War Between the Shadows (Forged in Fire Duet #1)

Prologue

I’m paralyzed in my own body. My movements are not my own, yet I can’t help but make them. An itch lies somewhere in the back of my mind that I can’t reach. Like something traveling within me, holding me captive.

I’m here, but I’m not.

I’m me, but not.

I’ll never get the image of her standing there out of my head, eyes full of betrayal and heartache. Whispers echo around me, words trying to penetrate the wall I’ve thrown up. It’s slowly being chipped away. My sanity, my sanctuary, my control. Picking and probing, trying to find a weak spot. There are none. At least, there never used to be.

“Kill him,” the foreign voice instructs. Kill who? I wonder. The question never leaves the empty void in my head. My eyes don’t waver from the spot I’ve located on the wall in front of me.

Unwillingly, my feet begin to move of their own accord, taking me forward until my gaze meets the man withering at my feet.

His knees dig into the unforgiving concrete floor. His hands are tied behind his back. Lips quivering, he says something I can’t hear. My limbs stay rigid as his body shakes with sobs while his mouth continues to move with what I assume are pleas.

A nagging sense of familiarity rings in the back of my mind while my eyes roam over his beaten and bruised face. The man’s right eye is swollen shut, blood crusted over his lips and down his chin. When it clicks into place, my features remain stone. Phineas, the low-grade healer that used to work at the pharmacy—before his disappearance some time ago.

Questions rattle around in my head. What is he doing here? How did he get here? But my lips stay in a hard line, not allowing the words to escape.

“Please! Please! I haven’t done anything! Have mercy!” Phineas weeps, pleading for his life that I don’t want to end.

“Kill. Him.” The command rings in my ears, and I’m involuntarily bringing my arm up, showcasing the knife I don’t remember grabbing.

Hand shaking, I scream, “ No!” Only, it doesn’t leave my thoughts. Instead, it stays trapped within myself, bouncing off the walls of my skull.

“Now!” it yells, and I’m slicing the blade across the man’s throat. Blood pours out of his neck, and his body hits the floor with a thunderous thud.

“Subject 763 has delayed response. Up the dosage by fifty milliliters. I want it to be compliant without hesitation,” the voice says before a needle pierces my arm, and I’m greeted with darkness.