Page 72 of The Songs of Fate (War of Fate)

Nausea washed over me like a tidal wave. I twisted my body to gag and heave over the side of the cot. The waves of nausea were only amplified by the violent jerking of my body. The retching only produced small amounts of bile on the floor.

The pain in my body was a welcomed distraction to the gut-wrenching betrayal of Logan.

It all hurt too much—my body and my mind. I rolled to my back when the nausea finally dissipated.

My light was buried underneath the drugs they had pushed into me. It felt like a poison. My light seemed so far away, lost deep within the haze of the toxins.

The scrape of a boot told me I was not alone.

A slim man leaned on the corner wall of my new cell. He appeared older than my father, with gray hair buzzed closed to his scalp. He was wearing a white laboratory coat over military fatigues.

He bent to wipe the bile and placed a large bottle of water on my cot.

The man must’ve been in his late sixties with the caution he took as he went to his knees. A few moments later, he rose to stand over me.

I feebly reached for the bottle and broke the seal. When I started gulping the water down, he bent over and placed his hand gently on the bottle. “Slowly, or you’ll get sick again.”

The man sat at the end of my bed and began speaking softly. “My name is Dr. John Miller. I am so sorry about what has happened to you. I did not agree with hurting or restraining you. I apologize for the others.”

I rested my head back onto the cot and gritted my teeth at the friction.

“The nausea is probably from the concussion. It will go away in a few days.” He offered softly, “I can get you more water once you finish that.”

I turned my head to see his face.

“You drugged me.”

The doctor nodded. “It’s a cocktail of a few medications to help with the pain.”

He was lying. The pain wasn’t dulled but my movements were; I felt uncoordinated, subdued mentally and physically. It had to be some kind of central nervous depressant. It inhibited my abilities, my healing. Did he know that?

“I know you don’t trust them, but I’m not like them. I don’t enjoy being here anymore than you do, but since I’m here, I would like to help you.” He placed his hand on my foot.

“How do you plan on doing that?” I asked.

There was no helping me. We had passed that a few hours ago. They weren’t letting me go after the show I just gave them. They were drugging me to contain me.

“Do you know how you manipulate energy?” he asked.

“No.”

Doctor John didn’t seem deterred by my ambivalent attitude. He nodded at my response and smiled tightly. “How do you release it?”

“What did you give me?” My head was still pounding, and consciousness started to seep away from me.

“At this moment, you are very important to us. I can tell you everyone is very interested in what you can do.”

“I can’t help you.” My voice sounded so tired. I couldn’t even manage anger in my tone when I spoke. Was I slurring my words?

“Just a few questions—can you do that?” He reached for my hand.

I tried to slide it away before he could make contact. Perhaps he meant well, but the doctor was one of them. He put the drugs in my veins. No one could be trusted. They all wanted something involving me.

“Do you know what is happening to you? Do you know how you… release energy? Is it at will?” He casually crossed his legs as he continued to sit near my feet on the cot.

I ignored his question.

If I understood it, then maybe I wouldn’t be here, asshole.

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