Page 90 of Ronan

Khuth flashes me that smile full of sharp teeth as he introduces me to the group, but the words are muffled and wobbly, like my head is underwater as I force myself to focus. If I let the wrath take over, I’m only putting Cameron in danger, so I quell the rage with promises that we’ll get our revenge.

Someday, somehow.

It’s a promise carved into the darkest parts of my heart.

“Want to lock up your… human?” Khuth asks, turning his nose up as his eyes trace Cameron’s timid frame.

I force bored indifference into my voice as I shake my head. “He needs to stay where I can monitor him. He’s very important to my mission.”

“Understood,” Khuth says, gesturing towards a rusty cage positioned against a tent, just outside the dining area where we stand. “This should be acceptable, then?”

He’s fucking got me, because a refusal wouldn’t make sense. There’s no good reason why I’d want to hold onto a prisoner all night when I could lock him away, and I shouldn’t care about the conditions of his confinement.

“That is sufficient,” I respond, and it’s all I can do to keep myself in check as he wraps his filthy hand around Cameron’s arm.

Cameron flinches, dropping his act for a moment as he reaches for me, and I fling his hand off mine even as it cracks my heart right down the middle. “Stupid human,”I snap, hoping he catches the hidden meaning behind the words.

My stupid human.

I will protect you, even if it takes my last breath to do so.

His eyes dart to mine before dropping back to the ground, and Khuth stares at Cameron curiously before leading him towards the cage. The ceiling is so low, Cameron won’t be able to stand straight, and the ground is muddy underneath.

I try not to consider what dampens that soil.

Khuth secures the padlock and tucks the key in his front left pocket. A smile crosses his lips as he returns to me, softer than before, and his fingers send a different message as they wrap around my biceps. Discretion is out the window as he leads me towards the table, tracing a long, pointed fingernail along my arm.

“I realize your time here is short,” he whispers, keeping his voice low so the others can’t hear, “but maybe after dinner we could… get to know each other better?”

It could give me an opening to steal the key from his pocket—eliminate an obstacle in the privacy of his tent, beyond the prying eyes of the others. Right now, I need every advantage I can get.

“Well, you could certainly try to convince me,” I say with a forced smirk of my own, and his pleased hum is almost lost in the clatter of cutlery and low drone of conversation.

Chatter around the table is strangely familiar, with discussions of missions and maneuvers that are a staple of military existence. Kek, the Curtiphan from the backseat of the car, leans forward with his long arms resting on the table. “You’re from the Glaston base?” I nod, glancing overto thank the black-scaled Lu’Mite as he hands me my plate, while his thick, barbed tail swishes behind him. “That’s got to be, what? Five hundred miles from here?”

“Closer to six hundred.”

His three eyes widen as he purses his lips, stabbing a piece of meat on his plate. “That’s a long way to send a single soldier with no backup.”

“I don’t need backup,” I say, offering him a humorless smile that makes him pull his hands back by a few inches.

“They don’t normally send us so far away from Ljómur unless we’re in platoons.”

My eyes bore into his and everything freezes for a moment as my heart skips an entire beat inside my chest. Sitting my fork and knife onto my plate with a clink, I glance down at his uniform. “Ljómur?” The others at the table seem to become unnaturally still as I gesture at his insignia. “Can’t say I’ve heard of it. I thought you were from the South Akers base?”

“We are,” Khuth says with an airy laugh, the only one at the table that doesn’t seem to be affected by the tension. “Just a silly nickname we’ve come up with. Kek’s a jokester and likes to say the food leaves him radiated enough to glow.” He grips the Lu’Mite on the shoulder, who turns towards him with bared teeth as he’s jostled. “Adanx here doesn’t find it as funny as the rest of us, since he’s the one doing the cooking.”

My gaze sweeps around the rest of the group, not a single one of them looking remotely amused. “I would imagine not,” I finally say, picking up my utensils and returning to my meal. There’s a time and a place to prod, and when I’m outnumbered and under a microscope isn’tone of them. “Personally, I find this meal to be far more enjoyable than anything the idiots at Glaston prepare. Maybe I could put in a good word and get you transferred."

Adanx’s shoulders relax slightly as he narrows his eyes at the others. “Perhaps my skills would be better appreciated elsewhere.”

Slowly, conversation fills the uncomfortable void. After I deflect the topic of my mission again, claiming it’s classified, they lose interest and slowly shift the topic to their day-to-day chatter. I’m able to listen, trying to pick up clues that might help us get out of here unscathed, all while the gears in my mind spin at the new information Kek let slip.

They know something about this mystery base, that much is undeniable.

Bruk’s eyes keep drifting to where Cameron sits in the cage. I resist the urge to glance at him, focusing instead on using my limited conversational abilities to encourage the large man to talk.

It’s not in vain—a few crucial details slip through that aid my plans.

---