Chapter 8

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I don't know what to say. I don't know what to do. All words, all breath have abandoned me. I can only stare, wide-eyed, as the man who I was tortured and maimed by grins at me cynically.

"What is it, Elizabeth?" Hatchman asks, mocking concern. "Do you not think it rude to stare at someone you haven't seen in a while like that?"

"You should be dead," I hiss, lip curling into a snarl.

"Is that what you thought?" he sneers back. Then his hand connects with my cheek. "Well, you were wrong, girl. I am here, I am very much alive."

My cheek stings and I will away the tears that instinctively urge to fill my eyes. "You must think of yourself as very noble, hitting a girl who cannot defend herself."

"Are you wondering how I'm alive, Elizabeth?" he completely ignores my jibe.

"I have many questions, Hatchman," I retort. "Your involvement with the Red Movement being one of them."

Hatchman flashes me his signature sardonic grin. "What do you wish to know about it, Elizabeth?"

"I think you know." My eyes narrow. "How long have you been with them?"

Usually, his grin would broaden further. But this time, it does the exact opposite and drops entirely. My palms begin to sweat as the sudden change in character from him fairly unnerves me.

"Longer than you ever possibly thought." Hatchman pauses, the corner of his lip twitches. "We are not all that different, Elizabeth, you and I."

My hands clench into fists so tightly that the too-long fingernails dig into the flesh of my palms. "We are nothing alike," I spit, fighting the trembling anger that quickly surges up my throat.

Hatchman simply shakes his head. Then, to my surprise, he presses a button on the wall above my head and with a sharp click, the metal restraints holding me in place lift away. Bewildered, I can only lay there, trying to process the seemingly significant action that Hatchman is scarcely batting an eyelash to.

"Well, sit up," he snaps suddenly. Bristling indignantly, I push myself up and stretch out my stiff limbs, relishing the feeling of blood flowing more freely around my body.

"Would you like to know the true reason I am so determined to find the cure for the Drown, Elizabeth?" Hatchman asks. He peers at me intently through his icy eyes, studying my reactions carefully.

The question leaves me momentarily shaken. A question was asked to me in a very similar way by Lord Sneya so many months ago when he asked if I wanted to know some of his secrets. "Would you like to know some of my secrets, Elizabeth?" he had said. Instead of icy eyes, it was green eyes. Like Ruben's.

"I suppose you are not going to give me much of a choice in reality, right, Hatchman?"

"Brooker."

"Sorry?"

"Brooker," he says. "Nicholas Brooker."

I gape at him until I realise how wide my mouth is hanging and snap it shut. "Oh my God."

"My name is Nicholas Brooker."

"Oh my God," I say again. It feels as though the room has suddenly gotten smaller. I gasp. "Brooker. Are you related to my friend Killian Brooker?"

His eyes widen and his jaw tightens. "Yes. He is my nephew."

"What?"

"That's right. His mother is my sister," Hatchman begins, drawing in a deep breath before continuing. "When we were in our late teens, she 17 and myself 19, our mother and father both contracted the disease, the Drown. At the time, it was not Arthur Sneya who ruled the Floodgates, but his father Amos Sneya. He was a man who was deeply focused on keeping the Concaves alive whilst simultaneously pretending to everyone that the disease had been completely eradicated of. He pretended that it was no longer a threat, even though there was still the rumour of it in the River. He gave the disease no chances, and anyone who contracted the disease wasn't given any chance as well. He swiftly, mercilessly banished my parents from the Floodgates."

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