Shadows of the Night | BOOK 2 DRAFT

6

6.

I fumble for words but they don't come. The guard's harsh glare stumps me. She has grey hair and hard eyes, the kind that reminds me of Cynthia, Darius' mum and the woman who took Elias. She puts her hands on my shoulders and shakes me.

"Answer me, girl."

"I-I-uh-I'm here to see the hollower."

She narrows her eyes. "Malik didn't say nothing 'bout no visitors."

It's hard to maintain eye contact, but I refuse to look away. I'm not that person anymore—the one who submits at any sign of authority. I can't be.

"Eric sent me," I say, trying to shake her iron-like grin. "He wanted me to ask her a few questions."

"Prove it."

Before I can say anything, Bastian emerges from the bush behind her, expression uncharacteristically serious. "What seems to be the problem here?"

The guard turns to look him up and down. "And you are?"

"I don't believe we've met." He puffs out his chest and offers her his hand. "I'm Eric."

I hold in a snort. Like Eric would be polite enough to shake someone's hand. Eric and Bastian could not be any different, both physically and mentally. But it's unlikely she's met Eric face to face yet. Underneath the blazing sun, sweat gathers on Bastian's forehead as she examines him. Finally, her grip on my shoulders loosens. "Go on then."

Bastian shoots me a look and I shove the door open, closing it quickly behind us before the guard changes her mind. Inside, it's dark and dingy. The only natural light creeps through gaps in the wooden walls, and the air wafts with the steel scent of blood. I cough into my elbow, finding Bastian's sleeve to grip. His eyes find mine, the glow providing little light. That's when I see her. In the corner, there's a figure hunched over. I step closer. Long, curly hair hangs over her face. Her limbs are tied to the chair she sits on. She doesn't look much older than me. Through the curtain of hair, eyes peer at us, wide and feral.

A shudder runs down my spine. She's supposed to be the enemy. And yet, she looks just like Bastian and me. How am I supposed to see her as a monster when she doesn't look like one?

"Hi," I say hesitantly, my voice no more than a whisper. She watches me carefully as I step closer, seemingly unafraid. "I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to talk."

"Are you with them?" Her voice is croaky and dry.

Bastian and I exchange glances. I don't know what to say. Malik and his men are the ones holding her hostage, but I'm not so sure she'd be more likely to offer us information either.

"Uh, no?"

She presses her lips together and looks away, hatred in her eyes. The slither of light creeping through the wind flickers across her arm, revealing the blood smeared across her cheek. Despite the warm air, I shudder.

"Maybe I can help you get free," I say, "if you just try to listen and help." Silence. I continue anyway. "Where are you from?" Nothing. "You're immortal. How did you get that way?"

She doesn't even blink. The cabin isn't hot, but sweat beads on my forehead.

"She's useless," Bastian says, his tone filled with disgust, "maybe we should go."

I can't stop staring at her, trying to understand what he sees. Her hair hangs limps and greasy, her skin is caked with dirt and dried blood. But somewhere, she has a family, friends, emotions. Being a hollower doesn't make her immune to those things. I can't see her as a monster because she isn't one.