Page 45 of Revenge of the Forgotten

One bare foot touched the floor, the other following as she moved slowly, trying not to make too much noise. Her muscles complained with the memories of the redwoods.

Chills ran down Vega’s back, not because she felt fear, but because she was fucking cold. Where the hell did I end up? The walls were made of steel, the dark color of gunmetal casting a blue hue throughout the small space.

The last memory she had was of the man with the golden eyes, his arms wrapped around her neck until another vision—memory—embraced her.

Shit, shit! Did they take me?

A thin blanket lay on the bed. The scent of moss mixed with the deep smell of salt water surrounding her as she wrapped it around her shoulders.

In the corner, there was a small wooden desk with papers scattered across—a letter opener stuck out from under a pile of envelopes. The perfect weapon.

She could hear voices coming and going, passing by the door. Vega held the letter opener between her fingers and clutched to her chest. She reached for the door handle with her free hand, but as she pulled, someone from the other side pushed. The person crashed into her with such mass, Vega would have fallen back if they didn’t reach out to steady her.

She squeaked, slashing out with the puny letter opener.

“Vega!” a male’s voice cried, but she had no time to see much of the man before she was wrapped into a hug so tight it forced her muscles to relax and drop her makeshift weapon.

The smell of moss filled her nose again. “You’re squishing me.”

The man laughed, pulling back to hold her at arm’s length while his eyes roamed over her body. “Sorry,” he said. “What’s that?” he asked, bending down to pick up the paperknife. “Really?” He held it up between them. “Who are you going to fight off with that?”

Vega’s gaze met his green eyes—the color of a forest after a summer’s rain. His face lit up in a charming smile. “You’re Khort.” It wasn’t a question. Vega knew. She’d seen him in dreams, but his name had never been revealed like the others. She’d gotten to know him through what little Arlet would tell her.

“The one and only,” he hummed.

Arlet got her back.

Whatever happened after Vega was knocked out, she’d probably never know, but what she did know was that Arlet made it… right? Arlet had to make it.

As if Khort could read her thoughts, he chuckled. “Arlet’s okay.”

Vega squished her brows together, puzzled, but relief flooded her chest.

“No, before you ask. I don’t read minds. I just knew you’d ask if she was okay once you realized where you were.”

Khort’s stubble was more than a five o’clock shadow but not nearly a full beard like she’d been picturing. His hair was probably shoulder length if it were down, but he had a low, messy bun at the back of his head. His face had sharp edges and gorgeous angles, a sprinkle of freckles lining the bridge of his nose and the tips of his cheeks.

In this realm and any other, he would be considered devastatingly handsome.

“I know where we are… but, like, where are we?” Vega asked, her arms still covered in the blanket she’d stolen off the bed.

“About a mile under the Sea of Ros at the base of the rebel headquarters. Welcome to Castra.” His response was so nonchalant that Vega wasn’t sure she’d heard him right.

“A mile underwater?” Vega swallowed her fear. The dread of imploding was suddenly higher on her list than it'd ever been.

Khort shrugged. “It’s home for now.”

Home.

I’m home.

“I can show you around if you want,” Khort said, stepping around Vega to get inside the room. He moved around with an ease that confirmed this was his room and not her own. Do I even have a room here?

The unknowns kept growing.

Vega took in the way his body shifted under the light. His clothing was casual, his loose cotton-white shirt stained at the edge with what looked to be oil.

Vega didn’t know Khort, at least not this version of her.

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