Page 92 of She Who Devours the Stars
Eventually, the door hissed open. A medtech. She wore her nervousness like a second badge, the corners of her lips turned down just enough to suggest she was bracing for impact. She kept her gloves on as she checked the IV, even though protocol said direct skin was safe post-containment.
“Vitals are good,” she said, not meeting my eyes. “How’s your head?”
I ran a hand through my hair, then realized half of it had fused into a single, unbreakable wave. I shrugged. “Feels like someone poured a bowl of instant noodles into my cerebellum and then set it to max soak.”
She tried not to smile. It didn’t work. “That’s a common complaint.”
“Bet you get a lot of complaints in here.”
The medtech adjusted the drip, eyes still on the numbers. “You stabilized faster than anyone expected. The Headmistress is… impressed.”
I snorted. “That’s one word for it.”
She nodded, then hesitated, just a second too long. I caught it.
“You don’t have to be scared,” I said, rolling my shoulders. “I’m not going to explode.”
She looked up, and for a moment the professional mask cracked, showing the raw, scared kid underneath. “They said the last one talked a lot, too. Before she… before the walls started to go.”
I grinned. “If I go, you’ll be the first to know.”
The lights dimmed, just a hair. It was subtle, but I felt the air thicken, the dampeners kicking in as my heart rate crested the threshold. The medtech saw it, too, her eyes flicking to the readout, then to me.
“Are you in pain?” she asked.
I thought about it. My body felt stretched, like I’d been growing for hours, days, but the real ache was deeper. “Not pain. Just… noise.”
She fiddled with the drip again, then smoothed her gloves, lingering on the motion. “Would you like a sedative?”
I shook my head. “I want to feel it. Whatever it is.”
The lights brightened again, the system’s uncertainty mirroring her own. She cleared her throat. “The last thing you said, before you lost consciousness—”
“Yeah?”
“You said, ‘tell her I survived.’”
I almost laughed. “She won’t believe you.”
The medtech half-smiled, then punched a note into her pad. “Rest. If you need anything, page.”
She left. The door slid shut, and the absence she left behind filled the room like a second, denser air.
I laid back and let myself breathe, listening to the pulse of the building through the walls. Under the artificial silence, I could hear the wiring, the conduits, the flex of thermal expansion and the minute oscillations of the dampening field. My brain catalogued each one, mapped it, then filed it away for later. I was aware of every atom in the room, and for the first time, the awareness wasn’t a burden. It was a map.
But under all that, another sound: a low, steady hum, familiar but not. The echo of someone else’s presence. A hunger.
I put my hand on my thigh, right where Fern’s hand had been. I told myself I was just remembering. But the warmth lingered, impossible and permanent, like a brand. I traced the spot, found it tender, not quite a bruise but close. I pressed harder, testing whether it would fade. It didn’t. If anything, it pulsed back, alive under my skin.
I closed my eyes and let myself replay the moment. The way Fern had touched me—not rushed, not desperate, but with the kind of certainty that said she could have taken more if she wanted to. The restraint in it, the promise. I tried to remember if I’d begged, or if I’d just surrendered. The difference seemed important. I decided it didn’t matter.
I rolled over, face buried in the pillow, and let my body ache.
I waited for the System to suppress the feeling, to drown it in the chemical nothing they always prescribed for new mythics.
It didn’t. The System just let me hang there, vibrating on the edge, every sense tuned to a frequency I hadn’t known existed.
I was hungry. But not for food.
