Page 166 of The Order

My body is dirtied, covered in dust from the hard concrete floor.

The air is stale. The smell of moisture and metal hits my nose in affronting waves.

Feeling my head pressed to the floor, I groan in pain, listening to the drag of the chains around my wrists as they scrape across the concrete. There’s an uncomfortable pressure around my throat. I reach up to find cool, unyielding metal encircling my neck. My eyes remain shut, my head and throat in a world of pain. My lungs struggle to take in a full breath of air.

Water drips intermittently onto the metal bars at the front of what I assume is a holding cell. I try to move, but the drugs they used to knock us out have left me disoriented. My limbs are heavy, and my mind races to put all the pieces back together.

“I suggest you take it easy,” his familiar voice says. I force my heavy lids open and move my eyes in his direction, coaxing my eyes open from their heavy-lidded state.

I choke back my words, looking at his relaxed posture in the chair before me. The space around us is dark, lit with only a few candles that seem to illuminate the concrete walls and floor with unsettling shadows. I wear my Academy uniform. My shirt is cut to expose my mark. Yanking my wrists against the chains, I try to move toward him, feeling the strain in my shoulders. My legs are too weak to get me up past a seated position.

The man in front of me is someone I don’t recognize. Where I’m used to seeing him clad in standard Official gear, he is wearing a new mask now. A black dress shirt fits over his sturdy frame. The black ink mostly hidden in the past now is on full display, the clear image of an unknown beast encasing his chest. His hair, always wild and free, is slicked back and tamed, cut perfectly to frame his face. Watching me, the light is gone from his eyes. His legs spread wide as he leans his elbows onto his knees.

“X-Xavier?” I question, hoping the obvious pain in my voice works in my favor. “What are you doing here?” I push, looking down at my wrists. “Why am I locked up?”

“You lied to me, Forest,” he mutters, tapping his fingers against my head. “Every sick and twisted little thought you had of him, I heard.” My hands begin shaking with fear. “It was disgusting, utterly nauseating,” he continues, grasping the side of my face, his fingers twining through my hair. “You were never his to have,” Xavier says, his eyes lowered.

I glance at his chest, seizing up once I realize what lies beneath his shirt.

“You’re Marked?”

“Is that what they call it now?” Xavier questions with a laugh, his eyes wide with delight. “So many years have passed, the labels start to blur together.”

“Who are you?” I question, spitting my words at him, thrashing against the binds.

He grabs my neck, forcing me to stop thrashing.

“Be good for me, and stay still,” he snaps, but being gentle with his touch. I wince at the pressure on my neck, my muscles aching from being handled so roughly earlier.

“Which one of my men caused these bruises?” he questions, ignoring my question.

“Your men?”

He grabs my head, and I suddenly feel a foreign presence devour my mind. The same foreign presence I’ve felt before, knocking on the back door of my mind, waiting to be let in. It’s him.

He forces himself into my memories; my strength is nothing compared to the overwhelming influence suffocating my ability to force him out. I try to find the other part of myself, but she’s nowhere.

“Ah, the two new recruits,” Xavier says after a few moments, keeping his hand under my chin. “I will find joy in snapping their wrists for disobeying me.”

“Who the fuck are you?” I ask again. He shakes his head, as if he is disappointed by reaction.

“I’m the same man you took to the Unfortunate sector with you last night. Can’t you see that? I know some part of you feels safe with me-”

“Found. Found safety, you fucking government mutt.” I seethe, his eyes narrowing at my words.

“Mutt?” He scoffs. “I’m the fucking ringleader love,” he says, his mouth curling into a satisfied smirk.

“You're-”

“This putrid sector’s Commander? Yes,” he says, my stomach sinking at his words.

He glances around the room and rises to his feet.

"Do you know what happens when you clip a bird's wings,Dove?" he questions coldly, keeping his finger under my chin, forcing me to look at him.

"They can't fly," I mutter, feeling his body circle around me as he watches me.

"How many wings must I clip before you realize you can trust no one but me?"

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