Page 26

I don’t imagine the weight of my blade in my hand.

Today is different. Today is not a repeat of every other day.

Today, I have information I didn’t possess yesterday …anda subject to test my theories against.

Something in the order of my restricted existence has collapsed, and it began whensheappeared.

She’s still asleep beneath her blankets on the other side of the chamber. I can barely see the top of her head with the way she’s burrowed beneath them. Even in sleep, she’s trying to protect herself.

I should have looked away by now, but I find myselfstudying the shape she makes under the covers … this creature who has accomplished something no one else has.

The discovery last night could change everything. After over two decades of confinement, after countless failed attempts to break free, after endless observations of the binding that yielded nothing but frustration, this woman from another world simply walked close to me and weakened my constraints.

It’s unprecedented. It’s … to use her favorite word …impossible.

My mouth lifts into a smile.

More to the point, it’sexactlywhat I need.

Moving quietly around the chamber, the stone floor cool beneath my bare feet. I pour water from the pitcher, watching the play of blue light across its surface, then take a piece of fruit from the plate. I leave the rest for her. My appetite has dwindled to the point where I can exist on the bare minimum. I discovered during the first few months of my imprisonment that the magic of the tower would keep me alive, no matter what.

Starvation. Dehydration. Sharp objects across veins.

Nothingkilled me, and eventually, I stopped trying.

Biting into the fruit, the tartness is shockingly sharp against my tongue after years of muted sensations.

Is that something else she’s caused?

Juice trickles down my finger as I cross to the desk and flip open my journal. The pages are filled with notes. Thousands of detailed observations of the binding’s patterns and cycles. Theories formulated from endless hours of study.

Nothing I’ve observed in all my years of captivity predictedthis. That the mere proximity of this woman, this stranger pulled from beyond this world, could weaken the binding that has held me immobile for so long.

Twenty-seven years of meticulous records. Twenty-seven years with nothing to show for it.

Until now.

My fingers tap against the weathered surface of the desk while I think.

The binding weakens when she’s near, but by how much? Will it change depending on how close she is? Under what conditions? Is it merely her physical presence, like last night, or is there more to it?

I need to test it. I need to understand what makes Ellie Bennett different.

A soft rustling draws my attention, and I turn my head in time to see her rising to a seated position. Her eyes find mine across the chamber, immediately wary and watchful. The wariness of someone who suspects they’re being manipulated.

“Good morning.”

She doesn’t return my greeting. Instead, she runs fingers through the tangled mess of her hair, wincing when they catch in a knot. Dark circles shadow her eyes—evidence that the past few days have taken their toll on her. Standing up, she disappears into the latrine.

When she reappears minutes later, her face is damp, hair smoothed back as well as it can be, and her eyes are clearer. She walks past me to the table, and pours a cup of water, then turns to face me.

“We need to talk about what happened last night. You saidI affect your binding.” She stumbles over the word. “I want to understand how.”

Direct. Straightforward. No dissembling or dancing around the subject. I can work with that kind of directness.

“That’s what I’d like to find out.” I close my journal. “With your assistance, of course.”

Her eyes narrow slightly. “Even if Icanaffect it somehow, how does that get me back to Chicago?”