Fletcher’s entire body ached from the day of traveling with only one brief break to reveal Teller’s betrayal. Since then, they’d been walking for well over three hours, and the sun was just starting to set when they finally reached their camp for the night. It was in a small dugout cave, many, many miles from the city ruins in an area Fletcher had never ventured. Trees typical of Mythia surrounded them, though these ones had more of a red bark color with a purple hue to their needles since they were the Mythian version of pine trees.

  Ibara helped Fletcher get situated with blankets, bundling him up more than he thought necessary.

  “Is the dog alright to stay with you?” the man asked.

  “Yeah, of course.” Fletcher rubbed Backup’s head. “I like having him around.”

  Ibara nodded. He stepped away to the supplies and then came back with an MRE for Fletcher. As usual, he opened all the components since Fletcher was incapable of even that basic task. This time however, the man sat down with his own meal, staying close to Fletcher.

  “So you were raised in Loketa, right?” Ibara began.

  “I was in a refugee camp until I was five, and then we lived in Loketa. We moved when I was ten, so I normally claim Alcett since that’s where I spent most of my life,” Fletcher corrected him. “Were you born in the Mixed? Or did you live in the colonies first?”

  “Colonies first, but when my older brother got Hexed, the whole family escaped to live with the Mixed,” he explained.

  “What colony?”

  “Jukati, on the African continent,” Ibara answered.

  “Oh, that’s a big city. I visited one summer,” Fletcher said, thinking back to his first summer during college.

  “Really? I didn’t know Sebastian made enough with his work in the colonies for something as nice as vacations,” Ibara said in surprise.

  Fletcher laughed, thinking of the dinky apartment he called home for so many years. “Definitely not. I went with a group from my university. It was a collaboration thing for research. At the time, I was pretty set on pursuing a PhD and becoming a mathematician.”

  Ibara nodded. “That’s a far cry from a teacher. What happened?”

  Fletcher shrugged. “A few things. For one, a career like that would have meant I’d have to live in Jukati since it’s the hub of all things research for the Humans. I didn’t mind except my dad made it clear he wouldn’t relocate with me, and given it takes nearly a week to travel between Alcett and Jukati, I didn’t want to live that far away from him. And then I also did an internship teaching at an Unhuman school over the next summer, and I kind of fell in love with teaching. It allowed me to stay close to my dad and do something I was passionate about, so I went with that. Best of both worlds.”

  “Ironic you talk of caring so much about your father when you’ve ignored him and every letter he’s sent you for the past six months,” Hazel said.

  Fletcher stiffened. He hadn’t realized she was nearby. “I-I… We had an argument. I wasn’t ready to talk.”

  “Ibara, go on a patrol. Take the dog,” she ordered.

  “Yes, General.” Ibara stood up, giving Fletcher one last smile. “See you later, Fletcher.” He called for Backup to join him, but the dog only went once Fletcher motioned him away.

  Once they were gone, Hazel knelt next to Fletcher. “Your father mentioned the argument. He was rather upset as well.”

  “Since when do you care about mine and Dad’s relationship?” Fletcher muttered. “What do you want, General?”

  “I need you to do something for me,” she said, ignoring his first comment.

  He scoffed, using his one usable limb to gesture to the splints on the other three. “I’m not sure there’s much I can do.”

  “You can do this,” she promised.

  “What is it?”

  Hazel subtly gestured across the camp to where Teller was tied up. “I need you to use [Read Thoughts] on her.”

  Fletcher’s eyes went wide. “What? No. I can’t do that.”

  “I need you to.”

  “But—”

  “Fletcher, this is important,” she continued. “But keep your voice down. I don’t want anyone else to hear.”

  “You do it. You seem a lot better with [Read Thoughts] than I am,” he countered in a whisper.

  Hazel shook her head. “Regardless of how well I can use it, I don’t have your unique ability with it.”

  “The lack of [Mana],” he inferred.

  She nodded. “More than that. It was confirmed when you used it at dinner a year ago. You don’t leave an imprint.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked, uncomfortable with the task she was giving to him.

  “You remember how it felt when I used [Read Thoughts] on you?”

  He nodded.

  “That’s an imprint. Anyone who uses [Read Thoughts] leaves one, clueing their target into the fact that their mind is being invaded. But you don’t,” she explained.

  “Great. Something else that makes me special,” he murmured.

  “I’ve cleared the camp out as much as I can. You’re going to have to do your best. Just focus on Teller’s mind, and say everything you get from her aloud. I’ll worry about what’s important or not.” Hazel grabbed his arm. “This is very important, Fletcher. I need you to do this.”

  Fletcher bit his lower lip. “Fine. I’ll try. I make no promises. It doesn’t normally go well.”

  “You’ve gotten more practice since your birthday. I think you’ll do better than you expect.”

  He was pretty sure she was lying, but he decided to accept the encouragement anyway.

  Staring at Teller, he broke through the barrier he’d spent so long learning to put up with Addy’s help to keep his [Read Thoughts] ability from activating when he didn’t need it.

  [Activating: Read Thoughts]

  Fletcher winced as a variety of thoughts entered his brain, all from various sources.

  “Teller, Focus on her,” his mother said aloud, though her voice remained barely loud enough for him to hear over the ringing in his ears.

  “I-I can’t,” he stammered.

  “You have to, Fletcher.”

  He tried to follow his mom’s advice, directing his attention entirely on Teller, but so many other thoughts were in his head, and he couldn’t block them out.

  “Focus. You can do this,” Hazel said from beside him.

  His head ached from all the other people inside his mind, but with enough concentration, he was able to narrow it to Teller’s thoughts.

  “I-I think I’ve got it,” he whispered with a strained tone.

  “Good. Just say whatever comes to your mind. Don’t think about anything else,” his mother coached.

  Fletcher did just that. “‘—thinks she is so smart, outing me like that. Just wait until I get my revenge. She has no idea what’s coming.’”

  “Keep going,” Hazel murmured.

  Fletcher repeated everything else he got from Teller’s mind, though the thoughts became more disjointed as time went on. There were a lot of vague plans and mentions of fancy terms he didn’t recognize. And Teller thought about her family, especially her younger brother who’d been fully converted several years prior.

  “That’s enough,” his mother said.

  He dropped the focus on Teller, which proved to be a mistake as several other voices crowded his brain instead. He gasped quietly, unable to make heads or tails of what was his thoughts versus the thoughts of others.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “Fletcher, turn it off. Now.” Hazel gripped his arm.

  He closed his eyes and put all the last of his willpower into deactivating the [Skill], finally rewarded with the white text he was so desperate to see.

  [Deactivating; Read Thoughts]

  Panting, Fletcher leaned forward to put his head in his one good hand, surprised to find sweat coating his forehead.

  His mom sighed and patted his back. “You did well. Thank you. Try to rest.”

  She walked away without another word as Fletcher rubbed one temple, willing away the brutal headache that spawned from it. Thinking back, he only remembered bits and pieces of what he gleaned from Teller’s mind due to the majority of his concentration being on maintaining the connection. He took a sip of water, wondering what his mother thought was so important about the mess of words he provided, though he knew he’d probably never learn the reasoning behind it.

  With Backup away for a bit, Fletcher took his chance to eat without worrying about the dog sneaking in bites too, though he made sure to leave plenty for Backup to snack on when he returned.

  After he ate his fill, Fletcher got a lot of time to sit. Ibara came back, and Backup rushed to see him so at the very least he got his dog to entertain him some, but looking at another night of sitting completely alone while everyone else slept or went out on watch sounded awful.

  What he wouldn’t do for a book. Any book. Even one of those few novels his dad got for him for his birthday which he’d read a million times. It didn’t help that now he was getting too hot too with all the extra blankets and then the exertion from using [Read Thoughts]. He shook a couple of the blankets off and unzipped his jacket a little to get a little cool air circulating.

  About an hour later, long after Backup had eaten all of Fletcher’s scraps, Ibara came back over.

  “Hey. How are you feeling?” the man asked.

  “Fine,” Fletcher said.

  He held a stick out. “I thought Backup might like this.”

  The dog jumped up, tearing it from his hand.

  “You thought right.” Fletcher smiled as the dog eagerly sat down with his prize to chew it apart.

  “Do you mind if I check your injuries over real quick?”

  “Go ahead.” Fletcher put his left arm at his side and let Ibara do his work.

  He was quick, though it still hurt to have him test the integrity of all the splints. As he finished checking the bandages on his abdomen, he glanced up at Fletcher, wearing a slight frown.

  “You’re sweating. Are you alright?”

  “Just a bit hot. I think it’s all the blankets,” Fletcher said.

  “Were you too hot last night?” Ibara questioned.

  Fletcher shook his head. “No, but I was hypothermic then.”

  “Just give me a second.” The sergeant stepped away for a moment.

  Fletcher left his jacket completely unzipped, enjoying the cool air across his torso. Yeah. Definitely too many blankets, especially with the heater nearby, though he wasn’t as close to it as he had been the night before.

  Ibara came back with a thermometer. “I’m going to take your temperature, just to be sure.”

  He nodded, allowed the man to put it in his mouth, and after about fifteen seconds, it beeped and he removed it. Ibara’s frown deepened as he looked at the number.

  “Bad news?” Fletcher asked.

  “You have a fever which means you probably got some kind of infection. The wounds on your arm and feet don’t look great. I’m sure it’s from the water and the cold lowering your immune response,” Ibara said.

  “But I’ll be okay?”

  Ibara forced a smile. “Yeah. Of course. Just rest up and don’t push yourself. It’s no big deal.”

  Fletcher knew he was lying. “Alright. Thanks for taking care of me. Sorry I’m such a mess.”

  “It’s my job. Besides, it gives me an excuse to get out of the boring tasks.” Ibara patted his shoulder and removed the extra blankets, leaving him in just his jacket. “I’ll check back in a bit.”

  Fletcher watched as he went over to the others and crouched next to his mom, speaking too quietly for him to hear. Hazel’s face was unreadable, but he assumed it was about the latest development in his injuries. Deities, he really did just have the worst luck.

  It wasn’t much longer before everyone prepared for bed, and Fletcher was going to be left alone. Only they didn’t all go to sleep at once. Johnston went out to guard, but Simpson stayed up on watch inside the camp, a change from the night before.

  He decided it was probably because they had a prisoner with them, and they were being extra cautious. At some point during the watch, Simpson came over with the thermometer and took his temperature again.

  “Back to babysitting duty?” Fletcher asked with a smile. His throat was starting to hurt, and he developed a bit of a cough, though he did all he could to hold it in so he didn’t wake the others.

  “Ibara asked the on-duty guard to keep an eye on your fever,” Simpson explained despite Fletcher not needing it.

  “Can I ask you another question? One that hopefully won’t be as contentious as the last one?”

  “Shoot,” Simpson said, sitting down next to him after writing the number from the thermometer down on a piece of paper.

  “What was my sentence going to be? Since I never made it to Cape Town.” It was one of those questions which had been on his mind for a while, thinking of what his fate was going to be once this was all over. Originally he didn’t want to ask when so many people were around, but with everyone sleeping—including his mother—he felt now was going to be the best time to ask.

  “Sentence?”

  “Come on. Palacios and the others explained what to expect with an investigation, and given the glowing review you guys had of the station, it’s pretty clear the officers are taking a lot of the heat. So what is it? Five years in prison? Ten?” Fletcher pressed.

  “What makes you think you’re taking the heat for all this?” Simpson asked.

  “A lot of people died. A lot. And in the end, I’m the one who took charge. Those deaths are on me. Your investigation decided that there were avoidable deaths, so that means you decided I screwed up,” he explained. Why was Simpson being so strange about this? It was a reasonable question.

  Simpson looked at him with tight lips.

  Fletcher continued. “I’m not saying I disagree by any means. I know I screwed up. A ton. I made decisions and people died. That’s on me. I just want to know what the punishment is.”

  “You think you deserve to be punished for what happened at Vesi?” The Major said it softly, without judgement.

  “Yeah, probably. But it’s not what I think. It’s what General Anders thinks. You don’t have to sugarcoat it, Major. You know my mom. She’s thought I was a failure from the day we reunited. I have no doubt she’s furious about how bad of a job I did. Just tell me what my sentence is.” Fletcher dug his left hand into Backup’s fur, keeping the action subtle. He didn’t like thinking back to the attack at Vesi, but he was going to have to face the consequences for his failures at some point, and he would rather do that sooner rather than later.

  Simpson stared at him for a moment and then sighed, shaking his head. “You, a rookie officer with no real battle experience, stepped up to successfully lead some of the worst troops to be found in the military to defend the base you were assigned, abandoned by all other leadership and unable to call for help. That makes you a hero, Fletcher, not a failure.”

  Fletcher scoffed. “Don’t patronize me, Simpson.”

  “You were recommended for a promotion and a medal. You were never going to be punished,” he said at last.

  “Are you lying because I’m dying?”

  Simpson stood up with a smile. “If that was the case, I’d tell a much better lie than that. Try to get some rest.”

  Fletcher wished he could take that advice, but sleep remained impossible due to the drug in his system. The exhaustion weighed on him, but Fletcher got more nervous every time the watch switched and someone took his temperature. He didn’t know how to explain it, but he could feel something inside him draining away, and it scared him.

  Hours passed, and Fletcher only got more uncomfortable as more symptoms showed up, ranging from the sore throat to nausea. The first signs of daylight were approaching when he knew for a fact something was wrong.

  A sharp pain appeared out of nowhere in his chest, making it difficult to breathe. He half-gasped, grabbing at his sternum in hopes of knocking air back into his system, but the pain only expanded.

  Sosa was on watch, and she immediately took notice. “Fletcher?”

  “C-can’t b-breathe,” he stammered.

  She kicked a sleeping Ibara. “Ibara, get up. The drug’s wearing off.”

  The sergeant was on his feet in a flash, dashing to Fletcher’s side. “Whoa, take a deep breath for me.”

  Fletcher tried and failed to comply.

  “Just keep trying. The only thing worse than being under the effects of wial’os is coming off of it. This is going to suck, but then you get to sleep. Won’t that be nice?” Ibara said.

  Fletcher gurgled, barely holding back his shouts. The pain encompassed his entire torso and was moving to his extremities. He closed his eyes, allowing a couple of tears to escape. Someone grabbed his hand, holding it tightly.

  “Hang in there, Fletcher. You’re almost through.”

  His mother. She was with him. Normally he wouldn’t care, heck, normally he’d be annoyed to have her around, but at that moment, suffering through so much with no escape, he was really glad she was there.

  And then, as quickly as it began, it was over, and he could breathe again. With that, he recognized that the drug was through him because his mind immediately tried to shut down. But he wouldn’t let it. The fear from earlier spilled over, and the terror kept sleep away. He couldn’t pass out. He couldn’t.

  “Fletcher, it’s over. You can sleep now,” Ibara said from his other side.

  He opened his eyes and shook his head. “No. No. I don’t want to.”

  “You have to,” the Sergeant insisted.

  “I’m… I’m afraid that I won’t wake up,” he admitted. “I’m dying. I can feel it.”

  His mother cupped his face. “No. Fletcher, you’re going to be fine. But only if you sleep.”

  He shook his head again. “No. I don’t want to die. Please.” The terror gripped him tighter.

  “Fletcher.” Hazel smoothed his hair. “You’re not going to die. But your body needs rest.”

  The fear held tight, but it wasn’t enough. He felt himself slipping, the edges of consciousness fading away.

  He tightened his grip on his mom’s hand. “I wrote letters. A lot of letters. They’re with my things at Cape Town. I want them to be… I need them to be…”

  “I’ll see that they get delivered,” Hazel said. “But you have to let go.”

  “I don’t want to. I don’t.” Fletcher was losing the battle. He was going to pass out, whether he liked it or not. “You’ll be there if I wake up?”

  “Yes. I’ll be there when you wake up,” she promised.

  Fletcher took a deep breath, finding himself closer to the edge of losing control. “I’m scared.”

  “Oh, Fletcher.” His mother leaned down and kissed his forehead. “Let go. I have you. You’re going to be okay.”

  Fletcher wanted to believe her, he really did. But the fear was still there. Yet there was nothing he could do. Locked in the warmth of his mother’s embrace, he finally passed out, praying to whatever gods might be out there he would wake once again. But his fate was out of his hands now. Blackness took him.