Page 74 of Katya and the Young God

“You aren’t going to ask about why I left you?”

“If you’re here now, I’m going to assume because you thought it the best way to save her,” Katya says, maintaining eye contact. Digs herself into the discomfort, relishes it. She’s strong enough to deal with it.

The other eyebrow raises up. “Awfully nice to assume the best.”

She’s danced the self-loathing dance before, she’s not going to go duo on it. “If you were going to play me by showing up with a stab wound, you’re much stupider than I thought, so let’s not pretend that.” A fission of surprise flashes over his face, but she continues on. “If you honestly thought your last words were going to be about saving her...”

He looks away, and it’s a small triumph. He broke first.

“So they have her in a lab?” She prods, and his shoulders slump.

Bruises mar the pale skin on his shoulders, bruises she didn’t notice the night before, with all the blood and horror. Bruises, too fresh to be from under the mountain.

Along his back there are scabs and scars, deep enough that their edges rim in red, not healed or cared for properly. Again, too recent to be from under the mountain.

Similar scabs around his wrists, inflamed and bright pink. Whatever happened to him, it wasn’t exactly kind to him.

She should probably get him a shirt. But instead she just sips her coffee.

“They have her strapped up in copper, have needles going into her brain,” he says, not noticing her gaze on him. “Testing her for powers, leaching it off of her. She cries all day long, asking for help, asking for you.”

She flinches at that dig.

“They don’t let her out, they don’t give her food, they don’t do anything they could do to stop the pain. Even while siphoning, they could...they could do a lot, and they don’t.”

Katya clutches at the coffee mug, as if that could give her some sort of control. “What’s the security on the facility?” She asks, forcing her voice to be icy, forcing it to be professional.

He blinks at her again, like she’s still surprising him. “A lot,” he says, begrudging. “Rotating guards, electronic interference.” He reaches into his pocket, pulling out the tracking bug she had planted on his equipment the first night on the mountain. “Tried to send you something in Morse code, don’t think it worked.”

“Didn’t work at all,” she confirms. “Thought I hid that better.”

“Like I wouldn’t notice something on me the moment I put that on,” he says, the prideful look back.

“So you just kept it, then?” She asks, cutting under him. “Before we found her, just decided to let me track you?”

He gives her an honest to god dirty look, and if not for the serious conversation, she would have smiled.

“Do you think you can draw up a map for me?” She asks, switching it up. “Draw up some schematics, so I know what I’m up against?”

He hesitates, but nods. “I can get something.” He leans back, finally sipping from the coffee, his scowl lost. “You’re going to need help, and lots of it,” he says, like it’s pulling something from him to say that. “You need to call in...who you need to call in.”

She understands what’s said, understand what’s unsaid. “I’ll take care of that,” she says, and there’s relief in his eyes, as he looks away. “So this’ll need some planning, it might take me time to organize it,” she warns. “The people I need to ask aren’t in cell contact right now.”

His shoulders slump again, but he nods. “I don’t think they’re going to kill her, not anytime soon, she’s generating too much for them.” His hands spasm against the coffee cup. “We have to help her, Katya Rinne, we have to.”

She places a hand on his bare arm, avoiding any of the bruising, and he looks at it, sharp. “We will,” she says. “Don’t worry, we will.”

Slowly, she feels his muscles release under her hand, and keeping himself so tense is not great for a stab wound, but it’s like once he got all the information out, everything out that he could think of, he’s only barely letting himself relax. He leans more against the couch, presses the other hand against his wound.

“I’ll need to do proper stitches on that sometime,” she warns him, and he gives her another surprised look. “It’s just a butterfly bandage now, I didn’t want to stitch it before I could tell if you got an infection.”

He almost pulls a face, but stops himself, visibly restraining himself from hurting her feelings. Which is new, a new sensation, one she’s not sure what to deal with.

“Also, you kissed me last night,” Katya says, leaning back against the couch, gauging him. “Was that another thing you did thinking you would die?”

He blinks at her, like a deer caught in high beams.

“But you didn’t die, so now you have to explain that.” She sips her coffee, keeping her eyes on him.

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