I haven’t been able to sleep for a week—nothing more than snatches. Since convincing the rest of the green ones that Neca traded his willing cooperation for my release from our captors, I’ve been dogged by doubt and guilt and Toltec. The attack outside the city happened almost a month ago.
Tonight I have a decision to make. Whether I stay or go, I expect zero sleep. I try anyway. Closing my eyes, I mentally run through the motions of preparing a logwood dye bath—the most mind-numbing procedure I can think of. I’ve used it countless times in an effort to occupy my brain long enough for my body to rest.
After three repetitions, my concentration is broken by the sound of someone snoring several bunks away. I sigh and open my eyes. Several of the occupants of Serpent 6 have changed during the last month—mostly a churning of the bottom dozen. Over half of the 49 have stuck with us since the end of the first month.
I don’t recognize the cadet snoring currently. At least I don’t recognize the snore. As I listen, T’zan joins in the slumbering chorus. His snore is low and throaty with a constancy that allows it to blend into the white noise of four dozen sleeping cadets.
“Xoxochueyi,” I swear under my breath, knowing I’ve blown the last thirty minutes of dye bath meditation. Turon creeps into my thoughts, and there’s little use in starting the exercise over.
Today in class, Turon spoke the words I have been waiting to hear. He stared straight at me during lecture and wove the question seamlessly into his speech as a class-wide question. “Have you pondered the possibilities?”
The words are supposed to indicate Zorrah has awoken and that I can visit her in the basement of the facility this very night, in less than thirty minutes time. But the last time I saw her, she was sleeping in a hole in the ground outside the city. More than ever I suspect Turon and Toltec are one in the same.
If Turon doesn’t plan on reuniting me with Zorrah, what is his plan? For what is he luring me beyond the door? And if the need arose, could I defeat him? I can’t be sure of the answer to any of the questions. In the end, I’m sure of only one thing: I can’t trust Turon. I try the logwood dye bath routine in a vein hope to sleep through the night and put off my worries until morning.
Someone stirs in a bunk above my own. The sound is abrupt, as if someone were startled on the verge of sleep, or possibly throwing back their sheet. A shadow drops silently to the floor in the center of the room.
My heart skips. I know who it is. I don’t want to be right.
Without sound, the cadet hovers toward the door leading into the commons. As the door whooshes open, allowing a dim wash of blue light to slip inside, I recognize the cadet as Olin.
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