EIGHTEEN
T he first thing I hear is the rattling of chains.
Rough, cold, and tight—chains that grip my hands together above my head, digging into my flesh.
My skin buzzes back to life, waking up under the droplets of liquid coating it. A warm liquid. Sticky, and with a metallic smell that wafts through the air around me. It feels like blood, but I don’t want to come to that conclusion just yet.
My eyelids feel heavy, and it’s too much of an effort to blink. So I rest in the darkness for a while longer, hoping my body will wake itself up from whatever nightmare I’m having right now.
A whimper escapes my lips as I shift, trying to pull my hands back along my torso. The pain gets so strong I have no choice but to cry out, my own echo coming back to hit me like a boomerang.
“Wake up, Dove,” a hushed voice tells me. A voice I recognize, but I can’t quite match it to anyone I know.
I don’t want to, I answer him in my mind.
I must be mumbling unintelligible words, because whoever is with me starts cursing under their breath.
My dry lips smack together, begging for water. And with that realization, a throbbing headache nests in my skull, making me scrunch my already-closed eyes.
“Please…” I mumble, to no one in particular. “I’m so thirsty.”
“Dove, listen to me. I don’t have much time,” the voice says, and I remember, once again, that I can’t quite place it. It kind of sounds like… “They’re going to ask you questions. Tell them what you know. And then I’ll see you in a few days, after your initiation.”
“W-Who?” I smack my dry lips again. “Who is this? Please, my wrists hurt.”
“Don’t fight them. Don’t put yourself in danger for nothing. Just tell them what you know. I’ll do my best to help you in here before he gets ahold of you.”
“Who?” I whimper.
“Rowan. Before Rowan gets ahold of you.”
“Where am I?” My chest starts heaving, adrenaline pumping into my veins as my whole body wakes up. “Who are you?!” I open my eyes, webs of fog clouding my vision as I try to register my surroundings.
“They won’t rape you. We’re all under an oath of celibacy. But they will hurt you, Dove. So don’t get clever—just tell them what you know. Promise me,” he says, his voice sounding desperate.
I blink rapidly, tears washing my blind spots away. The face of a man I recognize comes into view.
It’s so dark in here, but I can see the scar crossing his left eye.
I can see his hair, brown and buzz-cut.
I can see his eyes, colder and more distant than they’ve ever been.
I see all of it, but I still shake my head, sobbing as the memories come back to life.
“This isn’t real. You can’t be here,” I cry out, not even caring about the pain in my wrists as I tug on the chains.
But it is real. And he is here.
My dead brother, Cole, is very much still alive.