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“Stop,” Kimi’s voice is blank and emotionless as he watches.

It draws my attention towards him, but before I can look at him, my eyes fall on the items on the table. As we get closer, I begin to identify some of them, and I have no idea what a few of them are.

A hairdryer, crimper, and curling iron sit beside a wooden box with carvings all over it, either side coveredin a curtain that billows in and out like whatever is inside is breathing heavily.

A few sheets of square cut cloth with sigils painted on them stacked daintily like napkins. A dagger, a pair of kama, what look like medieval thumb screws, and several spheres with spikes sticking out of them, from needle-like to actual three-inch nails.

“Wait,” Ben’s voice is no longer angry, now concerned and bordering on panic. I’ve never heard him upset before. Angry, sure, but not distressed.

I can only note it absently as my eyes find a scalpel. A bone saw. A rib spreader. Various other surgical instruments meant to slice and flay skin.

Why would this be here? I see the chair pulled back from the table, waiting for me to sit, and I lose it.

The passenger seat greets me like an old friend as I stop resisting, allowing my body to go pliant. Mitri’s grip loosens as Ben snarls in rage.

Darkness envelops me, and I hold very still, waiting for any telltale signs that he’s close. Mitri is jerked away from me in a frenzy of snarls, and I feel a flutter of concern before it’s stomped out, just like the pain in my body and the worries in my head.

In front of me is an entire arsenal meant to torture. I have vivid experience with quite a few of them. The darkness passes as I stand still, Ben moving farther away from me with Mitri in tow.

“Youidiots,” Ben yells in his echoing voice, “you can’t show…”

His voice becomes static as I look over the items again, reliving each item with memories infected with pain and hopelessness. The fight beside me is no longer consequential as I’m swallowed by them. People move in my peripherals as I stare down intently. They all look clean and ready to go. What are they going to do to me?

Why?

What rule did I disobey?

“Bees,” Ben’s voice cuts through the static, but I lose track of what he says afterward. It doesn’t really matter. All three of them are much stronger than I am, and I’m weakened. I close my eyes tightly, feeling a severe case of vertigo overtaking me.

I find myself seated at the table across from King and Mal, staring blankly at King’s shoulder. I don’t want to meet his eyes, but I’m not quite sure why that is. I just know I can’t look up and won’t look down anymore. I can drift here in the quiet if I don't see the instruments.

The noise around me is muffled and far away. I’m able to make it all white noise in the background. Something perfect to sleep to. Familiar growls and a few bays echo in the fog surrounding me.

All I can see is a shoulder, almond in hue, rising and falling with even breaths. A slight male shoulder, tightly wound with muscle, familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. I don’t think I’ve ever seen King without a shirt.

A series of discordant sounds distract me, like dozens of utensils falling from a table at a restaurant. The murmur of voices gets louder and fades away. A new sound comes, the trill of a large bird, sad and low, but it pierces the fog. A subtle and somehow blaring sound that jerks my head up.

Yellow eyes, hooded with an upward tilt at the ends, meet mine. Varied almost neon striations and a pupil so dark you can fall into them. A gentle caress across my forehead, fingers trailing over my temples and running through my hair, massaging my scalp, urging me to relax. A gentle nudge deep inside my head, spreading warmth and shelter around the bubble I’m encased in. A hug without physical sensation. Pulling me forward in the seat.

There’s nothing here but the fog and those eyes.

A band around my thumb begins tightening. If I could feel it, I know there would be pain. It’s causing tingling in the digit. Lack of blood flow. The metal cracks, falling away, and my thumb throbbing subsides.

The hug is inside me now.

This must be what it’s like to be content. Safe and calm. Like slipping into a warm bath after a long day when your muscles ache…

No. I wouldn’t take a bath. That’s a tub filled with water, and I can’t stand being surrounded by it. I have a flash of the tank and hands pushing me under over and over until I’m too weak to fight, and the lid shuts with an echoing clunk.

I’m suddenly aware of the yellow eyes as they widen with shock.

The drowning feeling disappears, and I begin to breathe again. When did I stop?

A golden hand, tipped with neon pink claws, grabs out at the eyes, and I flinch. My position isn’t defendable. I need to push this back and figure out an escape route.

Rule two. I can’t stop fighting. The Old Man would be pissed at me right now.

My eyes fall away from the gripping talons, the blood beginning to well up from torn flesh, and the fog overtakes the sight.