Page 30 of Glutton for Punishment

Most of it slips through my grasp, untamed and wild.

But I catch something. A fragment of the power. I narrow on that feeling, on that tiny spark.

And I grip it as hard as I can.

Above my skin, a void snaps into existence around the knife as I glare at Dr. Plinth. How dare he threaten my family? The small, imperfect, storm-black globe hums for a heartbeat, devouring the light, raging.

And then it disappears.

Flashes out. Gone as quickly as it came. If I hadn’t felt the power so clearly, I would question a hallucination.

The knife drops from Plinth’s hand with a clatter, drawing my attention.

Only half of it remains… The blade is a jagged stump of metal.

Silence slams into the room as everyone stares at what’s left of the blade.

No one moves. No one breathes.

“Extraordinary,” Dr. Plinth breathes at last, awe cracking through his composure. He turns to his colleague.

“Did we get that?”

One scientist nods. “All of it is on film, sir. Multiple angles.”

“Excellent.” He moves to the video monitors.

I lie there gasping, chest heaving, staring at the blood slicking my skin, and at the proof that I’m not powerless. Not completely… but I feel drained. Sapped of all my strength.

“Patch the subject up,” Plinth says. “Clean her. Stitch the vital ones. Return her to her cell.”

He pauses, then adds, almost reverently, “We need to inform the Councilor immediately.”

Chapter 9

Arwen

I’m shoved back into my cell hard enough that my shoulder clips the wall, scraping my newly bandaged arm.

Atticus is already on his feet. His face drains of color the second he sees me. His breath catches as if someone punched him.

“What the fuck have they done to you?” he demands, voice raw.

He lunges for the bars separating our cells, shoving his arms through.

He does this every time they bring me back, and I should be used to it by now. It’s still a punch in the gut to see his face. Horror. Bare and unfiltered. The fiery grey storm in his eyes has been all wiped out.

I straighten, even though everything in me screams to collapse. I lift my chin, force my shoulders back and blink through the throbbing pain.

“It’s okay,” I say, light and dismissive. “It looks worse than it is.”

I know he won’t buy it. Not even for a second.

His jaw tightens, nostrils flaring as his gaze tracks the fresh bandages, the dried blood that didn’t quite wash away, the limp I try to hide. He knows I’m lying. He always does.

I close the distance anyway.

I step into his reach and let him pull me in, his hands cupping my arms. His touch is feather-light, but it anchors me all the same. I won’t ever admit it out loud, but this is usually the best part of my day.