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Red light burned my eyes. I squeezed my eyes shut, but it burned even past my eyelids. I groaned and tried to roll away, but even the slightest movement sent shockwaves of pain throughout my whole body.
"Careful," came an unfamiliar voice.
The bright light cut out then. I opened my eyes into a cautious squint. Actually, they couldn't open much further. I realized my eyes were nearly swollen shut. I raised my arm, but another shock of pain rippled through me.
"I said, careful," the new voice came again.
This time, my eyes settled on the figure at my side.
A young woman, younger than me, smiled down at me. Her black curled hair was pulled into a thick, fluffy bun and her kind, dark eyes looked almost endless. She was sweet looking, but I already knew I couldn't trust her because of the blue cloak stretched across her shoulders.
"I'm not going to hurt you," she said, her voice a low whisper. She gave a small laugh like my fear was funny to her. "I'm actually doing the opposite." She raised her hand and showed me the small ceramic pot she was holding. It was full of some kind of paste. It glinted strangely in the last of the red light.
I was barely listening. I was too focused on figuring out where I was. I glanced around the small dark room. The red light that had blinded me was actually the sunset—sunrise?—just outside a narrow window, set into a curving stone wall that—
My breath caught in my throat before coming in rough gasps when I realized where I was.
I was back in that cell.
I was their prisoner.
"Now, now," the girl said, putting down the little pot with a clatter. She put her hands on my shoulders and gently pressed down. "It's okay. You're safe. The Malix is dead."
"Then what do you want from me?" I demanded. My voice was barely a whisper.
"Want from you?" she said, laughing softly again. "I want nothing more than you to relax so I can finish my job."
"Luc!" I gasped again as memories began to trickle back. "Where is he?"
"That man?" she asked. "He's right here." She turned to look over her shoulder.
I tried to turn my head to follow her gaze, but it hurt like hell. I forced myself anyway, managing only an inch, but it was enough.
She was right. He was right there, laying in a simple bed and tucked in with a clean white sheet, fast asleep. His face was pretty scratched up but otherwise, he looked okay. Peaceful, even. His chest rose and fell in a slow steady rhythm. I wanted to call out to him...
"Let him rest," the woman said, answering my thought. "I've healed him up as best I can, but he'll need a few more treatments to fully recover. Rest will help."
