Page 102 of Avidian
RULE 30 OF THE NEW ORDER: DARKNESS NEVER DIES—IT ONLY CHANGES HANDS.
A bark followedby a warm sensation in my lap wakes me. I open my eyes to see Mischka jumping in my lap. My head feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton and dipped in acid. Every breath is shallow, tinged with the metallic tang of damp air. When I try to move, my limbs feel sluggish, like they’re weighed down by invisible chains.
Where the fuck am I?
The floor beneath me is cold, hard concrete. I blink against the dim light filtering through a single bare bulb swinging overhead. It casts long, erratic shadows across the room, distorting the shape of the basement I suddenly realize I’m in.
A basement. Marco’s basement.
I sit up too quickly, and a sharp pain shoots through my skull. I press my palm to my forehead, trying to ground myself. How did I get here?
I glance down, noticing the dirty scrapes on my arms and legs. My jacket is gone, my boots too, leaving me in my socks and the same clothes I wore at the cabin. The faint memory of Orin’ssneer flashes in my mind. Did he drug me? How long have I been here?
The walls of the basement are stone, old and damp, with rivulets of water trailing down like veins. A staircase stands to my left, leading up to a heavy wooden door with no visible handle. Across the room, a single metal chair and table sit under the flickering light, like something out of an interrogation scene.
I give Mish a pet, and she jumps down before disappearing as I push myself to my feet, legs trembling. I stagger toward the door, testing its weight. Locked, of course.
A sound—soft, almost imperceptible—sends a jolt of adrenaline through me. It’s coming from the shadows in the far corner of the basement. I spin around, heart pounding, trying to make sense of what I’m hearing.
“Hello?” My voice comes out hoarse.
Silence.
I take a cautious step forward, peering into the darkness. Something shifts, a faint rustling, and a shape emerges—a figure slumped against the wall. My stomach drops.
It’s a person.
“Who’s there?” I demand and edge closer.
The figure doesn’t move, and as I step into the faint light, I see why. It’s a man tied to a chair, his head lolling forward. Blood mats his hair, streaks down his face and neck. For a second, I think he’s dead, but then his chest rises, barely, and I realize he’s breathing.
Holy shit.
I crouch down, reaching out to lift his chin. His skin is clammy, his lips cracked and pale.
Banks.
“What the hell did they do to you?” I murmur, shaking him gently. His eyelids flutter, and he lets out a low groan, but he doesn’t wake.
“Don’t touch that sympathizer.” Orin’s voice cuts through the silence. The echo of his polished shoes on the concrete stairs fills the dimly lit space as he descends. My stomach churns at the word—sympathizer? What happened while I was out? I press my fingers to my temple, trying to sift through the fragments of memory, but my mind is blank.
Did Banks…
No, there’s no way.
“You look like shit, and Marco wants to see you,” Orin continues, his tone cold as he tosses a wet, soapy rag at me, followed by a pile of clothes that land at my feet with a dull thud. My fingers instinctively flinch away from the damp cloth.
“Get cleaned up,” he orders, plopping down on the bottom stair, his eyes raking over me with that unsettling expression he always wears, the one that makes my body tense up.
“You’re going to sit there and watch?” I glare at him, holding the rag like it’s toxic.
His smirk deepens, the dim light casting harsh shadows across his sharp features. “Of course. I wouldn’t miss the show.”
I clench my jaw, the anger bubbling beneath the surface, but I swallow it down, knowing better than to rise to his bait right now. I grab the clothes and move to the farthest corner of the room, turning my back to him. The damp chill of the basement seeps into my skin, but I force myself to keep my movements steady, defiant even in this small act.
“Don’t take too long,” he calls out suggestively. “Marco doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
I inhale deeply, the metallic tang of the air mixing with the faint soap scent from the rag.
