million jackhammers rammed against my skull from the inside. The undulating lights of the Anomaly outside the small window didn’t help.
With my eyes half-closed, I found some blankets on the floor, wrapped them around myself, and settled down to get some rest, completely exhausted by the effort.
The blankets smelled like Wyck. From him, my thoughts went on to everything that had happened in the past few hours.
Pain and exhaustion weakened whatever hope and resolve I had left. Everything I’d been forced to do here and all the emotions it had caused that I’d tried to burry now rose to the surface. Hiding my face in the blanket, I let the tears out.
The flood didn’t last long. I was too tired to even have a proper meltdown. Before the sobbing convulsions had fully subsided, I was asleep.
Brutal thirst woke me. My throat felt like sandpaper. Even my chest and my stomach hurt. In the multi-colored glow cast by the lights outside the window, I spotted a large tumbler of water at the entrance to the passageway between the two rooms. Grabbing it, I drained it in huge, greedy gulps.
The sleep and the water made me feel more like myself again, and I explored the new place a little.
The room was small—just long and wide enough for me to stretch out on the floor in either direction. The ceiling was only high enough for me to stand up on my knees. Initially, it must have been a part of a larger room before a section of the ceiling prolapsed, possibly during the crash, separating it from the rest of the space.
At this point, it was more of a cage or a holding compartment than a livable space. I felt more like a trapped animal here than ever before—a creature kept for entertainment, with absolutely no rights.
I feared this was not the existence I could survive for long without losing my mind. Anguish and sorrow threatened to suffocate me with tears once again.
Crawling to the passageway, I peeked out into the adjacent room.
Wyck lay on his side on the floor there, his back to me. The bulk of his massive body blocked the exit out of the room—even in his sleep, he was protecting me.
Lesh stretched on his feet. The animal raised a head, probably having sensed my movement. Realizing it was me, he relaxed again, lowering the head down and closing his eyes.
The two looked so comfortable out there, despite laying on a bare floor with no bedding. Wyck didn’t even have his vest on, his bent arm tucked under his head instead of a pillow.
Dragging a blanket behind me, I crawled through the tunnel to him.
His bare back was warm. I pressed myself to him, drawing the blanket over both of us. His deep, even breathing halted for a fraction of a moment.
“It’s safer for you in the other room,” he muttered softly, his voice rough from sleep.
“Where are we?”
“Just behind the wall of the vasai farm.”
“The giant centipedes?”
I’ve seen vasai, the wild creatures that had both an internal and external skeletons, in the movies. On screen, they seemed terrifying.
Wyck must have felt me tense.
“We’re safe here,” he assured me. “But you should be in that other room.”
“Do you want me to go back there, then?” I held my breath, dreading that he would send me away.
“No,” he said, after just a moment of hesitation.
I exhaled in relief, snuggling closer.
“Thank you,” I whispered, pressing my face to his back, next to the hard, gray ridge over his spine.
I wasn’t sure what exactly I was thanking him for—too many things made me feel grateful for having Wyck in my life. His warmth and strength gave me comfort. It melted the shaky wall of defense inside me, making silent tears trickle down my cheeks once again. Then, the sniffles came.
“Nadia.” Wyck turned in my arms to face me. “Are you still in pain?”
“No.” I shook my head, wiping my tears away only to have the new ones roll down faster.
He gazed at me, his eyes the warm tint of lampshade yellow in the semi-darkness of this room.
“Come here.” He draped his large, strong arm around me, pulling me closer.
“I’m so sorry, Wyck. I thought I could change things,” I sobbed into his chest. “That I would entice them into accepting a dance instead of...” My words drowned in another bout of tears.
“It’s not your fault. I’ve made a mistake trusting someone more than I should have,” he said somberly.