Storm of Shadows (Lumineers 1)

CHAPTER 7: TORTURE

"Wake up, you little shit." Tabby opened her eyes. Blinked. A fist came out of nowhere. Pain split her skull wide open. Her head jerked to the left, stars dancing before her eyes. She remained firmly fixed in place, anchored to a chair. Her body hurt. Everything hurt. Like she'd been run over by carriage wheels.

Her surroundings swam in and out of focus as she tried to catalogue them. But the pain. She whimpered. The Spectrum. They knew she was compromised.

No...no! How could they? This was a dream. Just a dream. It had to be. She'd been here before, many years ago.

"About fucking time," the same voice muttered, setting the hairs of her arms on end. "I ent got all day."

Ice dropped into her belly. The realization of where she was sank in. She jerked against her bonds, frantic, crazed, trying to pull free. Trying to wake up. The chair was anchored to the floor. It wasn't going anywhere.

Fear replaced pain as her instincts kicked in. She'd never free herself—not in this way. She licked her lips, trying to calm her breathing. To think. To remember her training. "Where am I?"

She saw the movement this time. Sharp and quick. A fist straight into her stomach. The air whooshed out of her. She groaned, doubling over insomuch as her bonds allowed. Her body was smaller. Younger. But everything was disjointed.

"If I wanted to hear you yap, I'd've asked a question. Eh?"

She gasped for breath, taking deep drags, uprighting herself until her back was flush against the chair.

A test, then. Another test for loyalty. It had to be.

Dim torchlight created muted pools of yellow along the walls and floor, casting long shadows. A man in a uniform moved in and out of range. Her captor. His uniform painted him a constable. Which meant she was somewhere in the basement of Chroma's precinct building. Or...that's what she was meant to believe.

The clank of metal made her freeze. Her gaze remained fixed on the constable's back. He took a bundle and unrolled it across the table. Silver glinted. Tools. Torture.

"No..." The word was barely a whisper as the realization sank in further. Her breathing turned rapid. "No!"

The constable spun around. "You want to tell me what a rat like you was doin' poking around Entfield?"

Entfield?

Memories, a series of muddled thoughts, cascaded through her mind. She'd been tailing a business man through one of Entfield's markets. Gathering information on assignment. It should have been easy. So...why was she here?

She lifted her chin. "Last time I checked, begging weren't a crime to be locked up for." Everything about her clothes and dirty face pegged her for—

Smack! An object bounced off her chest and clattered to the ground. It rolled around on the stone and settled.

"Found that on your ankle. Recognize it?"

Her eyes widened a fraction before turning neutral. A thick copper cuff. A dream, then. She hadn't seen the cuff in ten years or more. But she'd recognize it anywhere. Didn't need to glance down to know it wasn't permanently fixed round her ankle. The pain from whatever tool had removed it was still there, though.

"Saw the mark embossed on the side there." He pointed with a scalpel. "Never seen a street rat wear somethin' like that. Which tells me you ent no beggar. Ent no beggar kids last past eight before getting snatched up by the workhouses. You're what? Ten? Eleven?"

"Twelve, you piece of shit."

"So I'll ask again. What you doin' poking around Entfield?"

"Keep asking," she hissed, spitting blood on the floor. "Answer's still the same."