Page 84 of Fated in A Time of War
They’re still close to the camp. Digging. Searching.
And they think I’m just a package to shelve until they’re done.
They couldn’t be more wrong.
I pretend to sleep, even though the clamp on my wrist sends lightning up my arm every time I shift too far. My shoulders throb, the skin beneath the restraints raw and burning, but I stay still. Breathing slow. Controlled.
The lights overhead buzz in cycles—low hum to high whine, then back again. Not enough to be a timer, but enough to keep track of how long the silence lasts between footsteps. I’ve counted four shifts already, which means it’s well past midnight. Or what passes for midnight in this floating tomb.
The guards rotate every few hours, like clockwork. One leaves. The other lingers for a beat longer than necessary, always checking the bolt-lock, like I’ve magically grown the strength to twist steel in my sleep. I don’t waste time glaring at them anymore. The anger's burned through and calcified into something harder. Something colder.
Now I listen.
Breath. Boots. A cough. A sigh.
Small things. Things that say more than words.
The second guard exits, boots thudding down the corridor outside the bulkhead, and I exhale slow, like I’m shifting deeper into sleep. But inside, my mind’s a knife.
I know what I’m going to do.
The ceiling-mounted camera stares down at me like a single glass eye. I don’t know if it’s transmitting live, or just recording. Maybe it’s dead. Maybe no one’s watching. But maybe...
Maybehe’swatching.
My mouth is dry, lips cracked, voice hoarse from silence, but I lift my head just enough to whisper.
“I’m still alive.”
My voice is soft, but steady.
“Come find me.”
It’s foolish. Desperate. Might be nothing but dust blowing into dead air.
But I say it again.
Because maybe he’s out there.
And somehow, Krall is hearing.
He’s tracked signals like this before. Picked up voices on war-torn planets from half a continent away. He once said Vakutans can feel the pulse of comms through their bones if the frequency is just right. If he’s listening, if he’s close… maybe this reaches him.
I rest my head back against the wall. Close my eyes again.
The tears threaten at the edges, but I don’t let them fall.
Not tonight.
Not for them.
I’m not giving these bastards the satisfaction.
And I won’t break.
They’ve taken too much already—my freedom, my patients, my hope.
But they can’t takehim.
