Page 85 of Silent Lucidity

She clenched her fists; her palms were clammy, and her fingers tingled uncomfortably thanks to her circulation being restricted by her bindings.

Just breathe. Just breathe.

She closed her eyes—which made no difference in the level of darkness—and exhaled, flaring her nostrils. Her next inhalation was a bit more measured, a bit more controlled.

Freaking out isn’t going to get me out of this.

She focused on her breathing, counting the length of each breath until they were slow and steady. At least a hundred questions swirled through her mind, but one was louder than the rest, repeating endlessly—where is Tenthil?

Eventually, whatever vehicle she was held within drew to a stop, momentarily forcing her weight against the front wall. Doors opened and closed, their sound muted and distant. A moment later, the ceiling of her cramped compartment lifted away.

Abella squinted against the light. Shadowy figures grabbed her arms and hauled her up. She twisted and kicked, but her captors had the advantage of strength and numbers. Their fingers dug into her flesh—her clothing offering no padding—as one of them tugged a black cloth sack over her head.

She screamed impotently against her sealed lips.

Her feet had barely touched the ground before she kicked at her captors again. None of them loosened their hold even slightly. Her shoulders burned as though her arms were going to rip from their sockets, but she refused to give in, refused to make it easy.

They didn’t strike her, didn’t tighten their grasps, they simply carried her onward. Her continued struggles only seemed to tire Abella; her captors seemed totally unfazed. They didn’t make a single sound as they moved; even their footsteps seemed somehow muffled.

Abella suddenly knew where she was. Knewwhohad her.

She struggled to keep her breathing steady as her panic soared.

They finally came to a stop after what felt like ten kilometers of walking and released their hold on her. Abella fell, hitting the ground hard on her shoulder. Someone grabbed her wrist bindings, yanking them back, and she cried out against the strain on her aching joints. The pressure ceased when the bindings came loose and were pulled away. Her hands fell free to the stone floor on either side of her, mostly numb and useless, as prickling points of pain slowly returned feeling to her limbs.

The cloth sack was torn off a few moments later, taking a few strands of her hair with it.

The light momentarily blinded her, and she flinched away from it, squeezing her eyes shut as a sting pulsed across her scalp. Several seconds passed before she dared open her eyes again; she blinked rapidly as they adjusted to the new light and pushed herself up on her hands, taking in her new surroundings through the gaps in the hair that had fallen over her face.

She was in a circular room—or at least in whatappearedto be a room. A cone of light from above illuminated the stone floor, but the walls and ceiling were obscured by thick shadow. Overhead, faint points of light and blotches of understated color swirled through the darkness; it created the sense that Abella was looking at a fathomless, ever-changing universe through a tinted window.

The only furnishing in the room was at the center—a lone wooden chair that would’ve been at home in an Earth museum dedicated to life in centuries past.

Abella turned her head to face her captors, but they were gone—only that wall of impenetrable shadow loomed behind her, as though she’d just materialized inside this room rather than having been dragged through a door. She lifted a hand to her mouth, and her probing fingers found a hardened, gel-like substance over the seam of her lips; she dug her nails beneath it and tore it off.

She opened her mouth and gasped at piercing sting.

Tossing the gel aside, she dragged a hand through her hair to pulled out of her face and slowly stood up.

A voice sounded from all around her, seeming to flow out the darkness itself. “Have a seat.”

The blood in her veins froze. She knew that voice, had heard it once before.

The Master.

Abella turned in place, scanning the seemingly empty room. “I’d rather not.”

“I offer for your comfort,” the Master replied, his deep voice underlaid by a raspy, echoing whisper. “Once we begin, you may find it preferable to sit.”

“For some reason, I doubt you care about my comfort.” Abella narrowed her eyes, but she still couldn’t find him. “And begin what? What are you talking about?”

She halted her gaze on a patch of shadow along the wall blacker than the rest and stepped back as it seemed to coalesce into a figure. He was taller than Tenthil, dressed in long black robes that obscured his body shape, and his face was hidden by hood and mask. This was the only being who seemed to instill any sort of fear in Tenthil. The one who’d shaped him, the one who’d controlled him.

“The most straightforward term isinterrogation,” the Master replied. He lifted a gloved hand, palm facing up, and gestured toward the chair with long, thin fingers. “But it doesn’t need to be unpleasant.”

Abella backed up several more steps. “I won’t tell you anything about Tenthil.”

The Master advanced smoothly, keeping up with her retreat, and lowered his arm. “You need not say a word. I will have the information I desire one way or another. Your resistance will only make it harder onyou.”

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