Fucking hell.
I’d almost forgotten how delusional they all sound, as though they’re going to love living in the Wild West Dystopia that they’re all gunning for when really… they’ll all probably die for the cause. That man wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice them all to get what he wants.
Ultimate power.
There’s more movement and then I hear one of the women walk away, rustling the tent flap, and then the smell of hot chicken and gravy hits my nose. My stomach rumbles and a wave of nausea hits me, the same as it always does when I wake up from one of these power-use naps.
I blink my eyes a few times as they stream against the harsh lighting and I get a look at both of the women. I don’t recognize either of them, but I catalog their features anyway, storing away as much information as I can, in case I need it later.
Doing that has saved my life many times before.
The older woman is holding out the plate of food and with a downturned mouth, she says, “I’m not going to free your arms to eat, but if you try to stop me from feeding you, I have orders to force it down your throat with any means necessary.”
I shrug and open my mouth. As obedient as it may look like I’m being, the eyes she gives me says she doesn’t believe it one bit.
Hilarious, because I’m too hungry to bite the bitch or attempt to mess with her.
The other woman, who only looks a few years older than I am, watches us both with her hands fisted at her side as though she’s ready to fly over and break my jaw the second I prove myself to be the unruly ‘sheep’ they think I am.
They really have no idea.
I eat the entire plate without a word or complaint, chewing the delicious chicken and gravy while keeping my face blank. I don’t want them to know how much I’m enjoying it, how much I wish I could have seconds. Once the plate is clean, the woman holds a bottle of water to my lips and lets me down the entire thing. It feels like the elixir of life to my dry tongue and chapped lips.
Then the women both leave without another word.
I take a second to look around, but the tent is bare, completely empty, other than me and the chair I’m chained to. It feels a little too familiar. I wouldn’t put it past these assholes to have brought in the exact one I’d spent two years parked on just to mess with my damn head a little more.
That’s kind of ugh, Silas Davies’ thing.
As if my thoughts conjured him, the tent flap parts and the man, the nightmare, himself steps into the space with me.
After so long of forcing myself to not think about him, to not even acknowledge that he exists in the world, it’s weirdly uneventful to see him standing there in his carefully put together outfit. I know for sure that he puts in a lot of thought about how he dresses, a lot of thought on what color he’ll be donning for the day, because I never wanted to see him on days where he’d wear white.
He enjoys the patterns of blood spatters, and there was always a sense of pride in him when he would leave the torture tents covered in the fruits of his labor. I think it also helped keep the other Resistance members in line because between that and the manic grin on his face, he definitely looks like the crazed torturer you wouldn’t want to mess with.
“Little Soul Render… not so little now though, are you? You’ve grown up a lot since you ran off on me.”
His voice is low and melodic. I keep my eyes on his boots for now while I focus on getting my heart rate back down to normal levels and not where it’s currently sitting… which is pounding out of my chest.
I hope Gryphon can’t feel this.
It’s too dangerous to so much as think about him and my Bonds right now, even though I can feel him trying to contact me at the edges of my mind. Of course I know that he’d attempt it, the quickest and easiest way for him to find me is to just ask, but to speak to him now, with Silas in the room? That’s a huge no.
It’s also hard to block Gryphon out without making it too obvious.
Everything is a freaking mess.
“Are we really going to go back to the silent treatment, Weapon? I thought you might have grown out of this.”
I smother the shiver that runs down my spine, forcing my shoulders not to move and give away just how much the mere sound of his voice scares me. I hate this man, sure, but I’m also completely aware of just how terrifying he truly is.
I need to keep my head together.
At my continued silence, Davies steps further into the tent, his footsteps slow and measured. He’s an expert at drawing out the terror in the room, and I’m not entirely sure if it’s a natural talent or the copious amount of experience he’s had ruining people. I can’t help but tense when he steps behind me, but then he steps back into my eyeline with another chair, carefully shrugging out of his jacket and slinging it over the back as he takes a seat.