Page 64 of Cage of Starlight
So that’s where Sena gets the wretched nickname. “Yeah.”
“I am an officer. You will address me as such.”
“Yeah . . . sir,” Tory drawls, because fuck if he’s going to acknowledge the guy’s rank.
“You are well on your way to being fitted with one. If I lodge a complaint, you’ll need only two more marks on your record until you, too, are assigned an Overseer. That won’t take long if I don’t want it to. Are you aware of the device’s function?”
A kill-switch. “Yeah.”
Kirlov’s gaze slices through him.
“Yes, sir,” Tory corrects himself.
Kirlov lifts his wrist. He touches the dial.
Sena’s shoulders go up, chin ducking. Tory’s stomach plummets at the uncharacteristic display.
“Perhaps you are. I certainly can’t know what you’ve heard. But words are only words, Seed. You need to see in order to understand what you’ll have to look forward to if you don’t shape up. Lieutenant,” Kirlov says. “Don’t you agree?”
Sena pauses, swallows hard. By the look on Kirlov’s face, he pauses too long.
“Yes, Sir,” he whispers.
Tory found such perverse pleasure in creating a rift between Sena and Kirlov when he first met them. Now, his insides twist with sickness, and Kirlov is Sena’sOverseer, and Tory desperately doesn’t want to find out what that entails.
Kirlov sighs, and at the same time Sena hauls in a frantic, shuddering breath, turning away as if from a blow. His eyes meet Tory’s for a single, terrible moment.
Kirlov’s long fingers stab at one of the buttons on the watch, then he twists a dial around its face.
Sena goes impossibly straight and still. A sound starts in his throat, like he’s trying to breathe out and can’t. A rending, high-pitched keen makes goosebumps erupt on Tory’s skin.
Before he can open his mouth to ask what’s happening, Sena drops. The keening turns to an awful scream that cuts off almost before it starts. Kirlov, expressionless, twists the dial higher. On the ground and on his back with his eyes wide open, mouth stretched wide with no sound coming out, Sena jerks like he’s seizing.
The bile-bite of fear paralyzes Tory, rips strength and thought from him. His knees hit the ground, the impact making his teeth clack.He extends a hand—curls it into a fist and draws it back. He doesn’t know what todoto make this stop.
The keening starts up again, broken by ragged exhales with no inhales, and it’s wrong, all wrong. Sena’s not actuallybreathing, his skin bluish, tendons corded in his neck, spine arched like he’s trying to break himself in half. Blood paints his lips like he bit them on his way down.
At last, he stops. Everything. His eyes close, his body relaxes, and he falls limp.
Kirlov takes a measured step forward. “Arknett. On your feet.”
He tries, but he can’t tear his eyes from Sena’s too-still form. Fear is a shrill thing in his ears, a pins-and-needles chill in every limb.
“On yourfeet.”
He manages it, stomach rolling.
“Look.” Kirlov gestures down at Sena, like a man might gesture to a pile of garbage discarded a few feet from a bin.
It’s wrong to look at Sena from above like this.
“Lookat him.”
Tory complies. Frozen-pale, chest still, Sena lies lax like a corpse, the blood on his lips startlingly bright.
“This is what you have to look forward to if you don’t shape up. It’s a graceless state, even more base and vile than your current one. I or another Overseer will be able to bring you to heel in an instant. This is merely a sample of a NOVA’s capabilities. I could have let it go on for longer, but prolonged exposure can sometimes cause them to lose their bowels, and the last thing I need is to have to clean up after any of you.”
Tory holds his breath only a fraction as long as Sena has held his, and his chest burns with it, blood hot with panic and vision narrowingto the third button on Sena’s jacket, just above his heart. He wills it to move.
