It had been three years since I watched my little sister claw at her throat until it ripped open, my mother collapsing right in front of me, my father bleeding out of his eyes and mouth until his body went still.
The mist didn't kill everyone because that would have been an unjust mercy. The children and the older population were devoured but some of us got left behind, soulless and broken. The mist left some like me mutated to varying degrees. My mutation was mild, far from being turned into the Varcolac, but that also put me in the lowest ranks and at the mercy of everyone more damaged and stronger.
The other unfortunate ones, broken beyond repair but not yet completely turned, had been rounded up and experimented on, needles and poison injected into their blood as if they were nothing more than guinea pigs. Most died from the torture, while the others came out cold, numb, and inhuman, becoming the Lycarus.
Lycarus.
The word sent a shudder through me but also a weird sense of excitement.
The Lycarus were the elite, invincible, powerful, and cruel weaponized ones, the only ones allowed to go out into the mist. They had access to the Parthenn dome of the Kargahart too, where they had real food instead of dry scraps. There were even rumors that the officials, the permanent residents kept harem slaves and drank like kings, looting the remaining fodder for themselves.
But to become a Lycarus was no easy feat, something everyone hoped to avoid like the plague. It was a life doomed is what people said. But I would be lying if I said I hadn't wondered, what if I wanted it? It would be an end to the miserable life surviving on tiny morsels and beatings, an end to being weak and withered, even if I had to sacrifice a few things, which included erasing a large part of what made me…me.
I was late, which was an understatement since the testing room was empty behind the metal door by the time I dragged my feet in. So now, it was just me and the tall Lycarus dressed in his signature uniform and simple fitted coat like it was stitched from smoke and shadows. He was standing in front of me, shoulders broad and back straight as he adjusted the controls on his scanner.
His eyes were cold, dark, and hollow, his chiselled jaw catching the pale green glow of the overhead lights.
"I don't have all day, rat," he said, his voice low and sharp but without so much as looking up. "Get your ass over here if you don't want to get flagged early in the morning."
The harsh words made me flinch, my chest caving slightly and I made my way over to the raised platform in front of him, forcing myself not to look at him.
Just two minutes, Maeve. You can get through this.
He pressed some buttons on the monitor adjacent and then reached forward to connect the wire nodes to my forehead. He didn't hesitate as he leaned closer to strap in the last one. His hot breath fanned against my neck for just a moment, and my whole body clenched tight. His lips were so close, his eyes still focused on fixing the metal wires.
I had kissed those lips a hundred times before. I could still remember the same breath, warm and soft as he said he loved me countless times. So many times under the bridge, where we huddled together every day, talking and whispering about the life we wanted. I'd let his lips travel and memorize every part of my body, his fingers touch places that even I hadn't dared to.
Valden.
Now he was just a memory, gone and replaced with nothing more than a shell of what he used to be. My first everything, reduced to just a forgotten promise.
His eyes, which sometimes glowed green, now always looked at me with no signs of recognition anytime I saw him patrolling the glass walls, supervising during chores, or lugging the others on the training grounds.
But now it was worse, he probably did recognize me. But it was recognition just layered with absolute indifference.
"Why are you shaking?" He asked suddenly. The scanner, directed at my neck.
I didn't even realise it. I swallowed hard and took a deep breath.
"I'm not."
He looked at me then. Really looked at me. It was just a second but I felt like I could drown in those eyes, just like I used to three years ago.
Maeve Lester. Age: Twenty Two. Mutation-Mild.
The electronic sound jolted me as it echoed from the monitor and the green light flickered twice. It was the same report as the week before, and the one before that. I quietly exhaled.
"You're done," Valden said flatly as he roughly yanked back the wires attached to my temple.
My mouth was itching to ask him. It itched so much I spit out the one thing I was holding back for so long.
"Do you remember me?"
Silence.
"I said, you're done," he said through clenched teeth. The vein over his forehead was throbbing, but I stepped closer refusing to look away, and forcing him to look at me.
"Please, Valden. You…have to fight this. You have to remember. It's me," I reached forward and laced my fingers through his. His hands were warm. Just like it used to be and I let myself smile, to bask in this moment. Maybe he had been here all this time, maybe I never really lost him. All he needed was someone to help him remember.
A moment later, he yanked his hand back like I had just scalded him and when I looked into his eyes again, all I saw was pure unbridled hatred.
I shouldn't have asked him that. I shouldn't have probed this much. I should have just walked away before I made anything worse.
Because with the next words that came out of his mouth, I knew I just made everything worse.
"I don't concern myself with trash like you if you must know"
Valden was now again facing away from me, his eyes assessing whatever the hell was in that monitor that was so much more important.
My throat ached and I could feel the tears forming. The burn in my chest was becoming too harsh. Because I shouldn't have asked him that.
This was so much worse than not knowing.
I bit my cheek until I tasted blood and took one last look at him before sprinting out of the dock.
He didn't stop me. Not that I thought he would.
But some sick, broken part of me still wanted him to.