Page 15 of Elas

I mean, would it kill them to throw some art up on the walls?

“Have you been given any clothes?” Chief Aeliphis asks, pulling me out of my head.

“No, ma’am. Elas let me borrow these while my others are cleaned, but I’m afraid those might be destined for the incinerator. My stay in the cells wasn’t kind to my clothes.”

“You should avoid mentioning that you’re a prisoner to the others,” she warns, a tone to her voice that leaves little room for argument.

I argue anyway, in my own passive way.

“Wasa prisoner,” I correct, and she whirls to face me faster than I can track.

“Make no mistake, Mr. Beckett. You are a rebel human on a military base that has no love for your kind.This isn’tfreedom. You are not free. You are under guard twenty-four-seven, and are not allowed to even breathe unless someone else permits it. By every imaginable definition of the word, you are a prisoner, and you’d do well to remember that.”

Anger shines through the calm control in her eyes, and my head dips as my gaze falls to the floor. My anxiety ramps up to a hundred and suddenly, I’m desperate to turn and run to Elas. Hide behind the safety of his body and let him fight these battles for me. Let him protect me, because something tells me he would.

But a cold dose of reality is poured over my head, and the truth of my situation hits me hard in that moment. Elas is my reluctant savior, and nothing more.

We aren’t friends.

We are strangers, tossed together in a circumstance neither of us could’ve foreseen.

“Apologies, ma’am. It won’t happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t.” She stares for another few seconds, but I fix my eyes on the ground. Keys jingle in her hand as she unlocks a room lined with floor-to-ceiling cabinets. She sizes me up, nodding to herself as she opens a cabinet full of pale green scrubs. Without sparing me a glance, she hands them over and moves to a different wall. A blush burns my cheeks as she digs in a drawer and pulls out a stack of underwear and socks, along with some white undershirts.

“A large should fit.”

It’s more of a statement than a question, but I nod my agreement, anyway. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Keep a spare set of clothes in your locker at all times. This is dirty work, and I don’t tolerate stained or sloppy uniforms. You’re expected to be dressed and ready when you arrive.” My filthy sneakers are a stark contrast against the spotless floors, and her lip draws up as she glares at them. “I take it you’ll need shoes?”

Another embarrassed flush burns at my neck, and I bite back my argument that the cleanliness of my shoes has never affected my ability to save someone’s life.

But this isn’t a camp, and I need to fall in line.

“Yes, ma’am. Size twelve if possible.”

“Those will have to wait until tomorrow.” She sneers again at my dingy sneakers before she deflates with a sigh. “Come on. Let’s get your locker settled.” We spend the next half hour getting my locker assigned and setting a combination, and she reminds me several times that she can get into it any time she wishes for random checks.

I’m not really sure what she thinks I could hide in the small compartment. It’s not like I have any possessions, and the locker is barely big enough to fit a backpack inside. But my tiny spark of fight is gone, so I only meekly assure her that she’s welcome to search it at any time.

We head towards the hallway and she shoves the door open with a bang, nearly taking someone’s head off as we leave. “Whoa!” he shouts. “Watch where you’re—oh. Sorry, Chief.”

Her chuckle is surprisingly warm and genuine, a stark contrast to the annoyed noises she’s made around me. “Nice save, Xenesis.”

Solid white eyes with no pupil at all meet mine and widen against shockingly pale skin. Two twisting,bone-like horns jut from the ivory hair that flows down his back. If it wasn’t for the slight flush on his cheeks and his pink-tinted lips, it would look like he stepped right out of a black-and-white photo. He’s a couple inches taller than I am, lean and graceful, and when he tosses his hair back, it shimmers in a faint rainbow sheen. Pinks and oranges and blues and purples shine like a barely-there oilslick across his strands.

Aeliphis follows his line of sight to where I stand behind her. “Ah, yes. Xenesis, this is August Beckett. He will be assisting in the clinic.”

“But he’s a…” Still staring, he leans forward, blocking his mouth with his hand as though it’ll stop me from hearing him. “Ahuman.”

“Brilliant observation, as always,” she deadpans.

“It’s nice to meet you,” I offer with a nervous smile. He tilts his head as he stares at me, like he can’t quite decide what to make of me. “Just August is fine.”

“Oh, um, alright then. You can call me Xeni.” He glances at the chief, like he’s worried he’s doing something wrong. “Do you, uh… know what you’re doing?”

I chuckle despite myself at the blunt question. “I imagine there will be a lot for me to learn, but yes, I have experience.”

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