Yoma, where are you?
She heard shuffling in the room with her; the hairs on her arm stood at attention. She forced her breath to remain steady. She was fairly certain she had not yet revealed the fact that she was awake, and didn’t intend to do so until she knew who was there and what their intentions were.
From outside the room, she could hear voices smothered by metal: some shouting, others discussing, and a few laughing. She heard some shuffling and the voices neared the door, but passed just as quickly. Someone in the room sighed in frustration, another fought back laughter, each noise grating her strained nerves.
So there were two in the room with her. She doubted it was the colonel and the Kilita, which offered her some relief, but very little.
“They’re going to find us eventually,” a man said, his voice thick. “I can pretend I took you hostage.” He gave a low chuckle.
“You’re too much of a lump to make such a claim,” a younger man replied, his voice tense.
“Well, we should figure out how to get out. You can only carry one of us, so take the girl if I can’t follow. I’ve nothing to go back to,” the older-sounding man replied, and Layela’s breath caught in her throat. Who were these two?
“I ought to leave you rotting in here, but the captain wouldn’t like that.”
The room was silent for a moment, then suddenly the young man spoke from right beside her. “Are you feeling all right?” She jerked at his proximity even though his voice conveyed only concern.
She opened her eyes and looked at the man, her heart skipping a beat as she saw his prison guard uniform.
“Don’t worry, I’m not actually a guard,” he quickly clarified.
Though he crouched beside her she could see he was tall, his long reddish-brown hair neatly tied in a ponytail at the nape of his neck. Not exactly standard soldier protocol. His eyes were the colour of flint, deep pools reflecting concern. Their corners showed that he’d already had much laughter in his days, even though he was still young — perhaps only a few years older than she. And, despite her first reaction, she now felt no fear of him. Suspicion at his rogue look and curiosity at why he was dressed up as a guard, perhaps, but not fear.
His gaze was steady as she studied him, and she realized she was blushing. She tried to speak to cover her embarrassment, but coughed on dry blood instead.
“Drink this,” the man said, bringing a canister to her lips. She smelled the alcohol before she drank it, and took just enough to wash the blood down. The last thing she needed was for her tired body to take to the alcohol.
“Sorry,” he winced as he saw her taking only a small sip. “I didn’t think I’d be in need of water today.”
“Thank you.” The words cracked, but at least she could speak.
“My name’s Ardin and this is Lang,” the younger man said, not looking at the older man as he introduced him.
“Lilac,” Layela instinctively lied; she always chose a random flower name when she felt her own shouldn’t be revealed.
The man nodded, not questioning it. His eyes narrowed as he examined her closely.
“Why are you in here?”
Layela gave a short laugh at the question before she could think better of it. The man’s eyes narrowed even further. She saw no point in lying.
“I think they’re trying to get my sister for something.”
When his puzzled look deepened, she added, “We’re twins.”
He still looked at her with suspicion, but seemed willing to accept her explanation. Or at least not question it.
It was her turn to look sceptically at the two men. “What about you? Why are you in here?”
Before Ardin could answer, Lang boomed: “He’s trying to break this stubborn old drunk out. Kidnapping is what I call it!”
“Keep your voice down!” Ardin hissed and shook his head. “I don’t know why I bothered.”
“That makes two of us,” Lang replied, looking up at the ceiling.
Ardin scowled at him and then turned back to Layela. “Do you know how to get out of here? I have the keys, but there’s no lock on this side of the door.”
Layela gave him a wry smile. “I was knocked out when they left, but let me have a closer look.”
She leaned hard against the wall, her ribs protesting the movement. She hesitantly reached up and touched her swollen face, wincing a bit at the pain.
“It’s not that bad,” Ardin offered. He stood up and took a step back to give her room to stand, but did not offer his hand. She was grateful. She didn’t feel like being helped right now.
She pushed herself up, her tired arms forcing against the cold wall, her bruised ribs slashing her breath. Once up, she took a careful step forward, her wounds complaining but not stopping her. She was pleased not to stumble as she took the few steps to the door.
The door was also metal, and Ardin’s eyes had not deceived him — there was no keyhole on this side. So someone had to stay on the other side to let people out? She turned around and took a closer look, forcing her stiff neck to bend.
Four small metal walls, one door with no inside lock. Interrogation rooms usually had surveillance or a one-sided mirror so that confessions, whether real or forced, could be used in court later on. Judgment rooms were small, but with a screen for the judge to dictate the sentence.
But this room…she looked up, her eyes widening as she saw small nozzles at the top of the far wall. Three, like the Three Fates, ultimate judges of all races.
Ardin followed her gaze and swore.
“An old gassing room,” he said before she could. Lang chuckled.
“I thought all gassing rooms had been made illegal a few years
