Page 41 of Blood Caged

I watch Heath storm out of the room, his anger heavy in the air he leaves behind. The door slams shut, the sound echoing through the suddenly silent space. I can’t help but feel a mixture of satisfaction and unease at his dramatic exit.

“Well,” I say, turning back to the remaining team members, “I think that concludes our meeting for now.”

As the others file out, murmuring among themselves, I remain rooted in place, my mind racing. Heath’s departure is troubling, to say the least. His blatant disregard for the well-being of his own kind has always struck me as odd, but now it seems downright sinister.

As I exit the operations room, I go over the night’s events yet again. The changes I’ve implemented feel right, necessary even, but a nagging unease tugs at the edges of my mind. I’ve rocked the boat, and in our world, that rarely goes unpunished.

The satisfaction of standing up for what’s right mingles with a growing sense of trepidation. Lucien may have agreed to my demands, but I doubt he’d expect me to implement them so suddenly or so extensively. He won’t take kindly to these sweeping alterations, and I’ve no doubt he’ll hear about them soon enough. Heath’s dramatic exit all but guarantees it.

Typical, Daire. Always making shit for yourself.

Then my thoughts drift to Mia, lying in the medical bay. The image of her pale, unconscious form on the cold tile floor flashes through my mind, igniting a surge of protective anger. I need to see her, to ensure she’s recovering, to…

I pause, caught off guard by the intensity of my concern. This goes beyond mere duty or guilt. There’s something about her that’s gotten under my skin, and I’m not sure how to handle it.

Like a job, dammit. You handle it like it’s just another job.

As I continue toward my quarters, a troubling thought takes root. How deep does this operation really go? Heath’s cryptic words about power beyond my comprehension echo in my mind. Who else might be involved? What are we truly dealing with here?

There’s something fishy about this whole fucking mess.

15

Chapter 15

Mia

“Miss Blackwood? Are youready?” The polite tone of the guard at the door leaves me frowning in confusion.

“Um…sure,” I reply as I slide off the bed and land on shaky legs. There’s no impatience or demand for me to hurry up as I take a moment to find my feet. I try not to cringe away as I draw nearer to him, but my apprehension is unnecessary. Today, there aren’t any stinging slaps or harsh shoves.

This is…different.

I blink groggily as the guard leads me back to my cell. The events of the past day – or has it been longer? – swirl in my mind like a fog. My body still feels weak, but at least I’m on my feet now.

As we approach the familiar door, I steel myself for the stark, oppressive space that’s become my prison. The guard unlocks it, and I step inside, ready to face another day of confinement.

But what greets me stops me in my tracks.

“What the…?” I breathe, unable to hide my shock.

Gone is the cold, bare room with its hard cot. In its place, I find a space that’s almost…inviting. A plush bed with actual pillows and a soft-looking comforter dominates one corner. There’s a small bookshelf stocked with volumes and even a cushy armchair beside it.

I take a hesitant step forward, my fingers brushing against the smooth wood of a writing desk. Pens and paper are neatly arranged on its surface.

Part of me wants to collapse onto that bed, to sink into bliss after days of discomfort. But a larger part recoils at the idea.

This is wrong. All of it.

I shouldn’t be grateful for basic decency. I shouldn’t feel a twinge of appreciation for my captors. This is still a prison, no matter how they dress it up.

And yet…the prospect of a soft place to sleep tugs at me. I’m so tired, so drained. Would it be so terrible to accept this small mercy?

This is how Stockholm Syndrome starts, Mia!

I shake my head, trying to clear the conflicting thoughts. Is this some kind of psychological game? Make me feel indebted, soften me up?

But what for? They can take my blood whether I want to give it or not. They don’t need to soften me up.

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