Page 68 of Sin

I’d never been in the Citadel before my father completely demolished it. Like before, we had to go through intense screenings and security protocols before the guards posted at the entrance allowed us to enter. They were especially frisky with me, and I grumbled at a middle-aged woman who got a little too handsy when checking my person for hidden weapons.

London, the bastard, just smirked at me.

After being poked and fondled, they scanned my body with some sort of machine. I wondered if it was like a handheld version of those TSA machines.

Once we finished with security and they deemed me a non threat, I stepped into the grand lobby with its black and gray marbled floor, arching ceilings, and a massive hanging crystal chandelier. I couldn’t help wondering if I’d get struck by lightning just by stepping foot inside. But when nothing happened, London rolled his eyes at my apparent trepidation and dragged me through the lobby.

People stared as we crossed, a mixture of distrust, anger, and fear on faces who recognized me. I tried to ignore the sick feeling in my gut having so many people stare me down as if I was the enemy, but it was hard. I didn’t feel like I belonged here, in this beautifully restored building my father destroyed.

Keeping my eyes lowered, I let London lead the way to our destination. The infirmary was on the main floor toward the back of the building. It was a large room, capable of treating dozens of people if needed. There were machines of all kinds inside, some to diagnose, some to help treat, though I didn’t know what all of them did.

Mend was inside with a folder in his hands. He was reading something when we entered and glanced up. He smiled when he saw us.

“There’s my favorite patient,” Mend greeted, smiling warmly at me.

London narrowed his eyes. “I thought you said I was your favorite patient?”

Mend tossed the folder on the bed and shrugged. “Whoever I’m treating at the time is my favorite patient.”

I waved tentatively at Mend. The last time I’d seen him, I’d had a terrible PTSD episode. I didn’t really know what to say to him. Hey, sorry about that panic attack last time I saw you. How are your cats?

Patting a medical bed, he said, “Why don’t you come lie down and I’ll take a look at you, Sin. Heard you and your team ran into some trouble.”

I left London’s side and spread out on the bed. It was much more comfortable than the ones they had in the prison infirmary. “Just a little.”

Mend hummed in the back of throat as he dragged a machine over to the bed. He flicked a few switches, and the machine hummed on. “Being stabbed doesn't sound like just a little bit of trouble.”

I jolted in surprise as the machine powered on and a light swept over my body from head to toe and back. It did this several times before turning off. Mend moved to sit before a computer across from us and pulled up some images the machine must have just taken. The scans showed an almost holographic looking image of my body. There were areas lit up in red, like my stomach and head. Mend zoomed in on those areas, mumbling something to himself that was too low for me to hear.

London crossed to get a better look at the images and pointed at the little red, glowing dots inside my head. “What are these?”

“I believe those are blood clots,” Mend said, eyeing the area thoughtfully. “From the report given to me about the incident, not only did Sin lose a lot of blood, but he also suffered a stroke afterward.” Turned in his chair to face me. “Do you have a history of strokes in your family?”

“Um…” I had to think about it. “Not that I know of, no.”

He nodded, and a pensive look came over his face again as he turned back to the scans.

“What is it?” London sounded impatient.

Mend sighed. “While it isn’t uncommon for people to suffer a stroke with severe blood loss, I’m not so sure that’s the full reason you suffered a stroke.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, frowning at him.

“What led to you being stabbed?” Mend asked instead of answering my question.

“That’s classified information,” London said before I could answer. “You know we can’t just give you information during an open case.”

Steepling his fingers, he leaned his elbows on his knees and stared at me, ignoring London. “Based on this scan, it looks like your brain suffered some severe trauma, though there doesn't seem to be any outward injury. I usually see something like this when someone with mind control forces their way into someone’s head, and that person fights to push them out.” He paused, mulling over his words as he eyed me. “Do you know what happens when two people with psychic abilities use their abilities on each other?”

“Uh…” I looked at London as if he’d have an answer, but he looked just as confused as I did. “I wasn’t aware anything did happen. I’ve never had any problems in the past.”

“Has anyone ever been able to break into your mind before this?”

It was a little unnerving that he was able to just tell what had happened just by looking at some scans.

“Mare did,” I admitted.

“She did?” he asked, impressed. “When?”

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