Page 93 of Cerulean Truth (Sapere #1)

FIFTY-TWO

EMMA

I woke abruptly, my body shaking with unnatural tremors. The sharp scent of detergent assaulted my nose, and a metallic taste lingered in my mouth, making each swallow difficult.

Struggling to keep the rising nausea at bay, the foul flavor intensified, heightening my sense of helplessness. The air felt thick, each breath a fight for the good of my lungs.

Battling the weight of my heavy eyelids, I managed to slowly open my eyes. The room revealed itself eerily clean—sterile, almost. White walls were closing me in, reflecting an unsettling silence, permeated by a quiet desperation.

Gradually regaining my other senses, I realized I was seated on a chair, though strangely not bound. Movement was limited though, as if some invisible constraint held me in check.

I tried to keep out the inevitable hysteria as I attempted to recall how I ended up here. But my memories were elusive, slipping through the cracks of my consciousness like water through clenched fists.

The last thing I remembered was walking up to my childhood home…

Looking around, the room offered no clues. No windows, no discernible doors—just an unsettling emptiness that pressed against my chest. I tried to call out, my hoarse voice echoing in the sterile chamber, but there was no reply. The silence remained unbroken, mocking my confusion.

“Good. You’re awake.”

I jolted, frantically scanning where the voice was coming from.

“He’s coming in.”

What? Who was that? And who was coming in?

A portal materialized a second later, and a tall stunning man stepped through, dressed in Offensive-attire—no jacket, only a black, form-fitting T-shirt that showcased his tattoos, paired with combat pants and boots. Lacking the Skindo-tattoo, he clearly hailed from a different Collective.

My eyes narrowed, studying his features but he didn’t look familiar at all.

With his large, muscular built, intense dark brown eyes and pitch-black hair, he reminded me of those crazy cage fighters.

Handsome though he was, the ruthlessness etched in his features was unmistakable.

His dark, haunting eyes and the menacing scar that traced the side of his neck hinted at the countless battles he’d fought and won. A warrior, through and through.

Where James was lean and lethal, this man was rough and tough.

But then he smiled, and his entire rugged look transformed into something charming.

I swallowed hard. A wolf in sheep's clothing.

My entire being was instantly on high alert; everything about him screamed “not to be trusted.”

“Miss Thompson,” he greeted me in a low sultry voice, translating himself a chair before me.

Shit, that voice did something to me. All my panic aside, I hated to admit this guy was incredibly gorgeous.

“Mister Abductor,” I greeted back, instantly startled by the raspy tone of my voice. How long had I been out?

“My name is Logan,” he said politely, still smiling.

“Logan Stark. I’m First Offensive, trained in Area 4.

I apologize for the rough manner in which we brought you here.

I would have preferred a more natural approach, but given your formidable protector and our looming deadline, our options were limited. ”

Logan? The name didn’t…feel right. I wanted to respond, but my mind felt dulled, hazy.

I tried to move, but my limbs were stiff and unresponsive, like I’d been stripped of any physical control. Fear edged into my thoughts, urging me to make sense of this.

"I feel... weird," I managed, uncertain of what else to say.

Logan nodded, his expression flat and emotionless. "Yes, you're experiencing the last remnants of sedation, necessary to ensure your arrival here."

Sedation? What the heck?

"We had hoped to complete our mission while you were still under, to return you none the wiser, but it seems we need you awake."

"Thanks for that. I’d hate to deprive you of all my charm and wit." Oh, look at that—my sarcasm decided to show up. Worst timing ever.

Logan’s brow lifted in surprise.

As if a switch had flicked on every light in my brain, I asked, suddenly more lucid, "What? Never had a talkative captive before?"

He shrugged. “No, but there are easy ways to make that stop, so I’m not too worried.”

I swallowed hard, his clear threat sparking a rush of adrenaline. Keeping my voice steady, I replied, as dryly as I could, “Keep talking like that and I might prefer whatever you have in mind.”

To my surprise, he let out a short laugh, a faint glimmer of amusement breaking through his otherwise cold gaze.

“Careful what you wish for, miss Thompson.” His eyes flicked to my left, then back to my face. I frowned and glanced down, following his gaze. Only then did I notice my left arm—bandaged.

My hand instinctively reached to lift it.

“I wouldn’t do that. It hasn’t healed yet,” Logan cautioned.

Dread filled my stomach. I tore the bandage off and gasped in horror as I saw what these animals had done to my arm.

Logan shook his head. “I told you not to do that. It looks a lot worse than it is.”

Tears welled up in my eyes. My arm was mangled . It looked like I had partied with a great white shark, who’d been high on X.

"I'll arrange for a Healer to check it again later. Don't worry, when this is over, you won't even have a scar." His mouth was forming the words, but his features clearly hadn’t learned how to lie. I willed my tears to stay put, ignoring the lump forming in my throat.

I attempted to lift my arm but it felt numb, as if it were disconnected from the rest of my body.

Reminding myself that my wits were all that could get me out of this situation, I tried calm down.

Although, there was no harm in translating the growing terror I felt, maybe bleed out this asshole.

I centered my attention on the increasing anxiety, but the noticeable void of my projection left me reeling.

I attempted to home in on the fear, but I couldn’t discern the boundaries of my energy. Why couldn’t I translate?

As if Logan could read my mind, he casually remarked, “You’ll find you won’t be able to translate just yet. Don’t worry, the sedation is wearing off as we speak.”

I swallowed, resisting the tightening grip of unfiltered panic seizing me.

“When it has, all physical movement will come back to you as well,” he finished.

“What the hell do you want from me?” I whispered.

Logan replied coldly, “What we need from you, is your secret.”

I frowned. “My secret?”

“Don’t play dumb, miss Thompson, it doesn’t suit you. We bled you almost entirely dry, trying to figure out why your translation wouldn’t be picked up by any of the LiaPrisms. But as far as we can tell, your blood doesn’t differ one bit from ours.”

Stunned, I mulled over his words. He knew about my translation? How the hell did the Radicals find out? My mind raced, quickly connecting the dots.

James had been wrong all along; there had to be a mole in the Council. That was the only way anyone else would know. Godsdamn. They knew about my untraceable translation… Oh. My. Gods. I needed to escape, and I needed to do it fast.

“Which means, whatever or wherever the secret is, it isn’t in your blood. So, we need you to translate for us, and we need you to do it in this room where we can study it,” Logan finished his explanation forcefully.

I suppressed a snort. If only he knew… Didn’t seem like my best option to tell this guy I only knew how to translate if my life was directly in danger. He looked like the type to oblige.

Before actual despair could take hold of me, I tried to channel James. “ Whenever you find yourself in a hostage situation, try to take control of the conversation. ”

“Are you a Radical?” I asked, changing the subject swiftly.

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Is that what they call us now? Radicals?”

I shrugged. “I didn’t pick the name.”

He smiled a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I’m against the Great Exposure, if that’s what you mean.

And I’m pretty ‘radical’ about stopping the international consensus, so it’s an apt name, just not very original.

In any way, it’s sad one gets a label so fear-inducing, for just forming a different opinion. ”

I coughed, masking my sarcastic snort. “I hear you’re not too stingy with using violence when expressing that opinion.”

Logan scoffed. “That’s rich, coming from the woman whose boyfriend has murdered over a dozen people on her account.”

My eyes nearly popped and my jaw dropped. “No, he didn’t.”

Logan’s eyes went dead cold. “You should inform yourself better of the actions of your own Collective, especially if their next Leader is your partner.”

I blinked. Had James really killed so many people? On my account? Sure, killing was in his nature… but still. Maybe this Logan was just messing with me. But it didn’t seem like it.

“ You ordered me to be strapped against a tree to bleed out,” I snarled back.

Against expectations, Logan did not deny this. “It was an order from higher up, but yes, those men were three of mine. And had it worked, all of this…” he pointed to the room, “wouldn’t have been necessary. But your fierce protector interfered and look where that brought us.”

“Oh, so now it’s James’s fault you’re using me as a lab rat after abducting me from my childhood home?” I replied sarcastically.

Logan shrugged, unaffected. “I don’t really care whose fault it is. I only need results. The how and where are unimportant.”

“I’m betting the who of it all is pretty important,” I responded through my teeth.

Logan stilled entirely for a second. Then shrugged it off casually, as if I’d asked him about the weather.

"Anyway, as I said, the sedation is wearing off as we speak. I hope you’ll be able to translate within an hour or so. We’ll run some tests, figure out a few things, and then you’ll be on your merry little way. Until then, you will remain comfortable as my... guest."