Chapter 33: Prophetic Visions
The second vial of silver tonic was worse than the first.
I tipped it back, the liquid clinging to my throat like cold mercury before sliding down. A bitter, chemical aftertaste flooded my mouth, and I gagged, leaning over the sink in the deserted bathroom. A fresh wave of nausea rolled through me, deep and sickening, accompanied by a hollow ache in my joints. My hands, braced on the porcelain, began to shake—a fine, constant tremor that felt like my bones were vibrating.
The medic’s warning echoed. Temporal disorientation. A dampening of your abilities.
All I felt was empty and sick. And suddenly, desperately, I needed to draw.
It was a physical craving, a pull in my chest sharper than the nausea. The visions and flashes I’d been suppressing since the catacombs pulsed behind my eyes, demanding release onto a page. My sketchbook. My secret, tattered record of everything I couldn’t understand or control.
I hurried back to the bunk room, my boots echoing too loud in the empty hall. The tremors made my movements jerky. I dropped to my knees beside my cot, scuffing my knuckles on the rough stone floor as I shoved my arm into the dark space beneath, feeling for the familiar leather-bound cover.
My fingers swept through dust and nothing else.
A cold spike of panic, sharper than the tonic’s chill, lanced through my gut. I scrambled up, yanking the thin mattress aside. I tore open my footlocker, dumping the contents of clothes and gear onto the floor, pawing through them. Nothing. I checked under Aria’s cot, under Alex’s, my breathing coming in short, sharp gasps. The tremors worsened.
It was gone.
Think.
The memory slammed into me: the day we returned from patrol, the chaos, everyone talking over each other. I’d been buzzing with unsaid things, my mind crowded with disjointed images of Ren’s back as he walked away. I’d frantically shoved the sketchbook into the kitchen drawer, the one with the mismatched utensils, to hide it from prying eyes. I’d meant to retrieve it later. Then Xenon had found me in the hall, and everything after was a bloody, shameful blur.
I practically ran to the common room kitchenette. The drawer stuck with a familiar whine. I yanked it open.
Empty. Just a few stray rubber bands and a dusty packet of seasoning.
My heart plummeted. Someone had been through here. Someone had found it. The implications unfolded with terrifying clarity. All those pages. The repetitive, haunting sketches of that woman with the flowing purple hair, a face I’d never seen in life but knew in my bones. The countless, brutal drawings of Ren—Ren bleeding out, Ren collapsed, Ren dying in my arms, over and over in different settings. Prophecies or nightmares, I didn’t know, but they were not meant for any eyes but mine.
Aria’s birthday was in two days. I’d wanted to draw her something nice, a peaceful scene. Now that was the least of my worries.
“Whoa, what happened in here? Looters?”
Alex’s voice made me jump. I slammed the drawer shut and turned, trying to smooth the frantic energy from my face. She stood in the doorway, laden with two bulging fabric grocery bags, her beanie askew. She grinned, nodding toward the barracks room I’d just destroyed. “Looking for contraband?”
“Just… tidying,” I said, the lie brittle. My hands wouldn’t stay still. I shoved them into my pockets.
“Right. Well, grab an apron, Cordon Bleu. We’re on chef duty.” She hefted the bags onto the counter with a thud. “Schedule just dropped. We’ve got a midnight perimeter patrol on Aria’s actual birthday. So, surprise party tonight. Hannah’s rounding up the birthday girl and Mark. We’ve got about an hour to make magic happen with this… questionable selection of Academy-issue rations and whatever bootleg liquor Mark could swipe from the lab.”
I moved on autopilot, taking vegetables from a bag, finding a knife. The routine of chopping—the solid thunk of the blade on the board—grounded me a little. The tremors eased slightly with the focused physical task. The panic about the book was a silent scream trapped behind my teeth.
“Hey, Alex,” I said, keeping my tone casual, my eyes on a crumbling carrot. “You haven’t seen my sketchbook, have you? Black cover, kind of battered.”
She was rummaging in a high cabinet. “Nope. Sorry. Try the library? Maybe you left it in tactical theory again.”
“Yeah,” I murmured. “Maybe.”
I lost myself in the sizzle of onions in a pan, the rhythmic stirring of a stew. It was a distraction, a way to keep my body moving so my mind wouldn’t spiral. Alex chattered about a rumor she’d heard about the Western Territory Warden, her words a comfortable, meaningless buzz.
The door burst open. Hannah entered, beaming, followed by Mark, who carried a box with a lopsided, frosting-smeared cake. Aria was between them, her light brown hair slightly windswept, her violet eyes widening in genuine surprise as she took in the hastily strung banners and the simmering pots.
“You idiots,” Aria said, but she was smiling, a real one that touched her eyes. She glanced at me, and for a fraction of a second, her gaze held mine. It was like a gentle tap on a glass pane—she saw the fracture, the forced calm. But she said nothing, turning instead to hug Hannah and thank Mark.
We ate crowded around the common room table. I played my part. I laughed at Mark’s stupid jokes, I complimented Hannah on the decorations, I nodded along to stories. I felt like a ghost puppeteering my own body, watching the performance from a cold distance. Aria watched me, a quiet, observant presence. She didn’t budge, didn’t ask.
After cake, we migrated to the couch area, a nest of worn cushions and threadbare blankets. Alex produced a bottle of amber liquor and a deck of cards. “Classics first. Then we get weird.”
“I am a paragon of wholesome fun,” Mark said, settling next to Aria on the largest couch. He wiggled his eyebrows. “Ask anyone.”
The first game was simple, a round of ridiculous bets that left Hannah groaning and Alex crowing with victory. The alcohol was passed. I held the glass, feeling the warm weight of it. The tonic was a cold pool in my stomach. I didn’t know if mixing them was safe. I found I didn’t care. I took a burning swallow. The heat spread, blurring the sharp edges of my anxiety, muffling the silent scream.
The door to the barracks slammed open with such force the banners fluttered.
Ren stood in the threshold, his leather jacket dusted with what looked like ash, his dark hair messy. The air in the room chilled several degrees. His expression was thunderous, a storm contained in human form. He’d clearly just come from somewhere intense, and the aftermath clung to him like a second shadow.
He scanned the room, his intense eyes passing over the bottles, the cards, landing briefly on each of us. His jaw tightened.
An awkward silence descended.
“Hey, Boss,” Alex said, breaking it with forced cheer. She held up a bottle of beer. “We’re celebrating Aria’s imminent aging. Want one? Or are you just here to kill the vibe?”
We all expected a snarled refusal, a cutting remark about frivolity. He stared at the bottle in Alex’s hand for a long, tense moment. Then he strode forward, snatched it, twisted the cap off against the edge of the table, and took a long pull. He dropped into the lone armchair, a brooding, silent monument to bad temper.
We all slowly resumed breathing.
“Okay,” Alex said, clapping her hands. “Now that our esteemed leader has joined the peasant revelry, next game: Never Have I Ever. Make it good.”
Mark rubbed his hands together. “My specialty.”
The early rounds were predictable. Never have I ever failed a stealth exam. Never have I ever accidentally set my own bunk on fire. Fingers went down. Ren didn’t play, just drank and watched with a disconcerting, unblinking focus that felt like a physical weight.
Then Mark shifted gears. “Never have I ever… had a threesome in the training grounds.”
Alex cackled, putting a finger down. Hannah flushed and took a sip of her drink. Aria just shook her head, a small, tolerant smile on her lips. My own finger stayed up. Ren’s gaze flicked to me, then away.
Alex’s turn. She leaned forward, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Alright. Never have I ever been fucked so hard it was sore for days.”
Mark whooped, putting a finger down immediately. Hannah made a sound of mock outrage and didn’t drink.
Without thinking, driven by a wave of bitter, nihilistic defiance, I raised my glass and took a full, deep shot of the liquor. It burned a path of false courage.
Mark’s finger was already down. He froze, his eyes snapping to me. The whoop died in his throat.
A complete, ringing silence filled the room.
Everyone was staring at me. Hannah’s mouth was slightly open. Alex’s teasing grin had vanished, replaced by blank shock. Aria had gone very still, her violet eyes deep and unreadable. I could feel Ren’s attention like a laser, boring into the side of my head.
Mark was the first to speak, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant. “Wait. What? But… I thought you were…”
He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to.
Aren’t you a virgin?
The question hung in the air, louder than if he’d shouted it. The naive, clueless new girl from the human world. The one who flinched at touch, who blushed at crude jokes. The pathetic girl who’d cried over a kiss.A sound burst from me. It started as a sharp exhale, then escalated, fracturing into peals of laughter. It was harsh, jagged, completely humorless. It racked my body, shaking my shoulders, tears springing to my eyes from the force of it. I laughed and laughed, clutching my stomach, the hysterical sound echoing off the stone walls, a wild and broken noise in the dead quiet.
I laughed until I couldn’t breathe, while the five of them just watched me, their faces a canvas of pure, uncomprehending concern.
The silence after my laughter felt thicker than the shadows in the catacombs. It pressed against my eardrums. Alex shifted on her cushion, her face struggling to reassemble into its usual casual mask. She cleared her throat.
“Go Arisa,” she said, the words too loud, too forced. She attempted a conspiratorial wink. It looked like a nervous tic. “Finally losing her V-card! Come on, girl, spill. Whose dick did you ride? Was it that cute recruit from logistics?”
Across from me, Aria folded.
It wasn't a flinch. It was a total collapse inward. Her shoulders hunched, her gaze fixed on some distant, terrible point on the floor beyond the woven rug. Her breathing hitched, a tiny, fractured sound. Mark’s head snapped toward her, his own discomfort forgotten.
“Aria?” he asked, his voice low. He touched her shoulder. “Hey. You okay?”
I just laughed again, a dry, scraping sound. I took another swig of my drink, the alcohol burning a welcome path through the cold tonic still churning in my gut. “Yes, yes,” I announced, waving the bottle. “The sweet, innocent Arisa has lost her V-card and has joined the world of the non-virgins. Woopty-doo.” I took another gulp, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. The room tilted slightly. “It’s not all great like everyone says it is.”
I slammed the bottle down on the low table. “My turn!”
I tapped my chin in mock thought. Aria made a sound, a sharp gasp that dissolved into a choked sob. She wrapped her arms around her knees, rocking slightly. Mark shook her shoulder gently, his face pale. “Aria, talk to me. Look at me.”
Her eyes were hollow, glassy with a memory that wasn’t hers. They were ghost eyes, seeing a different room, a different pain.
I ignored her. The words were a torrent now, acid and truth and poison mixed, scouring me from the inside out.
“Never have I ever,” I declared, my voice singsong and cruel, “been to a zoo. Never have I ever owned a pet. Never have I ever been in confinement.” I paused, letting the mundane confessions hang in the air. Then my voice dropped, flattening into something dead and factual. “But sure, I know what it’s like to be pinned down and unable to escape because of the nulling vines. I know what it’s like to have to stare out at a beautiful, terribly beautiful night sky while crying out for help to the one person who has always been there for you, the one who has always protected you.”
My eyes found Ren’s. He hadn’t moved from his chair, but his knuckles were white around his beer bottle. The storm in his gaze had frozen over into something lethal and still.
“But he doesn’t come,” I said directly to him, my voice breaking on the words. “Because he didn’t want you. And the man over you continues to defile you, and your mind shuts it off but your body still feels it over and over and over again as he steals a part of you that you can never get back.”
I didn’t realize I was standing until the couch cushions shifted away from me. The bottle was in my hand again.Everyone was staring. Hannah’s hand was over her mouth. Alex looked sick. Aria was sobbing quietly into her knees, a tight, broken ball on the couch. Mark was trying to pull her into his side, his face a mask of frantic concern.
I took a final, deep chug, draining the last of the liquid fire. Then I threw the bottle against the stone wall.
The shatter was spectacular. Glass exploded like a crystal flower, raining down in a thousand glittering shards. The sound echoed, and then there was just Aria’s muffled crying.
“Oops,” I whispered.
I walked toward the mess, my boots crunching on the larger fragments. I knelt, numb, and began picking up the pieces with my bare hands. A sharp, clean pain lit up my thumb. I looked down. A crimson line welled up across the pad. I laughed, a soft, genuine sound of surprise.
“Look,” I said, holding it up.
A shadow blotted out the lantern light. Ren was just there. He hadn’t crossed the room; he had simply arrived. He grabbed my wrist, his grip iron, forcing my bleeding hand away from the glass.
“Mark,” he said, his voice a low, controlled blade. “Get Aria out of here. Separate from Arisa.Now. Stay with her until she’s stable.”
Mark didn’t argue. He nodded, his scientist’s mind shifting into triage mode, and gently guided a shaking, unresponsive Aria to her feet, leading her from the common room toward the back exit.
Ren’s gaze swung to Alex and Hannah. “Perimeter.Fifty laps. Now.”
“But it’s midnight, and—” Hannah began.
“Now,” he repeated, the word final as a tomb sealing.
They went, Alex casting one last, wide-eyed look over her shoulder before the door shut behind them.
The silence they left was absolute. He still held my wrist, his fingers a burning brand. The cut on my thumb throbbed in time with my heartbeat. He looked at my hand, at the blood welling, then back at my face. His expression was unreadable, carved from stone and shadow.The numbness shattered.
A great, heaving sob tore itself from my chest.Then another. I fell, my knees giving out, but he didn’t let me hit the glass. He guided me down, releasing my wrist as I crumpled to the floor beside the wreckage I’d made. I curled in on myself, the weight of it all—the forest , the tonic, the missing sketchbook, the words I could never un-say—crushing me into the stone. I cried, heavy, ragged sobs that stole the air from my lungs and left me trembling.
He stood over me for a long moment. Then he knelt. Not touching me. Just there, within reach, a solid, silent presence in the wreckage.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, stripped of all its usual sharpness. It was just a voice in the dark.
“Who?”