CONTAINS CONTENT:
Sensitive material
Something flickered. An explosion on television startled Marielle awake, even though she hadn’t been aware of falling asleep. She turned; Austin was awake and staring at the love scene on screen. Sweaty, naked bodies were intertwined.
She stood, then went down to the ground on her back and tucked her toes under the lip of the couch, where she began a round of twenty sit-ups. Austin’s eyes went from the screen to her, watching her in interest as she laid herself out on the floor in front of him. He gave her the kind of smile that said, “It’s like you want me to watch.” She didn’t care anymore. That was Austin, and it always would be.
“Are you awake for the love scene?” she asked, coming up over her knees and pausing there to look at him.
He nodded. “I like Ariel Colla.”
Of course he did. Ariel Colla was a beautiful young redhead with big green eyes who insisted on doing a nude scene in almost all of her movies. If there was anyone in Hollywood who had the perfect body, it was her.
“She is pretty,” Marielle agreed, thinking she looked a little like Kirra.
Austin turned away from the screen and stared down at her for a few minutes. She saw a little bit of pride in his expression, which probably meant that he thought he’d made her jealous.
“You could join me,” she said with a smile.
“I think I might actually die. I’m not used to skipping more than one meal.”
“You’re not going to die. Fasting is good for you on occasion. It clears everything out.”
“Yeah, but I want pizza,” he whined. She laughed. “Or like… maybe something incredible from the kitchen of Marielle.”
“You want my food?”
“Well, Vincent gets your food. And I’ve heard everyone else here talk about it.”
She watched the screen for a moment, then started her sit-ups again. “Austin, if you want my food, just ask.” She came up over her knees again and paused. “What do you want?”
“What are you offering?” He perused her body for half a second before smiling that handsome smile at her.
“Well, there again, what do you want?” Another sit-up.
He radiated interest. “You know what I want.”
“Food, Austin… Focus now, eyes off me.”
He chuckled and shook his head. The love scene was over; he’d stopped watching it after she had woken up. “I’m not super picky. What do you love to make?”
“I love to make a lot of things. My parents used to own a little French café back in the late twenties, all the way ‘til about ‘39.”
“What happened?”
“They died,” she said thoughtfully.
He looked distant for a moment. “You were close to them?” She nodded her response. “I’m sorry, then.” She rolled her lips in and did another sit-up. “What was the restaurant’s big seller?”
“Mushroom and cheese soufflé.” Another sit-up.
“Make me that,” he said with a nod of approval. “I’m not the biggest fan of mushrooms, but right about now even that cushion is starting to look real tasty.” He shook his head as he glanced at the sofa. “And marinara sauce goes great on just about anything.”
She couldn’t contain a laugh. Then she bit her bottom lip, noticing that his attention was briefly drawn to that. “I’d have to finish it up here.”
He shrank a bit. “Oh. Is that a problem?”
“No, the kitchen’s fully equipped. I could try.” More sit-ups.
There was silence for a few minutes. Austin’s stomach twisted and growled at the very mention of good food. He cleared his throat and leaned toward her. “Look, I’m with you… but couldn’t we get something? Even like an apple or…” His voice trailed off.
Marielle wasn’t listening to him. She just kept going up and down, and she was starting to sweat, which he obviously liked.
“Yeah.” He combed his hair back behind his right ear, and his hand stayed there as he leaned against it, watching the television again.
At last, Marielle said, “I want to go check on him.”
“I’m pretty sure you won’t like what you find,” Austin replied wanly.
Marielle stopped exercising. “Just come with me, okay? We should know what’s going on.”
“You think they changed their minds or something?”
“No, but I think our presence right now might change the game.”
He seemed to consider this before eventually conceding and following her downstairs. They had almost reached the interrogation level when they heard voices just outside the stairwell. Austin motioned for Marielle to stay quiet with a finger raised to his mouth. Liam and Barbara were talking to one another.
They listened by the door, holding their breath. Just beyond and to the left was the room where Vincent was being held. Marielle strained to hear, but could no longer make out any screams or cries. The room was strangely silent. Perhaps they were giving Vincent another break.
“I hadn’t considered that,” Barbara was saying, “but it makes sense. He only responds to Marielle. Tell him she refuses to eat or drink until he does.”
“Tell him?” Liam asked, sounding unsure.
“Say it… within earshot.” A pause. “Just make sure he hears it.”
Austin glanced at Marielle, who was pressed against the wall beside him. “That’s cruel,” he whispered. She nodded her agreement, her eyes sad.
Once the door to the interrogation room was opened, Austin and Marielle could hear the terrifying whispers swirling through the air like dying mist.
“Hazal?” Liam asked, his voice muffled and distant.
The whispering settled, and the darkness seemed to lift a little. Then Liam spoke again, but this time his voice came from closer to the stairwell, implying that he’d gestured for Hazal to follow him out of the room.
“We need to give him another break. I was just informed that Marielle and Dr. Rancor are not eating or drinking in solidarity with him,” he said loudly enough to be heard.
Surely Vincent understood he was being manipulated, but regardless, Marielle heard his voice for the first time in almost twelve hours. “I’ll talk,” he announced.
She put both hands to her mouth to contain a gasp as she heard Liam and Barbara enter the room again, presumably with Hazal.
“I’ll talk,” Vincent repeated more quietly.
“You’ll talk, soldier?” That was Liam.
Vincent’s voice was exhausted but strong. “I’ll talk to Marielle. Give me a few minutes with her alone, then I’ll speak to all of you.”
Liam was silent for a beat. Marielle choked back tears at the sound of his worn voice. “Anything else?” Liam asked.
“I want about four hours to rest first,” he sighed. “An hour or two with a canvas and paints: white, silver, and gold, as well as other colors.”
“You think this is an art school, soldier?” Liam spat. The fact that he’d called Vincent “soldier” suggested respect for him, and Marielle suspected that was true. Anyone who could endure nearly ten hours of torture and barely break face was someone to be reckoned with.
“Listen to me,” he began coolly. “I will explain everything I know, including what happened this morning and why I am here. But first, I want to rest. Otherwise, we go can right back to that Viking punching me in the face. Where is he?”
He said that so eagerly and confidently that Marielle shuddered as she pictured Vincent craning his head toward the door to spot Erik. There was silence for a moment. “You see, monsieur, I am ex-military… I can go on like this for days, if need be.” Vincent paused. “Three days, no sleep? Easy.” Another pause. “Or I can tell you everything I know by tomorrow morning, bright and early. Let everyone rest…Let me rest.”
“Why the paint?”
“It’s how I unwind.” He stopped for a moment. “This? I did this to myself.” Marielle assumed he was gesturing at his tattoos.
“Bet that hurt,” Liam scoffed.
“You have no idea, monsieur, but it is not the worst torture I’ve endured. Not even close. I can do this for days—weeks, even. Where is your friend?” Again, Marielle pictured him looking around expectantly. “Was it Erik? Did he go home to sleep?”
There was a mocking chuckle in this statement, even though it probably wasn’t obvious to anyone but her and Austin. In fact, Austin turned to her and smiled upon hearing Vincent’s comment. The implication was obvious: Erik needed sleep, and Vincent didn’t.
No one said anything. Marielle knew Liam was considering Vincent’s words and weighing his offer.
“I promise, mon ami,” Vincent added.
Liam finally agreed, and Marielle let out the breath she’d been holding. “Take him back to Cellblock Two. Get him food and water, let him clean up and rest, and bring him the things he asked for. Oh, and get Wei Ling back in here long enough to give him one final healing.” A pause. “Hazal, go home. Thank you for coming in.”
Austin and Marielle knew this was their cue to either exit the stairwell or go back up. They exchanged looks, then dashed back up with Austin in the lead and Marielle instinctively following. Like two little kids being chased by a monster, they ran back to the room they’d come from, threw themselves onto the couch, and arranged themselves in positions that made it appear like they were asleep. Marielle wasn’t sure how both of them had known to do this without communicating, but she laughed a little internally. Had they been five or six years old, it would have been a classic game of “Don’t let Mom and Dad know we’re awake!”
Both of them lay absolutely still for a few minutes, certain that Liam or Barbara—or both—were searching for them.
A short time later, Liam popped his head into the room. “Found them,” he said. Then he leaned on the doorway. “Austin. Marielle.”
Austin jerked his head up. “Eh?”
Marielle lifted hers as well and glared groggily at Liam.
“He’ll talk, Ms. Chaenes. He’ll talk to you—and us—but he wants a few hours to rest and recuperate first.”
“Yeah, I would too after all of that,” Marielle said under her breath as she crossed her arms over her chest and gave Liam a fake yawn.
“You can use one of the spare rooms on the third floor. I doubt anyone wants to go home at this hour only to come back early next morning.” Liam sighed. “So shower, get some sleep, and let’s see what he’s all about at 0600.”
Marielle and Austin briefly exchanged looks and nodded.
“Rooms Seven and Eight, guys.” Liam stepped aside and gestured for them to leave the television room. Austin turned the TV off and tossed the remote onto the couch, then followed Marielle out.
“By way of the kitchen?” she asked.
“God, yes,” Austin sang, already leading the charge.
When they got there, they both downed a beer, a bottle of water, and a few peanut butter and jelly sandwiches they threw together. They took a couple of apples to the elevator and went on up in silence. Both were so exhausted they had neither the desire, the time, nor the energy to complain about what had basically been a kid’s meal, let alone the fact that they still felt weak.
Marielle had no idea what the others had ended up feeding Vincent, but she prayed it was something filling and nutritious. She also prayed he would get some rest in a cozy bed and be okay.
She took a steaming hot bath and sat in it for a long time, thinking as the water became tepid. Sometime toward the end of her bath, she heard water rushing through the pipes in the next room and her eyes popped open when Austin started singing at the top of his lungs. Marielle chuckled, shaking her head. He had quite a voice; he was hitting all of the notes, which surprised her. She’d never be able to look at him again without imagining him belting out Elton John in the shower. What was even more hilarious to her was the fact that at no point did he seem to realize that he was singing so loudly, or that she could hear him. Maybe he didn’t care.
He finished the song and moved right into another one. By then, she’d been lying on the bed staring at the wall long enough to realize a few things. She was alone, and she hated it. She’d hated being alone before, yes, but at this moment she hated it with more fervency than she had in several years. It was almost unbearable. She wanted to be with Vincent—not tomorrow morning when Liam and Barbara finally let them speak again, but now. She wanted to hold him and tell him he was going to be okay, even though that seemed little comfort after what he’d been through.
Marielle was angry, then, remembering and reliving that day. She knew that the strangers—doubles? Clones? No, Kirra had said they probably weren’t clones—had come to kidnap her, but why? She had no idea.
She tossed for a few minutes, then turned the TV on and flicked through the forty channels only to discover nothing on except garbage, then stared at the wall in a feeble attempt to understand why. Was it something to do with her powers? Austin believed her exposure to radianite had made her reading abilities stronger. Of course, that was only when she applied herself. Otherwise, things often went right over her head.
“How are we going to get those things out of him?” Austin had asked about Vincent’s nanotech earlier, and she’d let that go at the time, even though it was a fairly odd statement and she doubted he had meant to say it out loud.
Marielle filed it in the back of her mind for later. At present, Austin hadn’t said or done anything further to garner her distrust. On the other hand, Vincent had said not to trust him.
She sat up in bed and drummed her lip. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt as angry about a situation as what she—and Vincent—had been through that day. She was so angry, in fact, that she wanted to shoot something or someone, and once she realized this, she went back and forth about it in her mind for several minutes before growling and getting out of bed.
Throwing on some sweatpants and a tank top, she put her hair back, then marched next door and knocked. While she waited, she couldn’t help thinking about what a bad idea this was. She glanced down the hall. If she ran now, it’d look like a weird ding-dong ditch… But he’d heard her leave her room, hadn’t he? Should she run? No. The elevator was close, though…
No turning back. After all, if she didn’t trust Austin, there was no better way to observe someone than by being in their presence and taking in how they reacted to everything, training included.
Austin cracked the door open and eyed her. “Uh…”
“There’s no way I can sleep right now,” she said with a sigh as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Want to shoot something?”
Austin threw off his robe, revealing sweatpants and a long T-shirt. “I thought you’d never ask,” he said with a grin. He slipped on some shoes and followed her down to the training room.
Once there, they geared up with the proper equipment and armor. Marielle went to set the counter for the number of bots they’d face in combat. “What do you say, us against… ten?”
“Ten’s good,” Austin replied, putting his earpiece in and aiming his laser gun to make sure the red dot lined up with the gun sight. It was a much larger weapon than the pair of pistols Marielle had chosen.
“Have you done this yet?” Marielle asked, watching his actions.
“Uh… yeah?” He winced. “Twice? I’m not very good.”
“Don’t worry, you have me. This’ll be easy,” she said with a smirk.
After pushing a few buttons and clearing the scoreboard, she came to stand by him in front of the double doors that led inside. Electronic numbers on the side of the doors started counting down, and Marielle glanced at Austin. He looked prepared; he had on all of the right protective gear, as well as some black driving gloves—which she would never tell him she found sexy, although he probably already knew—and he was holding a pretty hefty weapon for the task. The expression on his face was difficult to read. Nervous? Exhausted? Both? Austin fiddled with his earpiece again, and she instinctively adjusted hers as well.
Once the counter reached ten, a computer voice began counting down. “Ten… Nine… Eight… Seven… Six… Five…”
Marielle pointed the tips of her laser weapons upward, making sure they were aimed at approximately head level. “You go right, I’ll go left?” she asked, giving Austin a nod.
He bobbed his head once as the doors opened. The large, warehouse-sized room was full of concrete blocks similar to those in the courtyard, as well as pillars, walls, and other obstacles to hide behind and maneuver around.
Their targets were faceless humanoid bots, approximately six feet tall, all chrome and silver. Giant shields emanated deep-blue light from within them while the bots were active, and went black when they shut down.
The counter for the practice match was already going. They had two minutes to complete the course. Marielle and Austin moved about halfway into room and split up. Austin pressed himself against a stack of concrete blocks slightly taller than himself while Marielle stood in the open.
A flash of silver streaked across her field of vision, disappearing among the other blocks to the right, about fifteen feet behind where Austin stood with his weapon ready. She glanced at him, but only long enough to note that he was okay, albeit a bit nervous. It was only a game, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t be nerve-wracking.
Marielle darted after the figure, watching both sides as she ran toward it, pistols in her hands. Five or six full steps in, another silver streak came alongside her, matching her speed. She spotted it but didn’t stop.
Austin peeked out from behind cover and fired, striking it. It fell down. “Iced,” he said.
He came up behind Marielle, and they took up position side by side on two concrete blocks that stood opposite to one another.
“There!” Marielle pointed.
Almost instantly, there was a flash of light near the top of a stack of blocks, and she fired, hitting another not.
“Well, that one’s done,” she said.
Both detected movement behind them, and they whirled and aimed at the streak of silver in tandem. They fired. According to the counter, they both hit the bot several times.
“Tundra, I think you’re lying. You’re doing fine.”
He shook his head, feigning embarrassment.
Austin heard another running up on them from behind and raised his hand. A patch of ice formed on the ground. “Chill,” he growled under his breath.
The droid slipped and fell, skidding on the ice, and they both shot it. It twitched and powered down, its flat face losing the blue light as it slumped to the ground. Marielle swept the room, then signaled for Austin to go left. He nodded.
“There.” He gestured with his head, lifting the tip of his weapon when he heard movement.
Marielle aimed, fired, and another one went down. “They’re going to be more aggressive now. They know we’re winning.”
Two bots burst toward them from opposite sides of the room, and Marielle lifted both guns, fired twice, and shot the first one. Austin struggled with the speed of the other, but took it out as well.
“Time, time,” Marielle said, holding up the handgun in her palm. “Stand still.”
Austin obeyed. This time, the last four came from each corner of the room. Marielle had the first two, no problem. Austin whirled behind a concrete block for cover and took the third out easily. The fourth bot gained on him, but Marielle turned just in time to see it heading toward him.
She wondered if he was throwing the match somehow. He could have killed the bot three shots earlier, but he was missing, and it was difficult for her to tell whether or not it was on purpose. It seemed intentional, but his expression said otherwise.
When the last bot was finally down, he ran a shaky hand through his dark hair, and the two of them clasped hands in victory. They put away their weapons and armor before going back to their rooms. Rebuffing Austin’s offhand comment that they could save space and share a bed with a chuckle and an eye roll as they parted ways at their doors, Marielle collapsed onto the soft bed in her room, forgetting all about what was supposed to happen in a few hours. She was so exhausted she didn’t even hear the snoring that came from Austin’s room about an hour later.