Page 94 of Cerulean Truth (Sapere #1)

This time, I couldn't hold back a snort.

"Comfortable? I've been taken against my will, I'm pinned down to a chair, I can’t move my legs, my arm is so messed up even Hannibal Lecter wouldn’t snack on it anymore, and you want to use me for experiments.

Can you please enlighten me on where this 'comfort' might exist? "

Logan scratched his head, appearing to be in deep thought. “Well. If it’s a snack you desire, I could always arrange for some escape-room service?” he suggested with a wry smile.

My jaw dropped slightly. Word play? Really?

Before I could serve him an apt retort, he rose to his feet, smirked, and, without another word, opened a portal and vanished through it, leaving me alone in the sterile, windowless room.

Flapping Darn Jack . I was seriously and efficiently screwed .

Ignoring my racing heart, I looked frantically around the room for any object that might help me was a futile effort, and the same could be said for scanning it for escape routes.

What would James do?

I had no idea how to get myself out of this situation, and I had to figure it out sooner than later.

Slowly, a semblance of sensation crept back into my legs. The initial subtle tingling morphed into an increasingly annoying itch, and a flood of relief washed over me when I realized I could finally scratch the persistent discomfort.

However, the respite was short-lived.

The chair scraped harshly against the floor as I tried to shift, eyes still desperately scanning the featureless walls for any trace of an exit.

Anxiety clawed at my throat, each step intensifying the unsettling reality which slithered into my mind—I was trapped in a place with no identity and no answers. And no way to ask for help.

Would James be back at Cyclos by now? Would he have noticed I was gone? Would he have thought it was of my own volition? I should’ve asked Logan how long I’d been here already. Deducing from the stiffness of my limbs, I thought at least half a day, but it could’ve easily been more.

I needed a plan. A good one. Something that would get me out, alive. I was very keen on that last part.

Time to put my brain to work. What did I know?

I knew I wasn’t in Cyclos anymore. So much was clear from Logan’s exposé. But was I still on the continent?

No time to dwell on the unknown.

I had been sedated, whatever that meant in magical terms. As far as I could tell, my legs were slowly gathering their strength, and I’d have my translation back soon. But banking on the latter was usually a bad plan.

Fighting my way out, might just be the best plan yet .

Although, if Logan was really a First Offensive, my chances were average at best. Especially if that meant he had his own squad here.

His muscles hadn’t escaped my notice, and if all of his “followers” were as fit as Logan was, I’d have zero changes of fighting my way out, especially with ceviche for an arm.

But James had trained me, and however fit or strong these others would be, I’d be smarter.

The silence was abruptly shattered by the rough opening of a newly drawn door. Three masked men entered the room, their footsteps echoing against the cold walls.

Something akin to terror crept up my spine, but I fought to keep my composure.

Number One stepped forward. “Good evening. We trust you’re feeling okay.”

I narrowed my eyes, trying to gauge any hint of information from their demeanor. “Okay? How about you come a little closer and then I’ll show you how ‘okay’ I really am?”

The towering man chuckled. “I see you’re holding on to that Cyclos-spirit. Good for you.”

A plan formed slowly in my mind. "I can’t seem to move my legs, I can barely see through my eyes and my throat is hoarse enough to keep me from talking. Surely there’s no harm in bringing me some water and informing me of where we are?"

Number Two, who stood on my right, exchanged a glance with the others before responding. "You're in a secure facility. The details are not relevant at this moment."

I raised a brow, feigning frustration. "Secure facility? Could you be more vague?"

"Vague is all you get," Number Three hissed, clearly displeased with my insolence in asking questions. I attempted to hide my smile, knowing the emotional ones are always the ones to spill the beans first.

I raised my head in defiance toward him. "I can't believe it took all fifty of you to take down little old me."

Number Three snorted. "Fifty? Don't you have an exaggerated sense of self.

It took one of us to take you down, two to sedate you and, yes twelve others to bring you here without translation.

Not all of us have untraceable translation in the Human World.

Some of us have to actually work to get things done over there. "

A mix of disbelief and relief washed over me. My straightforward tactic had succeeded, coaxing the idiot into inadvertently confirming the involvement of all fifteen of them. Fifteen. That number seemed…. Manageable. It wouldn’t be easy but it wouldn’t be impossible either.

"Well, I'm flattered you still needed fifteen men to abduct a small twenty-something maga. Now, since we're sharing, how about you enlighten me on what you need me to do exactly?"

No words were exchanged but Number One flicked his wrist and translated with a clear bronze haze a large table where an array of what seemed to be human medical tools now lay neatly arranged.

Keeping a facade of defiance, I questioned, "And what, pray tell, do those have to do with our conversation?"

Number One replied without hesitation, "Don’t worry. If you translate of your own volition, those instruments will become obsolete. However, since we can’t torture you with our own magic, we’ll have to do it the human way if you refuse to cooperate."

Why couldn’t they torture me with translation? Were we still in the Human World? I’d seen his haze, which would corroborate that.

A wave of unease washed over me as I eyed the torture-instruments on the table.

The certain prospect of pain aside, becoming their guinea pig was out of the question.

Given all the efforts I had invested in keeping my untraceable translation a secret, there was no way I would allow them to lay a hand on me.

With a forced smirk, I leaned back in the chair, buying time to formulate a plan. "Well, gentlemen, I'm afraid I'm not in the mood for any experiments today. How about we save your plans for another time and you let me out of here?"

Number Three grabbed a scalpel from the table and stepped forward, his eyes never leaving mine.

"What..." My question was abruptly cut off by the impact of his fist colliding with my jaw. Tears sprung to my eyes, and my cheek burned as if I had just awakened from a nap on a hot stove. The copper-taste returned to my mouth and I finally recognized it as the taste of blood.

“Shut the fuck up and comply,” Number Three hissed.

“What the fuck man? He said no funny business!” Number Two exclaimed, fear ringing through in his voice.

Number Three simply shrugged. “ He never specified what that entailed.”

“Not laying your hands on her, was pretty much implied,” Number One spoke through gritted teeth.

The door flew open and a cold and calculated Logan Stark was standing on the other side. He tilted his head slightly, like a predator observing its prey, but his eyes weren’t fixed on me, rather on Number Three.

Another man came up behind Logan. “Boss, you needed me?”

Logan created a haze, as black as his hair and soul, and a second later, Number Three crumbled at my feet, his hands clutching his throat, his eyes bulging, his face turning blue. I gasped. He was suffocating?!

“Yes, I need you to replace Rex,” Logan explained dryly to the new guy. “Let me know when she translates.” Logan closed the door without another word after ushering the new Number Three in.

“Rex” was now lying dead at my feet.