Page 9 of Elas

We both chuckle, the air in the room infinitely lighter. “If I may ask—why was my attitude brought into question?”

Elas leans forward, sizing me up thoughtfully before he speaks. “You seem like a smart guy. By now, I’m sure you’ve figured out that things aren’t looking so good for the members of your camp. Do you know why the military came after you?”

“I heard rumors,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest as my heart pinches beneath my ribs. “But I hoped they weren’t true.”

“You’re telling me you had no idea they were going to attack our convoys?”

“No,” I answer truthfully, “although I’ll be the first to admit I’m often in my own world. Harming another would go against everything I believe in as a medic. My purpose is to help others, not hurt them.” Elas is silent, and I take a moment to examine him and the exhausted rings under his eyes. My gaze moves down to his hands, where his right knuckles are scabbed over.

“What happened there?” I ask, nodding at his injured hand.

“Lost my temper.” That same hand squeezes into a fist as his jaw tightens.

“That doesn’t look like a fistfight. It looks more like you found the wrong end of something hard. What were you hitting?”

“A wall,” he grunts, his voice growing tense.

“Why were you hitting a wall?”

“You’re a nosey one, aren’t you?” There’s a threat hiding between the words, but I wave him off.

“Side effects of the position, I’m afraid. Asking questions is a big part of my job.”

Elas pushes out a long sigh, opening his hand and bringing it to his eyes as he inspects his knuckles. “I lost someone special.”

“Oh,” I breathe, noting the intense sorrow that crosses his face. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

He keeps talking, more to himself than to me. “I have no way of knowing what happened to him. No one does. All I can be sure of is that he’s gone, and the commander is dead.” He sighs, still staring at his scabbed knuckles as he closes his hand into a fist. “Ninety-five years of friendship. Ninety-fucking-five years. Almost a godsdamned century together, and I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again. Hell, at this point, I don’t even know if he’s alive.”

Ninety-five years of friendship?

Not much is known about their kind, aside from the things we can visibly see. It’s jarring to hear him mention his lifespan so casually. These days, humans are lucky to reach their fifties. Injury and illness are killers in the wilds, and infection? An instant death sentence. Medicines that were once common and accessible are luxuries that most could never afford.

I choose my words carefully as his eyes focus again and land on mine. “I imagine you form a special sort of bond with someone you’ve known for so long. And I’m sorry you lost your commander, as well.”

“Don’t be. He was a dick.” A surprised laugh bubbles free before I can stop it, and he tilts his head thoughtfully at the sound. “If I could convince my superiors to give you a position as a medic, would you accept it?”

The question throws me for another loop as my mouth drops open in a gawk. I quickly close it and try to sort out my thoughts. “I’m… not really sure I’m following.”

He’s deep in thought as he leans in, using one of his small tusks to chew on his upper lip. “The clinic always needs extra hands. When Cameron said you’re a medic, it made sense to explore the possibility of allowing you to work.”

My brows knit further. “Why would Cameron’s opinion of my profession hold any weight here?”

He tilts his chin up, narrowing his eyes slightly. “You’re being offered a chance to get out of this prison, andthatis your concern?”

“Why me?”

“Shall I go search for others with useful talents then?” he challenges, impatience finally making an appearance. “Find someone else to take your place? Are you so self-sacrificing that you’ll rot in a cell just to prove a point?”

“N-no, that’s not what I meant,” I start, but he scoffs and shakes his head.

“If they were in your shoes, they wouldn’t spare you a second thought, August. In this world, you take what you’re given or you get nothing at all.”

My mouth opens and closes, indecision weighing heavily on my stomach. If I agree to his idea, I’m leaving everyone else behind to suffer. The truth in his words stings—the insistence that they would abandon me in a heartbeat if the roles were reversed.

But just because it hurts doesn’t mean it isn’t true.

This is a position I never saw coming, and one I’d be a fool not to consider. If what Elas says about the attacks on the convoys is true, their fates may very well already be sealed.

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