Page 21 of Court of Aether and Shadows

As I launched into my account of that night, I could feel a headache building behind my eyes. The fluorescent lights seemed too harsh, their incessant buzzing grating on my nerves.

The air felt thick and oppressive, making it hard to breathe. Fragments of my dreams kept intruding —the scent of night-blooming flowers, the touch of clawed hands on my skin, the taste of starlight and shadow...

I stumbled over my words, blinking hard to clear my vision.

The room seemed to waver for a moment, the concrete walls melting into shadows that writhed and reached for me. The shift in the environment wasn’t what was disturbing in the depths of my mind.

What ignited goosebumps along my flesh was the strong presence that stood behind me. The magnitude of power that yearned to be present and acknowledged by anyone who dared threaten me.

It was so strong, that I struggled with every thread of resistance to not look over my shoulder and prove that the familiar aura of the monstrous entity wasn’t standing behind me.

Ready to protect me from these commoners who dared believe they were somehow better than me.

Vincent's frown deepened, a flicker of something almost like concern crossing his face.

"Are you alright, Sparrow? You look pale."

I shook my head, trying to focus on the here and now.

"I'm fine, sir. Just a headache. May I be excused? I can provide a written report if you prefer."

Vincent studied me for another long moment before waving his hand in dismissal. I had to look pale enough to leave him actually concerned with the expression forming on his face.

"Very well. Get some rest. I expect that report on my desk first thing tomorrow."

I nodded, relief washing over me as I stood to leave on unsteady legs. As I reached the door, my hand on the cool metal handle, Vincent's voice stopped me one last time.

"And Sparrow? Take care of yourself. You're no good to me if you burn out."

No good…

The words might have sounded caring from anyone else, but from Vincent, they were just another reminder of my place in his world.

A tool to be maintained and manipulated, nothing more.

I felt a surge of resentment, quickly suppressed.

Now wasn't the time for rebellion.

Not yet.

It didn’t hide the sprout of anger that began to boil inside me. The sense of belonging fretted even further away from my grasp — desperate to be nothing but a plop of memory than dare be a present factor that made me feel this urgency to remain.

I made my way back to the sleeping quarters, my head pounding and my thoughts in turmoil. The narrow corridors seemed to close in around me, the shadows in the corners deeper and more menacing than usual.

By the time I reached my room, I was gasping for breath, feeling like a caged animal. The world was spinning, my body far too hot for my own well-being.

The small space I called my own felt suffocating.

Bare concrete walls, a narrow cot with sheets that had seen better days, a battered dresser that held the few possessions I'd accumulated over the years. It was spartan, functional, and utterly devoid of personality.

Just like Vincent wanted us – interchangeable parts in his criminal machine.

I knew sleep would be impossible, despite my exhaustion.

The dreams waited for me there, tempting and terrifying in equal measure.

With a frustrated growl, I changed into workout clothes – a black sports bra and form-fitting leggings — and headed for the gym.

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