Arachna

Something had stirred in Rotoya’s mind as she struck Lance with her pistol. It was a familiar feeling, one she knew but couldn’t fully remember. A phantom pain—déjà vu. Caleb kicked Lance, and Rotoya felt it again. So familiar yet so foreign.

The biting cold of the underground level snapped at her skin, but her armor and the nanobots warmed her. Fixed lights brightened the hall yet somehow rendered it ominous. The concrete walls closed in on her, and she took a deep breath.

The chill relieved her burns, and when she closed her eyes and focused on the bots within her, they traveled to those burns. Even now, heat raged on within the wounds, as if the fire had seeped into her body and remained forever alive.

She missed this—being free of Caleb’s influence. It was as if a fog had been removed from her mind and she could see again. She was herself, and she would never let Caleb take that from her again.

Caleb stepped out of the cold cell where Lance lay, slamming the thick steel door behind him. Only through the small, barred window in the door was Lance visible, unconscious on the floor. Rotoya had removed his cuffs before they threw him in.

Caleb glared at her, discontent written on his face. “What took you so long to bring him to me?”

“Little bastard tried to escape,” Rotoya said.

Caleb raised an eyebrow.

“He’s a crafty one. Like father, like son.”

“So you almost let him get away?” Caleb asked, his tone condescending.

“But I didn’t.”

Caleb looked at the door as if deciding just how he wanted to respond. “If you and your officers can’t bring in one man—”

“Look, I got him, didn’t I? What matters is that he didn’t get away and he’s here. What more do you want?” When Caleb didn’t respond, Rotoya drew a steadying breath. “I’ll be in the lobby.”

Rotoya walked away, her boots scraping against the concrete floor. The cell-lined hallway felt longer than ever as she traveled it, Caleb’s stare burning a hole in the back of her head.

Caleb cleared his throat, and Rotoya stopped.

“One of your officers will be waiting at the front desk.” A small flash of his veins, and she knew he was ordering the officer there at this very moment. She forced a smile and thanked him, the words bitter in her mouth, then walked to the elevator. She hoped Lance could withstand whatever Caleb had in store, at least long enough to initiate the next phase of the plan.

As the elevator rose, and her heart along with it, she wondered which officer awaited her at the front. This new pattern of working for Caleb was wearing her nerves down to thin strings. Getting her officers back at a trickle was an insult, as if she needed to earn her own officers back.

The only small comfort was that Caleb would be dead soon, one way or another.

She should never have accepted that drug.

* * *

Lance awoke on the cold concrete floor. He moved to sit up, his ribs aching in response, and he climbed onto a slab of metal attached to the wall by two chains, presumably a bed. The room was nothing but concrete otherwise, and the cold… why was it so cold?

At first, Lance was alone, but then the beast growled as it too awoke. Growling right at the door.

“I’m awake, in case you’re wondering,” Lance said to whoever was on the other side.

A voice muttered something, then keys jingled. As soon as the door opened, Lance made a note of which officer was holding the keys.

Caleb stepped in, his face pleasant.

He leaned against the wall opposite Lance, and one of the guards stepped in behind him, closing the door. The one with the keys watched from a small window in the door.

The officer in the room had a pistol at his side and was easily within arm’s reach. It almost looked intentional. Lance ignored it for now.

“I have some questions for you,” Caleb said. He seemed perfectly content in the cold, while Lance tried his best not to shiver.

“Shame,” Lance responded, his voice shaky. “I thought you were just c-coming in here for a little visit.”

Caleb smiled at him, as if enjoying the sight. “Are you cold?”

Lance focused on the guard next to Caleb. First on his breathing, on his chest rising and falling in an even pattern. He matched the breathing, trying to make a connection with it. If the chief hadn’t been lying, then Caleb shouldn’t notice the attempt, not with all the soldiers he had to control at once.

“I like the cold,” Lance said.

Caleb chuckled. The sound spiked through Lance’s head. Lance gritted his teeth and focused even harder. He reached out and felt something there. A small warmth. The blood of the soldier, coursing through his veins.

“So tell me,” Caleb said, “how did you get a hold of the drug?”

Lance suppressed a curse. Just shut up, already. Every word Caleb spoke knocked him out of his concentration. This was his only chance. He had to take it.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

Lance found it. He latched on to the warmth of the soldier and held on for dear life. He had something. It took everything he had not to smile. “I honestly don’t know how I got this.” He gestured at himself and nearly lost his hold on the soldier’s blood for a moment, but he caught himself just in time.

Something about gripping the soldier made the cold more bearable, as if he was stealing the soldier’s warmth for himself. A voice rang in the distance.

“Are you lying to me?” Caleb’s words turned cold again, but then he stopped and calmed himself. The drug had gotten to his sense of business. He couldn’t even speak calmly anymore, not without severe self-control.

Don’t let him see, Lance told the beast. He readied himself to reach further into the soldier. If his veins showed, even for a second, even in the darkness of the cell, Caleb would suspect.

Lance shook his head as he dove deeper within the soldier, embracing the warmth that came with it. He felt what the man felt: boredom, tension, even a bit of sadness. Somewhere deeper down, his thoughts resided. Like voices in his head but dropped down a deep chasm. They echoed up to him.

I can’t believe this is a terrorist. He’s just a kid.

“I’m not,” Lance said. “I’m not lying, I swear.”

Caleb wordlessly scanned him up and down. Lance reached out one last time and latched onto the officer.

Cross your arms.

Lance’s heart thundered in his chest as the officer crossed his arms. He waited for Caleb to look at the soldier, to furrow his brows, anything. But he didn’t. He just stood there and frowned. Rotoya’s theory was right. He held too many people under his thumb to notice a few out of reach.

Either that, or Lance had already improved.

“Well,” Caleb finally said. “You’re lucky.” He slapped down a small, dirty journal beside Lance and smiled. “I believe you.”

He left the room, and the officer left behind him. The door closed with a loud creak and slam, and Lance finally allowed himself to shiver, his teeth clacking together. A few minutes passed, and Lance eyed the journal then picked it up.

His hand rested on the front, where initials were carved into the leather.

M. L.

Lance considered ignoring it. If Caleb wanted him to read it, then surely it wasn’t something he wanted to see. Yet whatever lay within these pages could have something to do with a cure, maybe something Caleb had missed.

The beast offered no growls, no hisses, no purrs.

So Lance took the decision into his own hands.

He opened the journal.