Chapter 19 Wren #3
“I…” She choked out, clearing her throat. “I have to go.”
August stared back at her, eyes brimming with worry.
“Wren.” He whispered her name softly. “If I…if I pushed you too far—”
“No,” Wren cut in, mustering up as much reassurance in her voice as she could manage, molding her lips into a tight-lipped smile. “It’s…it’s not you. It’s not this. I just…I need to get back. I’m probably already in trouble.”
August scratched the back of his neck. He watched her intently, and Wren shivered at the intensity in his gaze.
“Okay,” he murmured. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
August let out a sigh of resignation, though it was clear he wasn’t fully convinced.
“We’ll keep investigating tomorrow,” he told her. “There has to be a way to find out who made that security cuff.” He glanced over his shoulder, lowering his voice. “I’ll try to meet with you in Silver, but it might be hard for me to get away. They’re…keeping tabs on me. Watching me.”
“It’s okay,” Wren replied. “I’ll—I’ll see what information I can get out of Quinn and Arthur. Something tells me that if there is anyone we can get on our side…it might be them.”
August tilted his head, unsure. “I wouldn’t put your trust in them, Loughty. They’re still Demiens.”
Wren reached out and cupped August’s face gently with her palm.
“So are you.”
A pained expression washed over August’s features. He lifted his own hand, placing it atop hers, and gave it an affirming squeeze.
Wren wanted to stay…to tell him about the voice.
But August seemed so determined to get them out of the encampment—to save her—that she couldn’t bring herself to.
The voice was clearly linked to whatever Edith had been doing to her mind, and if Wren could escape by Equinox, then maybe she wouldn’t need saving.
Maybe she could save herself.
“I’ll see you soon,” Wren assured him.
August nodded. “I’ll see you soon.”
And then, before she could convince herself not to, Wren turned away from August and hurried into the dark.
When she finally made it back to the Silver Unit cavern, Wren beelined for her tent, hoping and praying that Quinn and Arthur wouldn’t be there waiting for her. Luckily, when she stepped over the threshold of her tent, there was nobody there.
There was, however, a note on the bed. Three words scribbled in black ink.
You owe me.
Wren read the words, tracing them with her finger. It was clear that whoever had left the note had also left her the lock of hair. But who and why were questions she’d simply have to worry about tomorrow.
For a moment, Wren simply stood there. She knew what she had to do, but still…it terrified her. But she also knew that sleep wouldn’t come to her if she didn’t try. If she didn’t acknowledge the voice, once and for all.
She inhaled a slow, steadying breath.
“Who are you?”
A part of her already knew the answer, but she needed to ask. She needed to hear it out loud. At first, the only response was the piercing silence of night, and then…the voice emerged from the depths of her mind, washing over her.
From my blood she will drink, a debt for a price. A promise of darkness, a last sacrifice. Rotten and broken, his lie comes undone; when the two meet their maker…the two become one.
A shudder ran through Wren.
“The Soulless One.”
Mmm. The voice chuckled and Wren shivered. Is that what they call me these days?
Panic burst through Wren. No. No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t—
You cannot fight what binds us. You cannot stop what has been set in motion.
Wren winced, staggering. A shooting pain blossomed beneath her temples, a dizzying wave of vertigo that made her stomach lurch. She collapsed onto her knees, hands burrowed in her hair.
“Get out.” Wren pulled at her hair, pain stinging her scalp. “Get. Out.”
It’s almost time, my sweet catalyst. It’s almost time.
Something snapped inside Wren. Her last thread of sanity. Her last fiber of restraint.
When she screamed, she barely heard the sound of her own voice.
“GET OUT OF MY FUCKING HEAD!”
Seconds stretched by. Then minutes. Finally, Wren’s eyes fluttered open.
She swallowed, voice raw from the sheer power of her scream.
She searched the depths of her mind, half expecting to feel another presence, but there was no trace of him anymore, no sign of the Soulless One’s poisonous voice to be found.
She was alone again.
For now.
Wren fought to stand, pushing herself back onto her feet.
She knew that something terrible was happening to her.
That her fate was tethered to this prophecy, whether she wanted it to be or not.
And though a part of her was desperate to uncover what it was exactly that Edith and the others had been talking about, she couldn’t find it inside herself to care.
Not when her very sanity seemed to be on the precipice of destruction.
Not when she could hardly discern what was real and what wasn’t.
But there was one thing Wren was certain of.
One thing that was clear.
Her mind was no longer her own.