Page 95 of Cerulean Truth (Sapere #1)

FIFTY-THREE

EMMA

My mind was racing. I tried to drown out the shock and quickly analyzed this new turn of events. They were about to torture me, but couldn’t lay a hand on me? How was that to work?

“Stupid Rex,” Number Two muttered to the new Number Three, while checking my face.

The latter shrugged, clearly unimpressed by his boss murdering one of his colleagues in cold blood. “Wasn’t the first time he went against protocol, probably wouldn’t have been the last time either if the boss hadn’t off ’ed him.”

I clenched my jaw. So they were allowed to touch, just not outside of Logan’s “protocol.”

Logan. With his pitch-black haze. Which had confirmed something crucial: all the hazes were visible here.

Given their intention to analyze my energy, it wasn’t surprising, but still.

Did this mean we were in the Human World?

At Alliance? Or had they simply made all hazes visible within this building?

A singular, dominant thought emerged and seized control of the incessant whirring, going on in my brain.

James. All I craved, all I yearned for. As I fought back the tears, my heart ached for him. Despite him leaving me without a word, I didn't care. In this moment, I needed him more than ever. I closed my eyes gently, attempting to summon his comforting presence in my mind.

“Don’t you dare close your eyes; you keep them on your attackers at all times! Come on, Emma, you’re killing me.”

His voice echoed in my head, vivid as if he stood right beside me.

My head snapped back up, fixing my gaze on the three assholes keeping me in line with their cold stares through their masks.

Actually… just with their stares. With nothing more.

I wasn’t tied down. I was sitting in a chair, unbound.

Momentum and speed were all I needed for a chance at escape. And my wits.

I made a quick mental calculation, desperately seeking a strategy. I needed a diversion, something to catch them off guard. Scanning the room, my eyes finally rested on the door. How long would it take me to cross the room?

The new Number Three drawing closer, urged me on—it was now or never. Just before he reached me, I feigned a sudden weakness, deliberately slumping into the chair to create an illusion of vulnerability.

The distraction worked like a charm, and their attention momentarily shifted. Seizing the opportunity, a sense of purpose spurred on my next move.

Before they could react, I sprang to my feet, and I darted toward the door, adrenaline pumping through my veins. The men lunged after me, but I managed to pry it open just in time.

Yes!

But before I could move through the frame, cold hands grabbed me forcefully and yanked me backwards, propelling me into the unforgiving wall. Pain shot through my limbs as I struggled to regain control. The fraction of hope that had accompanied my near escape vanished in less than a second.

As I laid there, disoriented and weakened, Number Two approached, his cruel laughter filling the air. "Nice try, but you're not escaping this," he taunted, his eyes glinting with triumph.

He grabbed me by my good arm and dragged me back to the chair where he translated ropes around my wrists and ankles, tying me in place.

“What the hell did you do? You can’t hurt her outside of protocol! It might alter the test results!” an angry voice boomed throughout the room.

“She was trying to escape! You’d rather we let that happen?” Number Two snarled back.

“Sedate her,” he hissed to Number Three, but the latter shook his head.

“No can do. We need her to translate in order to figure out how she does it. If we sedate her again, we’ll have to wait too long for it to wear off.”

Conviction burned within me, mingling with the pain. I couldn't let them break me. But damn it, how was I going to get out of this? James hadn't been training me for months just so I could sit idly, awaiting his rescue.

My head throbbed from the impact against the wall but I still had my mind.

I couldn’t use the translation, that much was obvious. Glancing sideways at the table filled with surgical tools, I recognized most of them, and I knew very well they wouldn’t just tickle. I needed to reach those tools and turn the tables on them, figuratively and perhaps even literally.

With gritted teeth, I managed to push myself a little more upright, shooting a defiant glare at the trio. "You won't get away with this. I won't be your experiment," I declared, faking a little hysteria and sliding the chair a little closer to the table as I did.

Number Two spoke coldly, "Resistance is futile, Emma. We're not here to harm you, just to understand you, but if you fight us, we will do whatever is necessary to make you comply."

I had to keep them talking, I was but a few inches from my goal. I crept a bit nearer, using my voice to hide the noise. So I scoffed, bitterness tainting my words. "Understanding? Is that what you call it? Were you understanding when you maimed my fucking arm?"

Number One stepped forward with now a knife in hand. "Fight it all you want, but we'll learn what we need to know."

With a defiant glint in my eye, I faced them, sliding the last inch toward the table. "If you want to understand, then let's make a deal. You answer my questions, and maybe, just maybe, I'll consider cooperating."

Number One chuckled, amused by my defiance. "You think you have leverage, Emma? You're at our mercy."

I smirked. "Maybe, but you need me to translate. How much easier would it be if I just cooperated and did as you asked?”

The masked men exchanged glances, clearly considering my proposal, while I surveyed the table next to me, searching for the closest weapon.

I was glad to find I had several options.

Good, now I just had to get out of these ropes and lunge myself at these assholes as soon as I got one of those in my hands.

All the while evading their translation. Easy breezy.

“The boss did say she needed to translate no matter what,” Number Three mumbled under his breath to the second one.

“That’s what the devices are for,” Number One snapped, nodding his head toward the table.

I could not let them use those instruments on me to lure out my translation; knowing my own energy, that might just work.

“If you release me from these ropes…” I retried but Number Three interrupted me briskly. “That’s not happening so you may as well put that out of your head immediately.”

I stifled a smile, as if I needed any assistance to escape their ropes.

They’d tied my wrists behind my back, out of their line of sight.

Idiots . James could tie knots these three hadn’t even dreamt of.

Even with the pain throbbing in my left arm, my hands were nearly free of the rope. My ankles however…

Making a quick calculation in my head, I realized I would have to let them come up pretty close. They were clearly some sadistic sons of bitches and would be too distracted by the promise of sweet pain to fully comprehend what my strategy was.

All three were now standing around me, very close. It would have to be one fluid motion. If I hesitated even for a second, I’d be dead or worse.

Number One was still holding the knife and approached me, holding it dangerously close to my throat. I leaned back on instinct. Sweat beads began to form on my forehead, as I tried to subdue the panic with logic. I had one shot.

“This is just going to hurt a little, hopefully just enough pain for your sedation to wear completely off and for your translation to shoot out. If not, we’re going to have to try a little harder,” Number One said calmly as the second one smirked.

“Shall we start with a throaty vein or shall we mutilate your face a little bit? Shame such beauty would come to parish, but sacrifices must be made by all.”

Fucker. I would give him something to sacrifice.

The cold steel of the knife pressed against my cheek.

Seizing the moment of distraction when the asshole broke my skin, I headbutted him and grabbed another scalpel from the table, instantly shoving its cool metal against his skin.

Number One, still wearing a smug grin, dropped his gaze for a second to the scalpel, now inches from his face.

I didn’t hesitate and slit his throat. Surprise flickered in his eyes before his life ebbed away, and the room fell into shocked silence, broken only by the gurgling sounds of the dying man.

Holy shit. I killed a man. I waited for a moment for remorse or guilt to overtake my senses but none of those emerged. I was in survival mode, running on pure adrenaline, and I had no time for any other emotion.

The two others lunged for me at the same time but I pivoted, hitting them with the chair which was still attached to my feet by the ropes around its legs and my ankles.

Number Two stumbled before tripping over his own feet.

Precision was next. Jumping backwards, he yelled out in pain, as I crushed his larynx with the foot of the chair.

Swiftly shifting my focus to Number Three, I found him looking at me with a deadly glare.

“You’ll die for this,” he grunted, ready to attack.

I shrugged. “That might be, though these last few seconds do suggest otherwise.”

He was fast, lunging to grab me, but I was quicker, hurling the scalpel his way while seizing another from the table. He instinctively ducked, narrowly avoiding the blade, and in that moment, I swiftly cut the ropes around my feet. As soon as I was free, I darted behind the table for cover.

I evaded his aggressive advances with ease, using the surgical tray as an improvised shield.

Still fearing for my life, I could feel the beginning of a familiar energy sizzling throughout my body. Damn it, whatever I did, I could not translate within these four walls. Thankfully, I relied more on my physical training anyway than on the low-energy hum I couldn’t quite reach just yet.

My arm is killing me, though.

Number Three came charging and I swiftly slid down, my right hand clutching on the scalpel as I did.

With all my force, I slammed it into his kneecaps, causing him to buckle with a cry of pain.

Seizing the moment, I followed up with a swift kick to his groin, shoving his balls so high he shrieked in agony.

As he doubled over, I moved on his back for the finishing blow, attempting to snap his neck.

But he was stronger, pushing me off him with surprising strength.

With a desperate scramble, he broke free and fled toward the door.

Energized by a burst of adrenaline, I pursued him, my movements driven by a resolution to reclaim my freedom.

I ran out after him, finding myself in an empty corridor.

I halted, contemplating my next move, while I marveled at the effectiveness of my training sessions with James.

Our focus on escape scenarios, distraction techniques, and resourcefulness had prepared me for this very moment.

Amidst all I felt for him (love, rage, disappointment, and about a thousand other feelings), it was mostly gratitude which flooded my system.

He had turned my body into a killing machine, born from countless hours of practice and it had saved my life. For now.

“Fuck yeah,” I cursed. As a tribute to James.

I let the door fall shut, and slowly moved through the corridor.

As I turned the corner, I found the third Radical standing and waiting for me.

But it wasn’t just him; it was all of them—every one of fifteen Radicals, minus two dead ones.

A quick scan of their faces taught me Logan wasn’t amongst them.

But still, my heart pounded in my chest. Thirteen magi versus me.

Barely armed, I would have to move quickly, evade their translation, hope their interface was not that fast. I had trained with James, who possessed one of the fastest interfaces on Earth, so there was a chance I could do this.

There was also a good chance I’d die in the next few minutes.

As I tried to control my breathing, a surge of energy started to warm my insides, running through my veins. Yes . Guess their creepy sedation had finally worn off entirely.

I smiled. I was out of their creepy, sterile examination room, my translation was back, and I was terrified for my life. Thirteen raging magi, all poised to capture and experiment on me? They would die trying.

“Let’s do this,” I whispered.