Another scientist approached and handed him the first needle and syringe. “Well, we are almost ready to begin,” the head scientist stated, pressing the syringe so that a few drops of clear liquid squirted out the top. He nodded in satisfaction and looked down at me again. “I don’t know about you, but I am quite excited. Aren’t you just a little pleased to know you will be contributing to such a massive breakthrough? Just think of what this will mean for your entire race.”

“Fuck you,” I snarled, the most elegant thing I could come up with at the moment. He chuckled, shaking his head.

“Well, I would say that such language is unwarranted, but in a few hours it’s not going to matter.” He raised the needle. “This will put your brain into a relaxed state, which will make it easier for us to extract your memories. It shouldn’t take long, but you might experience some mild to severe hallucinations as the drug takes effect. Are you ready?” He lowered the needle toward my arm. “Any last words?”

I was shaking violently, but forced my voice to be even. “I think I’m going to stick with my original thought of ‘fuck you.’”

“Hmm, not the most original, but if that is what you feel...” He slid the needle into my arm and injected the contents. “Farewell, Ember Hill,” he said as he stepped back. “I hope you go gently into that good night. If all goes well, the next time we speak, I will be addressing the Elder Wyrm.”

Garret, I thought as the ceiling started to sway. Riley. I’m sorry. Wherever you are, I hope you can get out of here. Escape, and live to fight Talon another day. You’ll just have to do it without me.

Chapter 23: RILEY

RILEY

“Well,” St. George muttered beside me, “that could have gone worse, I suppose.”

I cracked open one puffy eye to glare at him, trying to focus through the throbbing in my skull. And ribs. And face. The soldier lay on his back, much like I was doing, and looked nearly as awful as I felt. Nearly, because the interrogator’s questions had been directed mostly at me. Though St. George hadn’t escaped unscathed, either. He had, I would grudgingly admit, held up like a trooper, refusing to break even through the worst of it. Luther was not the most subtle of interrogators, preferring the “answer my question or my minions will punch you in the face” technique, rather than the mind games I knew Mist was capable of. And it had been a long session, at least several hours. It was probably the middle of the night or very early morning, though it was impossible to tell time in this place. The only good part was watching that little bastard’s face when he realized we weren’t going to give him what he wanted. “How, exactly?” I croaked.