Page 25 of Silent Lucidity

The way he spoke reminded her of when she’d contracted laryngitis as a child, and her voice had refused to work. Was speaking as painful for him as it sounded? Perhaps he hadn’t been ignoring her, after all. Maybe it was just difficult and physically uncomfortable for him to speak.

Did that mean hewasgoing to help her? All she needed was a little glimmer of hope, a tiny spark, and she could get through this.

Abella tucked the sides of the blanket beneath her armpits to clamp it in place, picked up the tray, and placed it on her lap. The food was unlike anything she’d eaten in the last four years—she suspected she’d been fed scraps from Cullion’s meals all along but could never say for sure. This stuff looked like canned dog food, but it smelled all right, she was hungry enough after her time in the isolation chamber that she didn’t much care about appearances.

Hesitantly, she grasped the pronged spoon from the shallow indentation it rested in, scooped up the mixture, and brought it to her lips. She met Tenthil’s eyes as she slipped it into her mouth.

The texture was reminiscent of thick beef stew, the flavor existing in that gray area between not bad and not good. She ate it anyway, one bite after another, wolfing it down like she’d never eaten a single meal before now. It wasn’t until she’d scraped the tray clean and was raising it to her face to lick away the juices that she realized Tenthil had watched her, unmoving, the entire time.

Cheeks warming, she lowered the tray. “Thank you.”

Tenthil nodded and took the tray from her, the pads of his fingers brushing against her knuckles for an instant.

She pulled her hands back, reminded of her nudity beneath the blanket. “Do you have any clothes I can wear?”

He carried the tray into the kitchen, dropped it into what was either a trash compactor or a washer of some sort, and turned his head toward Abella. His gaze dipped, and his pupils dilated. As black overwhelmed the silver of his irises, Abella realized his eyes weren’temptywhen they darkened like that; they were full.

Full of hunger—and not for food.

Self-consciously, Abella tugged the blanket a little higher, covering as much of her chest as possible. When he only continued to stare, she narrowed her eyes and cleared her throat.

He lifted his chin, meeting her gaze once again. His pupils slowly contracted. Offering her another nod, he walked across the room, stopping to the left of the door from which he’d emerged after she awoke. Her brow furrowed as he raised a hand and tapped a spot on the empty wall.

A meter-wide section of the wall shifted a few centimeters backward before sliding aside and disappearing. Tenthil’s body blocked most of the room beyond from her view, but she caught a glimpse of guns lined up along one of its walls.

He stepped into the previously hidden room, ducked out of sight for several seconds, and reemerged with a set of black clothes draped over his hand. He tossed them onto the bed beside her and set a matching pair of boots on the floor nearby.

Abella picked up the top garment and held it out in front of her. It was a long-sleeved, black shirt, and appeared to be the right size at a glance. The material had a slightly rough texture on its outside and stretched a little when she tugged on it.

She returned her gaze to Tenthil. “How…did you survive all that? At Cullion’s, I mean.”

“They weren’t very good,” he said in his low, pained voice.

Abella’s brows lower. Not that good? Cullion had never directly shared information about his dealings with her, but she’d overheard him brag about his security being the best money could buy on several occasions.

“Who are you?” she asked, glancing toward the room behind him. “Whatare you?”

“Tenthil.” The ghost of a smile crossed his lips as he gestured toward the clothing. “Need to go soon. Get ready.”

Abella straightened. “Go? Go where? Are you taking me—”

But Tenthil had already turned away and stepped back into the secret room, making no indication that he’d heard her. She had a feeling he wouldn’t have told her much more, anyway.

Despite her frustration, despite her uncertainty, a tiny spark of hope lit within her. They were leaving. Though he’d touched her—kissed her—without her permission, he’d done nothing to harm her. He’d fed herandclothed her. Tenthil didn’t seem keen on giving her answers, but she didn’t think he’d hurt her.

Things could be worse.

That thought reminded her of the wounds on her back—wounds that had been causing her immense discomfort before Tenthil had come for her.

She rose, scooped up the clothing he’d left on the bed, and stepped deeper into the main room, seeking a mirror or any surface reflective enough to grant her a glimpse of her back. There were none in plain sight. Frowning, she turned her head and attempted to check directly. When that didn’t work, she settled for bending an arm backward and running her hand across her lower back. She encountered only smooth skin.

Her frown deepened as she twisted her torso side to side and bent forward, stretching her back. She felt no pain, no twinges, not even a hint of tight, healing skin. The damage inflicted by the electrolash was gone. Facing forward and standing straight, she looked over her arms and peeked beneath the blanket. There was no trace of the blue blood that had splattered her skin earlier.

She glanced at the secret room. Tenthil had tended her wounds while she was out, had cleaned her. That explained why she was naked. Heat suffused her; she’d been trying to cover herself this entire time, and he’d already seeneverything.

And he apparently liked what he’d seen.

Cheeks flaming, she turned her back toward the secret room and released the blanket, which whispered down her body to pool around her feet. It was in that moment that she realized something else was missing—her collar. She pressed a hand to her throat, and though the weight of the collar was gone, a heaviness settled on her chest. Her eyes once more stung with relieved tears.

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