Chapter 28
Mynx
Mynx blinked, fighting to surface from the heavy layers of sleep that clung to her like wet cloth.
Her body begged her to stay under—stay numb, stay quiet—but something was wrong.
The air buzzed. Not with light or sound, but vibration.
A low, mechanical hum that wrapped around her like static. Familiar. Wrong.
Her arms ached. A deep, grinding pain that pulled at her shoulder sockets, they'd been stretched past their limits. She tried to move, but the effort sent a jolt through her spine. Restraints. Tight. Unforgiving.
And then—crying. Mynx tried to blink, trying to see past the black velvet that surrounded her.
The crying continued as a soft, broken sound, like someone familiar. It came from somewhere close. Too close.
She opened her eyes fully now, the world swimming into focus in fractured pieces—concrete walls, dim light, the metallic scent of blood and bleach.
She wasn't alone. And she wasn't free. The shadows along the edge of her vision finally started to ebb back. She blinked.
Cyndi was beside her, hung from the same type of restraints she was.
"Cyndi—," Mynx said, her voice grinding against her vocal cords like sandpaper. She was thirsty. Her mouth was thick, with dried saliva. How long had she been out?
Two faces turned to the sound of her voice.
Cyndi's and Stoker's. What was he doing tattooing her?
Cyndi's eyes were glassy, unfocused. Tears streaked her cheeks; they streamed down to the leather strap in her mouth.
She didn't move. Just stared at Mynx like she was the last familiar thing in a world gone sideways.
"Morning, sunshine," he said, almost tenderly. "Didn't think you'd wake up for this part."
"What are you doing?" Mynx rasped, each word a splinter.
"Creating a work of art, something to help the world remember me by when I'm gone." He stood and walked to a table along the back wall of the room. And picked up something. Walking back her way.
Mynx struggled against her restraints.
"I'm not ready for you yet, Mynx. You need to go back to sleep. There's nothing you can do for me or her. However, if you want to say goodbye to her, now would be the perfect time to do so. The next time you wake up, you'll be in her position, and she will be long gone from this world."
Mynx's breath hitched. Her body was screaming, but her eyes locked onto Cyndi—her slack posture, the way her fingers twitched like she was trying to hold on to something invisible. The ink on her back was still wet, glistening like a wound.
"No," Mynx whispered. It came out broken. "You don't get to decide that."
Stoker didn't look up. He pulled the cap off the needle in his hand and slid it into her arm. "I already have. And there is absolutely nothing you or anyone else can do about it. Butterfly."
Cyndi turned her head, just barely. Her eyes met Mynx's, and for a moment, everything else fell away. Her baby sister blinked her eyes at her as if to say goodbye.
"No, I won't say goodbye," Mynx sobbed, her voice splintering as the sedative clawed at her mind. "Cyndi, don't give up. I love you—"
The words fractured, jagged with grief. Her throat burned. Her body trembled. But she fought to stay, to speak, to leave something behind that Stoker couldn't erase.
"Raven will come," she whispered, slurred and fading. "He'll come for us…"
Her head lolled, the restraints biting into her wrists as the blackness surged. Cyndi's face blurred. Mynx reached for her with everything she had left, with her voice.
Then the void took her.