Naihabi Ridge

Chapter Twenty-Eight - Dread

Someone was there. They had opened the door to this prison, let in light, then shut the light out again. Quinn could barely breathe.
    
What had they come to do this time?
    
He began to shiver, his blood running cold at the sight of his torturer, then he caught himself. Quinn looked at the figure as they stood there, panting like a dog. The boy didn't look at all like the General. He could tell that just from his silhouette.
    
But then why was he here?
    
Quinn decided that the General was dealing with all the odd sounds coming from outside and that the boy was his replacement. He chewed on his lip and his body tensed. Yes, that made perfect sense.
    
The boy took a step forward and Quinn tensed against his bindings. He had figured out a long time ago that the chair he was bound to was bolted to the ground and no matter how hard he tried, he could never escape their knives and syringes. He just had to sit in this chair and endure it all until they got what they wanted.
    
Then the boy paused and Quinn noticed the pouch the boy carried at his hip. And how his hand hovered over the knife strapped to his thigh.
    
More cutting.
    
Dread settled in Quinn's stomach and he fixed his eyes on the white floor like every other time he'd had to endure this. He just had to answer the questions. He learned that the hard way. He kept his breath steady and his cuts and slices began to tingle under their bandages.
    
But he did not hear the scrape of the knife leaving its sheath and he didn't hear the boy come any closer. Hesitantly, Quinn tore his gaze from its spot on the floor and looked at the boy and he realized the boy couldn't see him. His eyes hadn't adjusted to the dark.
    
He didn't know what he was thinking. He didn't know what was running through his head or whether this would kill him, but he opened his mouth and spoke in his low tenor, though it's normal smoothness was worn away by screaming. "Why are you here?"

The figure froze and his hand flew to the handle of his dagger. The fear that had been fading from Quinn's stomach returned. He had known it would come to this, eventually. It was only a matter of time before he'd run his mouth too far and someone would finally kill him. He let out a ragged breath and allowed his gaze to linger on the figure.

"Who's there?" The boy asked.

Quinn let himself be surprised. The boy sounded younger than he let off. Sixteen, maybe seventeen. But it was his question that struck him: he wasn't a soldier. He didn't work for the General. He wasn't here to kill him.

Well, he didn't know that last part for sure, but he liked to think that was the case.

"Do you have a light with you?" Quinn half-smiled, twisting his wrists uncomfortably with the rope that tied him to the chair. "I don't prefer blind introductions."

The figure stood warily for a moment, then he rummaged through his pouch and took out a stick and something else Quinn couldn't quite see. But having use of only one of his arms, he had to kneel and put the unidentified item on the floor and then he scraped the stick across it and Quinn flinched as a small flame lit on the end of the stick.

After his eyes adjusted, he stole a look at the boy and his eyebrows raised. He was a scrawny thing, his right arm bound tightly around his chest and his skin pale as a fish's belly. His hair was stalk white and as he got a better look at the boy, he saw his eyes glisten a peculiar orange color he'd seen only once before.

The celestial ghost who'd haunted his dreams for all these days shone through the boy's eyes like a shadow of death and Quinn felt a more heart-stopping dread than the knives and syringes could ever bring.

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Hello! Answer me this, is the third-person/first-person switching confusing? Do you like it or no?
Any questions or suggestions? Let me know! If you liked the chapter, don't forget to vote because it means a lot to know I did something write.

Get it?... no?...

*sighs*