatever you have in mind.”
To my surprise, he let out a short laugh, a faint glimmer of amusement breaking through his otherwise cold gaze.
“Careful what you wish for, miss Thompson.” His eyes flicked to my left, then back to my face. I frowned and glanced down, following his gaze. Only then did I notice my left arm—bandaged.
My hand instinctively reached to lift it.
“I wouldn’t do that. It hasn’t healed yet,” Logan cautioned.
Dread filled my stomach. I tore the bandage off and gasped in horror as I saw what theseanimalshad done to my arm.
Logan shook his head. “I told you not to do that. It looks a lot worse than it is.”
Tears welled up in my eyes. My arm wasmangled. It looked like I had partied with a great white shark, who’d been high on X.
"I'll arrange for a Healer to check it again later. Don't worry, when this is over, you won't even have a scar." His mouth was forming the words, but his features clearly hadn’t learned how to lie. I willed my tears to stay put, ignoring the lump forming in my throat.
I attempted to lift my arm but it felt numb, as if it were disconnected from the rest of my body.
Reminding myself that my wits were all that could get me out of this situation, I tried calm down.
Although, there was no harm in translating the growing terror I felt, maybe bleed out this asshole. I centered my attention on the increasing anxiety, but the noticeable void of my projection left me reeling. I attempted to home in on the fear, but I couldn’t discern the boundaries of my energy. Why couldn’t I translate?
As if Logan could read my mind, he casually remarked, “You’ll find you won’t be able to translate just yet. Don’t worry, the sedation is wearing off as we speak.”
I swallowed, resisting the tightening grip of unfiltered panic seizing me.
“When it has, all physical movement will come back to you as well,” he finished.
“What the hell do you want from me?” I whispered.
Logan replied coldly, “What weneedfrom you, is your secret.”
I frowned. “My secret?”
“Don’t play dumb, miss Thompson, it doesn’t suit you. We bled you almost entirely dry, trying to figure out why your translation wouldn’t be picked up by any of the LiaPrisms. But as far as we can tell, your blood doesn’t differ one bit from ours.”
