Page 16 of Lux

I look for Caspian. I need to find him.

He isn’t here. In his black hood, he stands out, even with his features obscured. With it down, he is undeniable: a star among stone. I look and look, trying my best to resist the flow and press of the crowd.

“Move!” Another guard points down the block. “Keep moving, please! An orderly line.”

Orderly. Orderly.

But where is Caspian? The back of my neck prickles with sweat. My heart races. I spin around, craning my neck, looking, and looking. I see him nowhere.

I reach out and feel him nowhere.

Even in my head. It is empty, with only my own thoughts circling around.

“Caspian?” My voice rings out, swallowed by nearby murmurs and questions. I try again. Can’t hear myself. I can’t even hear myself think.

The museum is too far away, getting further with every forced step.

“Detour. Detour,” someone mutters, another guard. They point and shout. Point and shout. The crowd thins and spreads. I need to go back. I try to, only to be shouted at and pushed back. Further away.

No.

I resist the press of the crowd. Try to slip to the outskirts, ducking around bodies. The only way out is through a darkened gap in between two buildings. There are no other people in there. No shouting, yelling, pushing. I race toward it and gasp once I’m finally free.

I can think again. Caspian. Caspian. Where is he? I try calling for him out loud. “Caspian? Cas…”

A noise sounds nearby, making me jump. A smattering of footsteps, quick and light. My heart lurches, hope surges. I rushtoward it: a corner of the alley further in where the light doesn’t reach. Makes sense for him to hide here. Lurk here.

It makes sense.

But the figure who detached themselves from the shadows—the figure I reach out for—isn’t Caspian. They are too tall and willowy. Too cruel. Their skin reeks of cologne and sourness. I stagger back, out of their reach.

And right into the grasp of another figure I didn’t even notice closing in on me from behind.

Their hot breath tickles my throat as they chuckle, “Gotcha.”

CHAPTER 9

Caspian

Memories aren't always worth recalling. Some emerge from your subconscious, from the muck of your mind. The one place I didn’t mind having Cassius snuff out of me and spoil.

Weak things. Pointless recollections. Thoughts of a stupid mortal.

Like guilt. As hard as I try to smother it, it festers inside me. I was meant to do something, once. Something important.

I failed.

Failed. Failed.

And someone has mocked me for it. They smeared the proof over the canvas. Made a spectacle out of the reality I once lived. I don’t remember how or why the sight makes me angry.

It just does. I want to rip and tear apart every last painting. Try to. Will.

Can’t.

There are forces at play beyond me. Beyond the fingers I lash at the canvas with. Beyond the hands that struggle to restrain me. Beyond the voice in my head, whispering a niggling whisper:you’ve seen this before…done this. You did this!

A warning. A warning. Remember. Before it is too late, REMEMBER!

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