Deception | Sequel

It's night, and I am not sure why I am awake. I blink up at the darkness hanging over me like a fog bank, blurring the contours and edges of the ceiling so much I am not sure where the ledge ends and the step up begins.

The oppressive tingle of silence presses at my ears, weighed by the lethargy of night, and I stir, turning my head to the side to check the time. 2:43am.

Why am I awake? Holding my breath and pushing myself up on my elbows, I strain my ears, stretching my senses as far as they will go, but I find nothing. No movement, no whisper, nothing that would rouse me. I am not even hungry, or aching, or even tired. Strange.

Mentally shaking my head, I drop back into my pillow and close my eyes, relaxing as much as I can. Maybe it was a dream, or maybe it was something else, or maybe it's just one of those random wakeful moments. Whatever it is, I want to go back to sleep.

As the covers settle around me, Wraith's face takes shape in the emptiness behind my eyelids. Her sharp and jagged features are framed by her hair—impossibly black with streaks of dirty gray—swept back from her face and tied in a short, scruffy ponytail at the nape of her neck. But what stands out most is her eyes. They glare at me from behind the darkness of my eyelids, accusing, burning, like an atomic knife slicing through my ribs.

Leave, they scream through the glare, Bring this building down on us all, or whatever, but leave.

Deception's face overtakes Wraith's, a suave smile brightening her expression as she approaches me with the liquid prowl of a cat. Where Wraith is wild and rough around the edges, Deception is all smooth scales and elegance hinting at something more, equally dangerous as alluring. And she is purple, in her eyes, on her lips, streaked through her hair, just like the clouds of byzantine shades inside of me and—

"She'll kill thousands with you under her thumb, and it'll be on your hands."

A crazed snort bursts from me, shattering the silence and jerking my thoughts back to reality. I roll and sit up, gripping the edge of my bed as I stare at the opposite wall slowly being illuminated by the motion-sensor nightlights.

I am losing it, I really am. She's getting to me and I—I don't know what I'll do.

I can't hold on until the heroes find me. (Did they even see my message? Did they even understand it? What if they come too late? What if they take months to find me and by then I am under her thumb? Not just that—willingly under her thumb? Is there any return from that?)

My heart becomes hot and itchy around the edges, chambers expanding and collapsing with the force of prickles streaming into my veins. I squeeze my eyes, hold my breath, hold as still as I can, the itching growing like a snowball tumbling down a hill. What if it's too late for me? What I already don't want to leave? What if—

My resolve snaps and I fly to my feet, snatching the holowatch on the bedside table and bolting to the door. No. Wraith's right. I have to get out of here before then. I can't wait for the heroes, I have to do something more, just in case. Just to do something. Otherwise— I grab the thought by the throat and shove it down into a blender and let the blades shred it to pieces.

I will do something, somehow. I will get out of here. I will not lose myself to Deception.

The door hisses open and I dart down the hall, my bare feet hardly making a sound as I do. My heart thuds with the time of my feet, swelling with each prickly moment, implications fighting to attack my resolve.

By the time I reach the main room and the Leaper at the far end, I am panting and the itching has died down to a bearable level. I slow to a stop in front of the Leaper, glancing over my shoulder. Most of the consoles are dark, but some still have holograms hovering over them, their ethereal light casting the room in fuzzy shapes, almost making the entire place somehow unreal and apart from reality.