Page 84 of Nyx
Reyessleepsbesideme,with his arm under his head and his breathing steady. Rest does not come so easily for me. This place holds so many memories, and none of them are good. They clash in my head, each trying to come out the victor.
One memory in particular wins. With a sigh, I slip to my feet, making sure I didn’t disturb Reyes before I wander towards the edge of the forest.
“Don’t go too far,” Ronan calls, “and stay where I can see you.” I glance back at where he perches on top of the van and nod so he knows I heard. My feet carry me forward, ducking between trees until I find the bush I’m looking for. I kneel beside it, huffing a quiet laugh through my nose as I peek underneath. There’s nothing there.
I didn’t expect there to be.
My gaze drifts to a thick tree thirty feet to my right, remembering the scratch of the bark against my back and poke of twigs against my bare feet. Leaves crunch behindme in that cautious cadence I know by heart, and Reyes kneels beside me. “I didn’t mean to wake you,” I say.
“You didn’t. Not at first, at least.”
“Why are you awake, then?”
He takes my hand in his, weaving our fingers together as he brings my knuckles to his lips for a kiss. “I felt your pain.”
My eyes close as I fill my lungs with a deep inhale, and with the familiar forest surrounding me, I can almost believe that I’ve fallen back in time. “What’s special about this place?” Reyes asks, and I open my eyes and gesture at the bush.
“Not this place. Just this plant.”
“What happened here?” he asks, so, so gently. I'm quiet for a long time as I reach to my side, like I could feel the comfort of her fur between my fingers even now.
“After Ronan and Cameron freed me, I don't remember much. It was like a haze, leaving that tent. As awful as it was, it was home. It was all I knew. I did not know them, or if I was making the right choice. But then she saw me, and ran to me. Comforted me when I needed it, and told me they were safe. All those years later, she remembered me.”
“She?”
“Boomerang. She did not have a name when I met her. I did not even know what sort of creature she was, but she was my first friend.”
Four Years Prior
A trickle of blood slides down my arm, its path diverted by the raised scars on the inside of my elbow. My weakened body hasn’t healed from their rough needles. They plunge them into my veins without a care to how much it hurts.
I should be numb to the stabbing pain after all this time, but on days like today, when the hues of my skin are more blue and purple than green, I can’t ignore it. Whatever they injected me with has made my vision fuzzy. A white halo closes in, its light serving as a blinder. It keeps me from seeing anything except what’s directly in front of me.
Hours we spent out there. The sun was too bright with the effects of this poison, and my limbs were too weak to hold myself up. Instead, I sprawled in the mud as I tried andtriedto do what they asked of me.
There’s something special here. My body and mind recognize it, sensing the pulsing energy that comes from this place. But no matter what I do, nothing ever happens. No matter how much I concentrate, or how hard I dig into the traces of magic inside me, it’s always the same.
Disappointment and anger.
Punishment.
Whatever they’re doing here is awful, because they wouldn’t waste this determination on anything noble. It must be dangerous. Catastrophic.
And still, I want to give it to them.
I’ll grant them their evil if it means I could have a second to rest. A singular moment when this life isn’t filled with angry words and needles, or fiery medicine injected into burning veins. A reprieve from fists and shoes, bruises and broken bones because I’ve disappointed them all yet again.
I’m desperate for this relief, despite the consequences.
It makes me a coward, but I’ll gladly wear the title if I can just rest. At one point, I’d like to think I wasn’t one, but that was so long ago I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be brave.
To be anything but scared.
A guard enters the tent and slides a bowl of stew through the tiny opening in my cage. Broth splashes across the dirt floor, but he’s unbothered by the mess. I suppose I’m unbothered by it, too. My hands are caked in filth so thick it chips off my skin. I reach for the bowl anyway, desperate for some food, but a glint of metal just outside my cage catches the evening sun. My food is forgotten.
A key.
I stare at it, even as hunger pangs slice through my gut. I learned long ago to ignore the stabbing sensation, and my fixation on the object numbs it further. It feels like a test—a way to determine if that long-lost bravery inside of me is only boxed and buried deep, or if my courage is truly dead.
