Oblivion

"You are going to get some rest." Reece draws the blanket up to my chin and tucks me in.

  "But what about Blaise?" I move to sit up, but Ryder carefully pushes me back down.

  "We'll figure something out." Ryder backs away from my bed and toward a stainless steel door, stuffing his hands into the back pockets of his pants.

  "But I want to help," I say, rotating onto my side.

  "Then get some rest." Reece walks around the foot of my bed and follows Ryder. "You won't be able to do much if you're tired."

  I trust them--I wholeheartedly do--but watching them head toward that door, about to leave me alone in a room, unleashes an old fear.

  "You'll come back, though, right?" I ask, clutching the blanket.

  Ryder pauses near the door. "Of course we'll come back. We'd never just leave you."

  "And you won't lock me in here?" I whisper, feeling silly for being so afraid, but I can't seem to get rid of the fear as memories of my time in the cell consume me.

  I stare at the door for hours, but no one ever comes. Days pass, and still I remain alone. Weeks. Months. A century ...

  Ryder shakes his head, sympathy masking his expression. "In fact, we'll keep the door cracked."

  "Thank you," I whisper, pulling the blanket higher.

  He smiles. "And when I come back, I'll bring you something that I think will cheer you up. How does that sound?"

  I yawn. "Good."

  Reece opens the door and motions for Ryder to follow. "Make sure to get some sleep," he says. "We'll be back soon."

  I nod, and then they exit the room, leaving the door cracked open. I start to shut my eyes when their voices drift through the crack.

  "What do you think about what she told us?" Ryder whispers. "I don't think she'd lie or anything, but I'm not sure what this time traveler thing is she's talking about. The name seems pretty self-explanatory and everything, but is it even real?"

  "I've heard of them before," Reece assures him in a hushed tone.

  "You have?" Ryder asks in shock.

  "Once. While I was observing someone's memories from the Oblivion ... a time traveler was mentioned. Although, when the person came back, they had no recollection of it and couldn't explain to me what it was."

  "Who was this person?"

  A beat of silence skips by before Reece finally answers quietly, "Blaise."

  "Shiiiit." Ryder drags out the curse word for several seconds. "Well, that can't be a coincidence, can it?"

  "It's hard to say for sure. I'm not a big believer of coincidences, but ... it seems a little strange that the only two people I've ever crossed paths with who can outrun death--well, except for the Grim--have heard of this strange time traveler."

  "You think Allura and Blaise are connected somehow?" Ryder doesn't sound too thrilled about the idea.

  "I don't know." Reece draws out a pause. "They both have missing memories and don't know much about their past, so maybe the answer is hidden in the holes of their memories."

  "Why don't you just look into those holes, then?"

  "Easier said than done."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean, sometimes accessing erased or repressed memories can be dangerous. Plus, Blaise isn't even here to try."

  "We're going to bring him back, right?" Ryder asks uneasily. "We're not just going to keep him lost."

  "Of course not," Reece says. "But getting him back is going to be difficult."

  "So, you know where he is?"

  "I have an idea. I'm going to need at least a few days to figure out how we're going to get to him."

  After that, their voices fade away, and I'm left alone with the beeping of the monitor to fill up the silence, their words echoing in my mind.

  They think they can save Blaise?

  They think Blaise and I are connected?

  Does that make me a Forbidden?

  I lift the blanket and peek at my body. I'm wearing a black tank top and grey shorts that give me a view of the smooth, pale flesh of my legs and arms. I glance down the front of my shirt to double-check, not knowing whether to be relieved or not that not an ounce of bronzed metal is on my body.

  At least, if there was, I'd know what I am.

  Lowering my shirt back down, I rest my head back against the pillow. Sleeping seems impossible, yet one second I'm looking up at the ceiling, and the next, darkness pulls me under.

  Chapter 12

  The Un-Stranger

  The throbbing of soft piano music vibrates against my eardrums as I blink my eyes open. Then my jaw virtually slaps the hardwood floor.

  I'm no longer lying in bed at Leviter Station, but standing in an unfamiliar room lined with shelves containing bottles of moonshine.

  Where the heck am I?

  I move forward to get a better look around. Copper chandeliers hang from wooden beams, a swinging door frames the far back wall, and chains secured to gadgets and levers run perpendicular from the ceiling to the floor. To my right, a polished bronze counter borders the edge of the room, along with a row of barstools where a few men sit. Most of them are wearing leather vests, button shirts, trousers, and lace-up boots, but the one at the end has topped off the look with a long leather trench coat.

  "To freedom." A man with coppery red hair and ghostly white skin raises his glass.

  "To freedom," all the other men, except the one sitting at the end, murmur then lift their glasses in sync. Then they tip their heads back, guzzle down the shots, and set the empty glasses down.

  "So, now what do we do?" a younger man with chin-length black hair asks, resting his arms on the counter.

  "We wait until the time is right, and then we make our next move." The man with reddish hair stands up, leans over the counter, and snatches up a full bottle of whiskey from off the shelf.

  A pudgy man slants forward, adjusting his glasses higher on the crooked brim of his nose. "You think just waiting will work?"

  The coppery-haired man nods, unscrewing the cap off the bottle. "If we want to eliminate the Grim, we need to be patient. If we strike too soon, we'll all end up dead."

  The man sitting at the end of the bar who didn't participate in the toasts laughs hollowly. "You think you can eliminate the Grim? Just how stupid are you?"

  His back is turned to me so I can't see his face, but the striking familiarity of his voice has me inching forward to get a better look at him.

  The redhead narrows his eyes at him. "Why do you always have to be so negative?"

  "I'm not being negative." He collects the shot glass, brings the brim to his lips, and downs the whiskey in one gulp. Then, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he begins to turn around in the barstool. "I'm being realistic. Sure, you might have scared off a handful of Grim, but killing them is an entirely different ..." He trails off when he spots me.

  My lips part in shock. "Blaise," I whisper then run across the bar toward him. I don't care why he's here, how, or how I found him. I just care that he's alive. "You're okay."

  His brows scrunch together. "Who are you? And how do you know my name?"

  The rest of the men wheel around and spring to their feet, their hands wandering for their holsters strapped around their waists and shoulders.

  I skid to a startled stop as four guns are aimed at me and look helplessly at Blaise. "It's me. Allura ... The girl you rescued from the ..." I bite down on my tongue as the redheaded man cocks his gun and steps forward.

  "We haven't rescued any girls for a very long time. Wish we could, but the Grim have upped their security lately." The hardwood floor creaks as he cautiously approaches me with the barrel pointed at me. "We know you're lying." He stops as the end of his gun touches the center of my chest. Then he tips his head to the side. "The question is: Why?"

  "I ..." I throw a desperate glance in Blaise's direction, hoping he'll come out of whatever forgetful trance he's obviously entered.

  He only slants back, resting his elbows on the countertop, staring me down like a hawk.

 
The man in front of me slides the gun up to my chin, and the cold metal bites into my skin as he turns my head back toward him. "Answer the damn question. Why are you lying?"

  My breath leaves my lips in a gasp. "I'm not lying ... I don't ..." I want to look back at Blaise, but I fear the guy in front of me might shoot me if I do. "I'm not lying ... I'm just confused. And lost." My eyes start to water, but I fight back the tears, not wanting to crumble in front of strangers.

  "Fredrick, would you back the hell off?" The younger guy with black hair steps forward, lowering his gun. His alarmingly silver eyes are tinted with kindness. "You're scaring the poor girl half to death."

  "How do we know that for sure?" Fredrick doesn't take his eyes off me. "She could be lying. Remember Eva? Besides, she knows Blaise's name. How is that?" He shakes his head, putting more pressure on my chin with the barrel of his gun. "Look at her eyes. She has secrets in there."

  The younger man who spoke up on my behalf sticks his gun back into the holster. "Everyone has secrets, Fredrick. You should know that better than anyone."

  Fredrick shoots him a lethal look from over his shoulder. "Zander, no one asked for your opinion."

  "Well, I always offer it," Zander quips with a devious grin.

  As they continue to argue, I clasp on to the opportunity to send Blaise a pleading glance. The instant my eyes fall on his, I realize a few minor details I somehow missed during my celebration of first seeing him. One, his head isn't shaved on one side. Two, he has no facial piercings. And three, that intense look that's usually in his eyes when he looks at me isn't present.

  "Blaise!" Fredrick shouts, causing my muscles to spasm. "Get over here for a second."

  With his eyes glued on mine, Blaise rises to his feet and ambles across the bar. When he nears us, he stuffs his hand inside the front of his open trench coat and withdraws a gun. He doesn't aim it at me, just simply holds it. But the fact that he would consider using it on me wounds my soul.

  This isn't my Blaise, yet he looks exactly like him.

  "What do you want?" he asks Fredrick as he stops just short of us.

  "I want to know if you recognize this girl," Fredrick answers, using the end of the barrel to shove my face in Blaise's direction.

  Blaise scrutinizes me with a neutral expression. "I don't think so."

  "Are you sure?" Zander chimes in. "Perhaps she's from your old home."

  Blaise notes my bare feet, grey shorts, and black tank top, then shakes his head. "No, I definitely don't think so."

  "Well, then I guess it's settled." A smile spans across Fredrick's face. "Take her to the dungeons."

  Dungeons?

  It takes me a moment to connect the word with an image, and when I do, any ounce of calmness inside me evaporates.

  "No, please don't." I shake my head, backing away from him. "I can't--"

  Fredrick snatches ahold of my arm and wrenches me back toward him. "No one asked for your opinion." With a rough jerk, he flings me toward a set of swinging doors. "Now get your ass back there before I change my mind and decide to just shoot you."

  My bare feet scuff against the floor as I stumble toward Blaise. He dodges out of the way before I bump into him and lets me fall to the floor where I land on my hands and knees, the wood scraping my bare skin. Tears fill my eyes as humiliation douses over me.

  This isn't the first time I've been treated like this. These men ... They're no better than the Grim.

  Fredrick nudges me in the side with the toe of his boot. "Get up."

  Sucking in an exhale, I push to my feet and sweep my hair out of my face. Then I limp toward the doors.

  "I'll take her there," Zander offers.

  Fredrick pokes me in the back with the gun, and I stiffen. "I can handle her."

  "Yeah, but ..." Zander pauses. "Don't you have that meeting to get to?"

  Fredrick wavers, coming to a stop. "I do, but--"

  "But nothing," Zander cuts him off eagerly. "You can't miss it. You're in charge of it, for crying out loud."

  Silence stretches between the men, making my gasping breaths embarrassingly evident.

  Then the heels of his boots click against the floor as Fredrick walks around in front of me. "If you try to escape, I'll shoot you dead. Understand?"

  Gulping, I nod.

  His mouth twitches as he momentarily stares at me, then he spins on his heels and strides for a door at the front of the bar. "Zander, take her to the dungeon. Everyone else, come with me."

  Two of the men follow, but Blaise remains at my side. When Fredrick notices, he motions at Blaise with annoyance.

  "Hurry up," he demands. "We're going to be late."

  Blaise hesitates, looking from me to Zander then back to me. "Actually, I think I'm going to stay."

  "This isn't a job that requires two people," Fredrick snaps impatiently. "Now, one of you, come on."

  "It might take two people," Zander says, checking the bullets in his gun. "You never know with strangers, Fredrick. Remember how tricky and strong Eva was?"

  Fredrick slams his palm against the doorframe. "Eva wasn't human. That wasn't my fault."

  Zander studies me with his silver eyes that match stars in the midnight sky. "Maybe she's not, either. You can't always tell for sure."

  Huffing a frustrated breath, Fredrick shoves the door open. "Fine. Do whatever the hell you want. But don't come whining to me to give you a recap of the meeting." With that, he storms out the doors and into a dirt street blanketed by nightfall.

  "Good God, this whole leadership thing is going to his head," Zander mumbles once Fredrick is long gone.

  "Tell me about it," Blaise says, slipping his gun into his holster. "The other day, he tried to make me clean his house. Said it was part of my job, like I'm a goddamn maid or something."

  Zander chuckles. "I bet you had a few choice words to say about that."

  An arrogant smile expands across Blaise's face. "Don't I always?"

  Watching Blaise smile so casually is very strange. If he didn't go by the name Blaise, I'd speculate that perhaps he was a twin or a doppelganger. That is, if the latter exists. I'm not sure since I don't understand how I know the word.

  "That you do." Zander chews on his bottom lip as he retrieves a silver pocket watch from his vest pocket and checks the time. "So, what're we going to do with this one?"

  Blaise's gaze flits to me, and he measures me up. "I'm not sure yet."

  Zander stuffs the pocket watch back in his pocket. "You think we should let her go?"

  "Normally, I'd say yes, but ..." Blaise examines me closely, thrumming his fingers on the sides of his legs. "But she knows my name."

  Zander faces me with his arms crossed. "That is a little strange."

  The two of them stare at me, as if trying to unravel the secrets hidden in my brain.

  "What did you say your name was?" Zander finally asks.

  I swallow, mostly to rehydrate my throat that's gone painfully dry. "Allura."

  Zander gives Blaise a curious look. "Are you sure the name doesn't ring a bell?"

  Blaise briefly contemplates the answer before shaking his head. "I don't think so. I don't know ... I've met a lot of people during my travels. Maybe we crossed paths during one?" He leaves the question hanging out there for me to answer.

  I want to tell him the truth, but I fear the real answer will result in me being locked up.

  "Yes, that's where we met," I lie, starting to sweat.

  He taps his foot restlessly against the floor. "And where exactly did we cross paths?"

  I have no clue how to answer that question since I'm unsure where we are. Still, I should give him something.

  "Um ..." I nervously rub my hand across my damp forehead.

  Zander and Blaise suddenly go bugged-eyed.

  "Well, this is a strange surprise," Zander says, reaching for my arm. "She's a Nameless."

  I trip back as his fingers graze my wrist. While I'm fine with Ryder, Reece, and Blaise touching me, I don't par
ticularly care for anyone else to.

  "Sorry." Zander raises his hands in front of him in a surrender pose. "I wasn't going to hurt you. I just wanted to look at your number."

  Blaise once told me to never let anyone know I'm a Nameless, that people would take advantage of me. I may not know where the hell I am or who this Blaise is in front of me, but that doesn't mean I'm going to risk going against the rules of surviving.

  I cover my hand over the number on my wrist. "It's not a Nameless number. Just a tattoo."

  Blaise steps forward and pries my fingers off my wrist to examine the ink branded into my skin. "No, this is a Nameless number." His gaze rises to me and wonderment overflows from his eyes. "You escaped from the channels?"

  I fuse my lips together and attempt to wiggle my arm free from his grasp, but he holds on securely.

  "We're not going to hurt you," Blaise tells me. "I just want--need--to know if you escaped the channels."

  I wrap my free arm around myself and whisper, "Why?"

  Blaise exchanges a glance with Zander that reminds me a lot of all the mysterious looks that go on between Blaise, Ryder, and Reece.

  "Go ahead and tell her," Zander encourages, folding his arms. The sleeve of his shirt rides up, revealing a wrist made of metal, rounded gadgets, and a few springs. "She'll probably be more likely to tell you."

  "Only if she's a good person." Blaise eyes me warily. "Are you?"

  The question, while simple enough, throws me for a sharp and abrupt turn. "I don't know."

  "You don't know?" he questions with his brows elevated. "Have you ever hurt anyone?"

  I bob my head up and down, shame building in my chest. "I have."

  "And what were the circumstances?" Blaise steps toward me until the tips of his boots kiss my toes. "Did you hurt someone for fun or to protect?"

  "To protect." I'm not so certain I'm being entirely truthful.

  Blaise dips his head toward mine and the scent of leather, dirt, and cologne engulfs my nostrils. "Tell me, Allura, if you're a Nameless, then how is it possible that you can speak so well?"

  I shrug. "I don't know."

  His brow meticulously arches. "You don't know?"

  I shake my head, discreetly breathing his scent in. He may not act like the Blaise I know, but he smells like him. "I can't really remember my past very well."

  Compassion flicks across his face. "Neither can I. At least, not all of it." He moves backs, taking his lovely scent with him and erasing any emotion from his face. "My sister has been trapped in the channels for a while ... We've raided a few, but there's still so many we haven't located. So, if you're really from one, I need you to tell me so that I can attempt to track it down and look for her."