Chapter 11 Em
Em
I wake before I understand why. My internal clock doesn’t misfire often, so something must be wrong. There’s no light from the wall panels waking me up. No alarm either. Usually, I wake up before it.
My eyes open to darkness, vision blurred without my glasses, and for a confused moment, I try to orient myself by routine alone.
I pat over to the other side of the bed and find it empty.
Routine’s absent. Alarm’s absent. Idris isn’t in bed beside me. He sleeps heavier than I do, so he wouldn’t have left unless there was an urgent matter to attend to.
My first instinct is to reach for my glasses on the nightstand, but before my hand even moves, Idris’ whispered voice reaches me from across the room. “It’s 4 a.m., Em.”
His voice sounds calm, but there’s strain beneath it. I blink to the sound and see shadowy figures by my door, dim light outlining them. Idris stands there. Two silhouettes stand with him.
I can’t make out the shapes, but I know those voices well.
Nil’s whisper reaches me first. “We shouldn’t wait to tell Em.”
Stan answers in a harsh whisper that’s somehow loud. “We’re not waiting. We’re trying not to freak her out.”
“You’re not whispering,” Nil murmurs, barely audible.
“I’m whispering very hard,” Stan insists.
I push up onto my elbows. The blanket slips, and only then do I recall I’m bare beneath. My hand moves, pulling the sheet up to cover myself.
My gaze is on the three of them when I speak, more certain than I feel. “What happened?”
The men freeze. So I reach for my glasses, feeling for them in the dark. My fingers find them on the nightstand, and I put them on.
But even in this dim lighting, I can barely see well. Though, it’s a bit clearer now, seeing Idris’ shoulders tense. He had the decency to slip on pants, when we were both bare before I fell asleep in his arms hours ago.
Nil’s in front of him, also without a shirt, arms crossed and whispering nearly silent to Idris, who’s nodding along.
All the while, Stan’s staring my way. He’s not wearing much but his hand’s covering his privates and the other hand is holding…a reddish shoe?
I repeat the question. “What happened?”
They go quiet again.
Then Idris looks at me. His face is composed, voice smooth, but there’s that strain again. “Em,” he says, “We’re sorry for waking you.”
I turn my gaze to Nil, whose eyes dart toward me, then away. But now that I’m waking up a bit more, I note how Nil breathes. It gives him away. Too fast. Too shallow.
“It’s alright,” Idris insists. He’s using the tone he saves for subjects in distress. “I’ll handle it, Em. Get some rest, please.”
He steps out of my quarters and lets the door slide closed.
Rest. At 4 a.m. With Nil’s pulse elevated enough that I can hear it from across the room, and Stan visibly restraining himself from shouting through a whisper.
Silence settles in the room, except for the faint hum of the ventilation system and the residual echo of Nil’s breathing still imprinted in my awareness.
My body registers several things at once. There’s slight tension beneath my ribs, a cold chill down my arms, yet heat wraps around my neck. None of it helps me determine the nature of the disruption. It only confirms that something significantly urgent has occurred.
But Idris told me to rest. And I trust his judgment. Whatever he’s handling now, he believes I’m more useful after sleep than during a state of partial awareness.
So I lower myself back onto the pillow. My glasses are placed back on the nightstand. I pull the blanket higher. The warmth remedies in increments along my arms, regulating some of the tension I haven’t fully dispelled.
My mind starts to form hypotheses, but I shut them down one by one. Analysis requires data. I’m lacking all of it.
Instead, I go to the thought that calms my system fastest—Idris telling me the time before I asked, Idris prioritizing my rest, and Idris standing at my door, between me and the rest of the world.
My breathing evens out. The remaining tension resolves itself from my muscles.
I’ll wake at my usual time, one hour and fifty-nine minutes from now. Soon, I’ll know more, and perhaps then, I’ll be more useful.
I close my eyes. Sleep returns much more quickly than I expect with their scents lingering in the air of my quarters.
***
My morning’s off before it even starts. I wake up again without Idris. I shower without him as well. I dress without feeling his eyes on me. I go about my morning without him making sure I’ve slept enough or eaten enough.
Breakfast is quiet without him talking to me.
I drink my tea, but the flavor of ginger is stronger than usual.
It doesn’t calm my stomach. Idris informed me I’m most likely seasick.
I countered that it may be the Kys that I’m taking.
He assured me that he was intentional with putting together the compound.
But today, nothing feels right since my routine is wrong.
The ship drones as it always does, but it doesn’t calm my nerves. Normally, Idris and I would be walking together to the first meeting of the day. Today, his side of the hallway is empty.
By the time I’m at the door to the captain’s room, my tablet’s pressed tightly to my chest. I loosen my grip before the door opens.
Inside, Idris and Darius stand over the central table. Their postures are stiff, angled toward the speakerphone set between them. The green light blinks.
I take a few steps in, stopping when neither of them looks up right away.
“Good morning, Em,” Idris says, head down and eyes focused on the blinking light.
Darius lifts his eyes first. “We’re waiting for Father to return to the call,” he explains.
I straighten my spine, feeling a chill. The mention of their father affects me in such a way. Even my breathing changes, and I make a deliberate correction that doesn’t quite work.
The static on the speakerphone fills the room. So this morning’s meeting isn’t a standard update briefing. Nothing about this morning has been standard.
Something must be wrong. My body senses it. Heat gathers at the back of my neck. My pulse ticks upward in my throat as my breath leaves me, uneven and heavy.
The sound brings Idris to meet my eyes. “Em,” he says, “Set will join us on the phone soon. It’s about last night.”
Simple words, yet how he’s speaking doesn’t sit right with me. My pulse rises once more. Manageable but noticeable. I file it away. I can’t let my frantic feelings take hold, especially on a call with Set Adel, our largest investor.
I find myself holding my breath. Forcing it out, I hear air leave through my slightly parted lips.
“Em,” Idris says, sounding more like himself. Still restrained, but less so.
My eyes find his. I hadn’t realized my gaze moved to the blinking green light.
Between us, Darius has a plastic tube he’s connecting quietly to a piece of metal. I realize now that tinkering may be a nervous habit of his.
Just as mine is seeking Idris’ company. I’ve gotten used to it after the last few years, more so in the past several days on this ship.
“Did you sleep after I left, Em?” Idris asks, interrupting my thoughts.
“Yes,” I answer.
Idris nods, but his jaw flexes.
Before I can form my next thought, the speakerphone clicks.
A low tone rolls through the room. A deep, resonant sound that feels like it’s coming from the inside of the metal walls surrounding us. “Is that Emira you’re speaking with, Idris?”
My heartrate feels as if it’s alarmingly increasing from the sound of Set’s voice, just as Darius stands straighter and Idris folds his hands behind his back.
“Sir,” I say as calmly as I can. “Good morning.”
“Tell me, Emira,” Set says, each syllable sounding measured, “did Idris inform you of the incident aboard your vessel?”
My throat closes. Idris’ shoulders tense. “No,” I force the word past my lips. “He did not.”
There’s a long pause that follows, as though Set is dissecting my answer with a slow blade cutting right through the thick tension in this room he doesn’t even occupy.
“He should have,” he says sternly.
The chill in my spine turns sharper.
Idris lowers his head. “Father, I—”
“Not now, Idris. Emira, you will hear directly from me.”
My fingers tighten around my tablet. I loosen them because I must appear normal, unaffected.
Set inhales, the sound faint over the speakerphone. “Last night,” he begins, “one of your experiment’s subjects was found dead.”
My lungs seize. The air thins. My vision blurs. For a split second, I’m thirteen again, crouched on the cold tiles, my mother’s vitals crashing under my fingertips, all because of a compound that wasn’t as clean as the one I’ve remade.
“Em,” Idris whispers, suddenly beside me. I didn’t sense him moving. “Eyes on my chest, Em. Mirror my breaths.”
I blink hard, shoving the memory back in my mind. My eyes trace the movements of his chest. In—two, three, four. Out—two, three, four.
“The young man’s name was Sergio Cicero,” Set’s voice cuts in.
A sharp ringing fills my ears. But it isn’t from the speaker. It’s inside my head.
My mind brings me to more memories.
I remember Sergio’s intake interview over the phone. He was the first one we took in. Subject One.
We met in person at his apartment before he came to the ship. It was the only place he felt safe, he said. He was desperate for a fix. I was eager to oblige.
I recall his fidgeting hands, his skittish laugh, and how he would wince when we so much as mentioned the word Kys. I promised him I’d heal him from what he’d face.
But now, he’s…dead.
Dead? How?
He must have overdosed. Or destabilized. Or—
“Em,” Idris whispers my name, much closer to me, low and urgent. “Em, listen to me.”
But Set’s voice carries on. “He was found in his quarters. His injuries appeared intentional.”
“Injuries?” My voice barely makes it out.
Set answers plainly, “Someone removed his eyes.”
Darius’ gaze drops. His fingers twitch around the parts in his hands.