My head is splitting—sharp, rhythmic pulses drilling through my left temple and ricocheting along my hairline like fault lines ready to crack.
What the hell happened?
Well, I’m alive. That counts for something. If Manticore had me, I wouldn’t be breathing—I know that much. No, this is different. Someone else intercepted. Someone who wants me out of the way but not permanently. Not yet at least.
Talia might still have my signal… unless they’ve taken my phone.
I keep my eyes shut, let my other senses pick up the slack. There’s traffic—car horns, a busker maybe, distant chatter muffled through glass. Floorboards creak somewhere above me. Still in the city, oracity. That narrows it to roughly… everywhere.
Then something shifts against me—heavy, warm, rhythmic. Purring?
A cat. There’s a cat in my lap.
So… not a warehouse. Not the trunk of a car. I’m in a house.
Well, that’s new.
The groan of a door jerks my eyes open—but the light hits like a hammer, detonating behind my eyelids and dragging a raw scream straight through my skull. My head pulses in bright, blistering waves. Nothing makes sense.
Shapes lurch in and out of focus. The ceiling—off-white and cracked. A light bulb flickers, or maybe that’s just my vision short-circuiting. I try to move, but something pulls at my arms, heavy and tight.
Footsteps filter through and when my vision returns enough for me to see shapes, I spot the figure standing nearby—watching silently. But I can’t tell if it’s familiar.
I blink hard, trying to bring her into focus. A woman. Tall? Short? Everything keeps shifting. Her face—it sparks recognition, but my brain can’t stick the landing.
Do I know her?
Did she do this to me?
My wrists ache. I twist, trying to make sense of anything, and that’s when I realise, I’m bound.
Fuck.
I’m tied up.
I don’t remember the fight. I don’t even remember losing it. Just the darkness—and now this. Someone’s flat, maybe?
This wasn’t the plan.
None of this was the plan.
“Afternoon.” Her voice, although barely more than a whisper, thunders through my head.
Nausea rises through my chest and I allow my eyes to fall shut again, trying to piece together what the fuck has happened.
“So, stalker boy, you’re probably wondering where you are, how you got here—”
“You hit me?” I cut her off, beating her to the punch.
How the hell did she manage this? She’s barely five feet tall and built like a stray gust. Have I actually gotten this sloppy? Gotten so complacent I forgot how to cover my own back?
“Well, yes,” she says, annoyingly unfazed. “But if you’d let me finish—”
“And you’re trying to stop me taking down Manticore.”
Her brows pull together, eyes narrowing—not with guilt, but confusion. Those eyes—bright green, shadowed with something unreadable—bury into my soul like a leech.
“I don’t know who that is,” she says slowly. “And no. But if you’d stop interrupting, I will explain.”
