It was not sleep and it was not death. It was a slow drowning in a black ocean with no bottom and no surface.
Then came the sound. Boots struck the stone floor with a heavy and measured rhythm. The noise echoed like a tolling bell in the silence.
A jagged shard of light pierced the gloom. My lungs convulsed as air rushed in. It seared my chest as though I had not drawn a breath in an eternity. The sharp smell of rust and old copper hit the back of my throat. It was the scent of a grave.
I forced my eyelids open. I was not in a void. I was lying in the remains of a concrete warehouse. Above me wires hung like dead vines and rained sparks onto the floor. Dust lay in thick undisturbed layers over the shattered consoles. Around me armored corpses were scattered like broken statues. Their fingers were still locked around the grips of their rifles. Their helmets were cracked and the visors were smeared with thick brown stains of old blood.
A cold pressure settled at the base of my skull. It brought a sudden flash of heat. I remembered the blinding glare of a muzzle flash and the deafening shriek of tearing metal. I remembered the copper taste of someone else's blood on my tongue. Then came the suffocating thought pressing into my mind. You did this.
Boot heels crunched on broken glass.
A shadow filled the doorway. He was tall and his posture was rigid inside dark tactical armor. He stepped into the flickering light. I saw the sharp planes of his face. He had a square jaw like granite and a prominent brow ridge. His eyes were a cold slate gray. He scanned the room with detachment until his gaze snapped down to me.
Recognition flared in those gray eyes. They narrowed into hard slits.
He jerked his rifle up. The barrel leveled center between my eyes. My body moved before I could think. I rolled sideways as the concrete erupted in sparks where my head had been. Pain tore through my ribs. I scrambled forward and clamped my hand onto the hot barrel of his gun.
Our faces were inches apart. I could see the tension lines around his eyes and the slight flare of his nostrils. His lips were a thin and bloodless line. Surprise was carved into his hard features but his finger stayed frozen on the trigger. His breathing was steady.
"You are alive?" His voice was a low rasp.
I forced out a bitter laugh. "What does it look like?"
A muscle feathered along his jaw. "Did you do this?"
I looked at the skeletal hands and the black stains on the floor. My chest tightened. I tried to grasp the hollow space in my mind. I saw only a blur and heard the sickening sound of snapping bone. "I do not know."
His weapon lowered slightly. He studied every twitch of my face with a terrifying absolute stillness. "Name." It was a command.
I searched for the sound. "Ashen. Ashen Ashford"
He watched me for a long moment. He looked like a man who had stumbled upon a nightmare
The world dropped out from under me.
There was no warning. The warehouse and the dead soldiers and the man with the gray eyes vanished into a total void. The air left my lungs.
The smell of blood disappeared. It was replaced by the aroma of chalk and aged paper and floor wax.
Warm sunlight hit my face.
I gasped. My hands gripped the edges of a wooden desk. A yellow pencil was held between my shaking fingers.
"You good man?"
The voice was bright. I turned my head slowly. George leaned back in his chair and balanced on two legs. He had a wide grin that showed his large teeth. The skin around his eyes crinkled and pushed his scattered freckles higher on his cheeks.
I stared at him. My heart hammered against my ribs. I expected his face to melt or a weapon to appear. He just tapped his pen on his notebook.
Ahead of me a girl shifted in her seat. Mia was hunched over her notebook. The sun caught the sloping curve of her cheekbone. She looked back over her shoulder. Her hazel eyes sparkled with amusement. She put a finger to her lips to quiet George.
At the front of the room Professor Kendall spoke. His chalk squeaked on the board. The room was quiet. It was a perfect afternoon.
I looked down at my hands. My knuckles were white. I was gripping the pencil with the same desperate force I used on the hot rifle.
The pressure at the base of my skull shifted. I felt a cold predatory amusement ripple through my mind. It felt like something inside me was awake. It watched my peaceful sanctuary through my eyes, and it knew exactly where we were.
The yellow pencil snapped in half.
"Whoa," George said. He stopped balancing on his chair and stared at the splintered wood in my hands. "You really hate calculus."
I dropped the broken pieces onto the desk. My hands were shaking. I shoved them into my pockets and tried to control my breathing.
The sharp ring of the bell cut through the room. Desks scraped against the floor as students stood up.
"Lunch is on me," George announced. He slapped my shoulder. His grin was firmly in place. "You look like you have seen a ghost Ashen."
"Yeah. Maybe," I muttered.
We joined the crowd of students heading into the hallway. For everyone else it was ordinary. But every time I blinked something shifted. A crack appeared across a window pane and vanished. A light buzzed and steadied itself.
And the air. Beneath the smell of cheap perfume and floor polish a sharper scent lingered. It smelled like blood.
We pushed through the double doors into the courtyard. Sunlight poured over the stone benches and green grass. The fountain burbled quietly.
I inhaled deeply and tried to shake off the weight.
Then the sky shattered.
The sound tore the air apart. The massive windows lining the courtyard exploded inward. Glass rained down in jagged sheets.
Screams erupted. They bounced off the stone walls and dissolved the quiet afternoon into chaos.
Figures stormed through the breaches. They wore heavy black armor. Their forms were bulky and their rifles were raised. Their faces were hidden behind dark visors that reflected the sunlight. They looked exactly like the dead men in the warehouse.
My chest locked.
"GEORGE!" I screamed. My voice tore from my throat. "GET DOWN!"
A few yards away George spun around. He was too slow.
A shot cracked the air. The silver streak punched through his skull. His grin vanished in an instant. Crimson sprayed across the stone and his body crumpled.
"No." My voice was a raw whisper swallowed by the gunfire.
Mia screamed. I turned toward the fountain. She was cornered against the wall. Her eyes were wide with shock. She reached a trembling hand toward me.
"Ashen! Help!"
I lurched forward. Every muscle in my body strained to reach her.
Another shot split the air.
Her body jolted. She crumpled into a spreading pool of red against the grey stone.
My heart stopped. My lungs seized. As the smoke cleared I saw him.
He stood behind where she had fallen. He lowered his pistol. A thin wisp of smoke curled from the barrel. His coat was a dark glaring red. It was torn at the edges and stained with drying blood.
His face was blurred like shifting smoke. But his smirk cut through the obscurity. It was a cruel knowing curve of the lips.
I knew him. I did not know how but a deep certainty struck my bones.
The cold pressure at the base of my skull surged forward. The thing inside me did not offer fear. It offered absolute rage.