Ashur)
⸻
I was scared. Really scared. Cold sweat soaked my skin and my bones were shaking.
My hands were caked with mud; wet, slimy dirt clung to my clothes.
My hair stuck to my forehead. My face was wet with tears. I was hiding behind a corpse.
A little boy's body—the same kid who'd tried to defend his friend a moment ago—now lay on his side, face pale, eyes open.
They'd gathered round the pit. Everyone was shouting, "Viper… viper… viper!"
I'd heard about this viper before. Last night, in our cell, Jan cried as he told me:
it was an Echis carinatus—a saw-scaled viper—that had already killed dozens, and we were meant to die in that same hole.
He sobbed that if he'd had more skill, if he'd scored higher in the trials, he'd never have ended up in the pit.
I stared at Jan. He sat slumped against the mud wall of the well we'd fallen into, staring straight back at me.
He hadn't blinked in a while. The viper slid around his neck. It had killed him long ago.
Terror pinned me in place. The noise roared in my ears. They were cheering the viper on, urging it to finish its meal.
My trembling gaze locked on a little girl crawling over the old, rotting bones to get to me.
Her eyes were blown wide with fear. Muddy chestnut hair framed her white, washed-out face.
How old? Eleven? Ten?
Crying, she reached a hand towards me. The viper eased down from Jan's neck. I froze.
My chest heaved. The scales along its body seemed to tighten; it coiled, drawing in.
The sound it made cut past the crowd— a rasping hiss, like a file scraping, shaving at your soul.
My eyes bulged. My vision went grainy… everything blurring at the edges…
She kept her hand out to me, dragging herself closer, sobbing, begging:
"Ashur… h— help… A—"
I blinked, stunned. I was locked behind the corpse in front of me, every muscle gone dead.
Just a damn spectator. A useless, coward spectator who couldn't even lift a hand.
The girl fixed those big amber eyes on me and cried,
"A— Ashur… help me."
The viper's rasp burned through the pit. The rain picked up again. She slipped and couldn't get closer.
One hand still reached for me.
The viper lunged—hit the back of her neck. My breath snapped.
Her scream tore through my skull—
I opened my eyes, surged at the figure by my bed, clamped a hand round his throat and slammed him into the wall.
In the dark room, panting, I stared into the wide, terrified eyes of a man in a suit while my fingers crushed his windpipe.
His face turned blue as he forced out,
"You… you have to go… to the Shadow Room."
My teeth were clenched; my jaw locked. I glanced at his uniform, then back at his frightened eyes.
His face had gone fully blue; his knees buckled.
I let go, stepped back. My gaze flicked to the bed, the twisted sheets.
The same damned dream. Again. The same looped nightmare.
His coughing rattled round the room. I bent, grabbed my keycard from the bedside table, and, while he yanked his tie loose, I growled—low, cold:
"The next time you come into my room without permission, keep ten paces from my bed. I might strangle you in my sleep."
I strode out and took the long grey corridor ahead.
My steps were heavy. Sweat still beaded my chest and spine.
My hands curled into fists. For years—too many years—I'd lived with this nightmare.
It had fused with me. Part nature, part character. Maybe written into my bones.
After the second corridor I headed for the matte-black, frosted doors at the end.
The two suited guards stepped aside the instant they saw me and pulled the doors open.
I walked straight into the hall.
Darkness. Except for one circle of light. I stood where I was meant to stand: the single spot under the lamp.
Only then did I register the people at their private tables around me.
The Shadows—people I should never, ever see.