Page 60 of Blue Arrow Island
Vance puts the blindfold around my eyes, tying it securely behind my head. Ellison squeezes my hand and I hear the door in front of us being opened.
“It’s not very far,” she says. “We’ll be there in less than five minutes.”
A sense of dread coils in my belly as I walk beside Ellison. My breathing is shallow and I have to force myself to swallow, my mouth like sandpaper. I’m at the mercy of the Dust Walkers. It’s terrifying to be completely in the dark, not knowing whether someone is coming at me with a weapon.
“You’re okay,” Ellison says in a soothing voice. “We’re walking through a room, there’s nothing to be afraid of.”
Then why am I blindfolded? There’s something here they don’t want me to see. And on this island, where the laws of science don’t always apply, that’s a terrible feeling.
“We’re about to go through another door,” Ellison says.
She waits, and there’s a buzzing sound that makes me jump.
“That’s the sound of the door being unlocked for us,” she murmurs.
I hear her turn the handle and push it open, and then she leads me through. Vance follows, and the door closes behind him.
We’re walking down another hallway. I’m not sure how I know but it feels like a hallway. It’s completely quiet, not a sound in the space other than the hum of a light fixture.
“How close are we?” I clutch Ellison’s hand, my own getting sweaty.
“Very close. Hang in there.”
About ten seconds later, she stops and pounds on a door. It sounds like solid metal. This place feels like a secure military base.
“Come in,” a deep voice calls from inside.
Ellison opens the door and leads me through the doorway. I hear the door close, and then the blindfold is pulled away from my eyes.
“You okay?” she asks me with a smile.
I nod, releasing her hand.
We’re in a room much like the one I recovered in. It has concrete walls and no windows. There are two light fixtures in the ceiling, but the room still isn’t brightly lit.
Filing cabinets line one wall of the room. There’s a desk against another wall, a chair pushed into it. The space is dominated by a long wooden conference table that could easily seat twenty.
Across from me, on one long side of the table, Marcus and Nova are sitting. My knife is sitting on the table in front of Marcus, in its leather sheath. There’s a pitcher of water and several wooden cups off to the side.
Marcus gestures at the chairs in front of me. “Sit.”
I look at Ellison, wary. She gives me a reassuring smile.
“I won’t be staying. I’ll see you soon, though.”
I nod and slide into a metal chair, taking a deep breath. As soon as the door closes behind Ellison, I fight the urge to jump up and run after her.
“So you’re feeling better,” Marcus says.
It’s a statement, not a question.
He’s offensively attractive. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a more perfect combination of masculine features. It’s off-putting. An asshole like him doesn’t deserve to look that good.
Today he’s wearing a plain gray T-shirt, his biceps and chest straining against the fabric. His dark hair is perfectly tousled, a few pieces hanging over his forehead.
His chiseled jaw and high cheekbones would be classically handsome, but his serious scowl and the small scar on one side of his neck balance him out in a rugged way.
At around six-four, he once again doesn’t really fit in the chair he’s sitting in. He has an imposing presence, but I won’t let my intimidation show.
