I wake up screaming or at least I try to– my lungs expanding as if they can’t get enough sweet air. My eyes immediately water from the bright, almost blinding light coming from somewhere above me, and I quickly shut them. A low gurgling noise comes from somewhere nearby, and I realize it’s coming from me, so I close my mouth.
When I decide it’s safe to open my eyes, I take another look at my surroundings, hissing in pain as the light hits my eyes again. Before long, I adjust to the brightness and peer through slits at the white, sterile interior of a hospital room.
I shut my eyes again and swallow, or at least I try to. The inside of my mouth feels like someone stuffed sand into it, and my tongue feels like the sandworm from Dune, slithering left to right in search of moisture. The beeping from the machines hooked up to me is rhythmic and lulls me back into unconsciousness, but I fight it, forcing my eyes open to take a look at my surroundings.
The room is spacious, filled from top to bottom with state-of-the-art medical equipment and more. A large glass window is currently shuttered, and the only illumination in the room comes from ambient lighting in the ceiling. Black Rose never skimped on the welfare of its operatives; we always got the best of whatever money could buy.
In one corner, a sofa-bed held a figure huddled under a thick blanket, an open book obscuring most of their face. That ash-gray buzz cut, though—I’d recognize it anywhere.
“Milo,” I croaked, horror dawning as I realized I couldn’t move anything below my neck. Was I paralyzed? A nightmare?
I cleared my throat, pain flaring like swallowing glass. “Milo… hey, man.”
The figure stirred. An oversized hand emerged, nudging the book aside. Bleary gray eyes squinted, then widened, locking onto mine. Like a jungle cat stretching after a long nap, Milo slid off the sofa and reached my side, a cup of cool water in hand and his trademark lopsided grin spreading.
He pressed the cup to my parched lips. I drank greedily until he pulled it back, chuckling.
“Easy, Ilia,” he said, voice soft. “You’ll choke if you drink too fast.”
He was right. I shut my eyes, forcing myself to take birdlike sips to keep my body from rejecting the water it craved moments ago. I used the opportunity to study my best friend. Taller than me by a few inches, he was built like a willow—whip-thin, with oversized hands and feet, and a face that could grace any magazine cover. Alabaster skin, ash-gray buzz cut, bushy brows, and he had a beard that looked weeks old.
After my third cup, I felt less like a wrung-out rag, but my body remained locked, no matter how I strained. Even keeping my eyes open took effort.
Milo studied me, almost like seeing me anew, then raised one finger with a theatrical flourish. “How many fingers?” he teased.
“Just the one I’ll break when I get out of here,” I shot back.
He laughed, then leaned closer, his gaze searching. “It’s really you in there, right?”
I frowned, but before I could answer, a barometric door whooshed open nearby and a tall nurse strode in, tablet in hand, unfazed by the fact that I was awake.
Blackrose nurses wore crisp white jumpsuits, like something from a sci-fi flick, with sleek black digital nametags. Milo stepped back as the nurse approached, slotting her tablet into a machine and tapping its controls.
I licked my lips and coughed softly. She glanced at me, then looked away. My mind was foggy, but something felt wrong.
“Hey, nurse,” I rasped. “Why can’t I move?”
She didn’t answer at first, then met my eyes. “You’re in a stasis field for your safety.” Her tone was off, guarded.
“My safety?” I said slowly. “I’m awake now. Can you turn it off?”
I looked to Milo for support, but he averted his gaze. Okay, something was definitely off.
“Excuse me, nurse, am I being detained?”
She didn’t meet my eyes. “I told you, Walker. You’re immobilized for your safety.”
I narrowed my eyes. “My safety… or yours?”
The nurse flinched, her eyes widening with fear. The door whooshed again, and all eyes turned to the door as my sister marched in. The air seemed to vanish as Vania Ilia strode to my bedside.
The nurse stepped back, her gloved hands fluttering to her chest. “Walker Ilia,” she breathed, awestruck.
My sister ignored her, leaning over me, her piercing gaze dissecting me like a specimen. I felt exposed, her eyes boring into mine as if she could see my soul. Satisfied, she straightened and nodded to the nurse. “He’s fine. Release him.”
The nurse hesitated, flustered. “I… Dr. Bruma said to keep him immobilized until—”
Vania sidled closer, a sly smile curling her lips. “Let him up, Elora.” She glanced at the nametag, her tone teasing.
Elora nodded eagerly, almost melting under Vania’s charm. Seconds later, my arms lifted, weak but free. The nurse hurried out.
“Sorry, kiddo,” Vania said, grinning. “It’s been a wild couple of weeks.”
“You know I hate ‘kiddo,’” I muttered, coughing. “Not cool.”
Vania chuckled. Milo made a sound—half-moan, half-groan. We glanced at him.
“I’ll… wait outside,” he said, slipping out.
Alone with my sister, I met her gaze. She waited, then her face suddenly turned grave and she lost her smile.
“Okay, Sami,” she said quietly. “Tell me everything.”