[INDENT][COLOR=SLATEGRAY][CENTER][sup][sup][h1][center][img] https://media.architecturaldigest.com/photos/672d4a5b823a46b3d7f713e1/16:9/w_2560%2Cc_limit/GettyImages-1867432941.jpg[/img][/center][b][center][color=black] S T . D Y M P H N A ‘ S H O M E[/color] [color=lightgray]S T . D Y M P H N A ‘ S H O M E[/color][/center] [/b][/h1][/sup][/sup] [sup][sup][h1][b][center][color=black] F O R W A Y W A R D Y O U T H S[/color] [color=lightgray]F O R W A Y W A R D Y O U T H S[/color][/center] [/b][/h1][/sup][/sup] [color=silver][sup][i]Joanie[/i][/sup][/color][/CENTER][/color][/INDENT] [colour=plum]“Fuck you.”[/colour] She spat at him, hitting the floor near his shoe. Joanie’s mind clung to the last echo of Marth’s voice as the darkness thinned. She wished she could hear him again and feel that warmth in her head, that impossible safety. A part of her wanted him to show up and to pull Mina and her out of this place. Yet at the same time, the immense guilt she held at the thought of him getting involved here twisted hard. She didn’t want him anywhere near Harborlight. She didn’t want him hurt. She didn’t want him dragged into this nightmare because of her. She swallowed, glancing to the unconscious Mina next to her, and then back to the man who had plagued her recent nightmares. Her throat was tight. She was on her own here. He looked down at the small splatter of spit, then back at her with the same calm expression. “You seem to keep making a mess of my club.” He said it lightly. Almost conversationally. He stepped around her chair, letting the warm lighting catch the edges of his curls and beard. The cold followed him like a tide. Even now the coolness of his eyes unnerved her. “The boards can be replaced,” he said. “The lights can be fixed. Damage is only damage.” He paused, studying her face. “But the trouble it has caused you…” He tilted his head slightly. “That is far more interesting.” Her stomach twisted as he moved a little closer. “Detonator Dane.” He began. “And your friend.” He said Trey’s death like he was listing ingredients. “Losing a Gray with such potential is always a waste.” The words hit her like a bruise pressed too hard. He said it so casually, as if Trey’s life were a misplaced tool or a broken ornament. Hearing him reduce Trey to a waste made her chest tighten until she could barely breathe. She wanted to scream at him. She wanted to tear the cold out of the air with her bare hands. She wanted him to feel even a fraction of what Trey had felt in those last seconds. Her fists balled, the cable ties digging into her wrists. [colour=plum]“I said, fuck you.”[/colour] The side of his mouth curled upwards as he watched her, clearly bemused. She scowled in response. If this was how things were going to go, then she could at least get some answers. [colour=plum]“Where’s Rowan?”[/colour] She demanded, doing her best not to sound terrified. He blinked once. “I do not know who that is.” Her stomach dropped. He was telling the truth. Rowan was missing for another reason entirely. The fear rose so fast she almost choked on it. She swallowed hard. [colour=plum]“I heard someone say Mina was being sent to a client.”[/colour] His expression did not change. “That does not concern you.” The words felt like a door slammed in her face. Panic clawed at her ribs. The idea that she could just be handed over to someone else made her throat burn. How on earth wasn’t that her concern? Her voice cracked. [colour=plum]“Then what the fuck do you want with me?”[/colour] He stepped closer. The temperature fell with him. Her breath trembled. “At first,” he said, “I wanted only a taste.” [colour=plum]“What the fuck does that mean?”[/colour] He studied her face with a calm that made her stomach twist. “A taste of your energy,” he said. “When I first saw you the other night, I sensed it then. The force you carry. It was something new.” The cold around her shifted. It felt different now. Not just cold. Empty. As if something was being pulled out of her rather than pressed in. She felt her heartbeat slow. She felt her breath thin. And suddenly she understood. The cold was him. He had been feeding off of her since she had woken up. She felt sick. [colour=plum]“You drain people.”[/colour] She furrowed her brow into a glare. “Not fully,” he said, as if that somehow made it better. “Not unless I choose to. I take only what I need. A thread of power. Just enough.” Her breath caught. The cold around her tightened. He continued. “The more I learned about you, the more intrigued I became.” Joanie’s heartbeat slowed. She felt the cold reach her ribs. “I’ve heard rumours for years,” he said. “A care home for Grays. Hidden. Redacted from public record. Restricted to certain social workers. A place that should not exist. I searched for it. I found nothing. Every mention cut out. Every file sealed. Every trail ending in silence.” He stepped a little closer, pale eyes narrowing with interest. “After some digging, I realised Vanguard had its hand in it. Their fingerprints were faint, but present.” He paused, studying her face. “It became my blue whale. A myth too large to be real. A hunt I assumed would never end.” “So imagine my surprised when I spoke to dear Caleb after i saw your little catchup the other day and realised the two of you grew up there together.” She saw it now, clear as ice. He wanted access to the children. He wanted to drain them. The horror of it rose so fast she almost choked on it. Her fear burned away, replaced by a sharp, furious heat that filled her chest until she thought it might crack open. She would not let him find out. She would not let him touch them. She would not let him take one single child from that home. Not while she was still breathing. Her pulse hammered as her jaw tightened and her glare sharpened. She felt the cold pressing in around her, but it couldn’t smother the anger now or smother the thought of Trey. It couldn’t smother the memory of every kid who’d ever sat beside her on those worn sofas or eaten toast in that cramped kitchen. She thought of Mrs Qadir. She thought of Mina. She thought of Caleb. She thought of Marth’s voice in her head, warm and terrified and searching for her. She thought of all the people she refused to let him hurt. The determination settled in her bones like steel. [colour=plum]“I’m not telling you anything.”[/colour] The words came out steady. Stronger than she felt. Stronger than she expected. The Icelander watched her for a long moment, his pale eyes unreadable. Was he accessing her? Deeming whether she was actually a threat to him? He lifted two fingers and the air shifted. Something invisible pulled tight, as a body slid across the floor from behind, dragged by a force she could not see. It came into view beside her chair. Caleb. He was bruised. Bloodied. Barely conscious. Her suspicions slammed into place; that had been him she’d heard moaning before. Joanie’s breath hitched. [colour=plum]“Fuck you.”[/colour] She repeated, looking from the body to the monster before him. She practically spat the words at him that time. The Icelander looked at Caleb with mild irritation. “He tried resisting me. Annoyingly his mind is practiced.” He said, turning back to Joanie. “Yours is fresh.” [I]Practised?[/i]. What on earth did that mean? Mina stirred beside her. Her head lifted slightly. Her eyes fluttered open. She saw him. She saw Joanie. Her breath trembled. “Joanie…” she whispered. The Icelander glanced at Mina. “If you will not help me,” he said, “she will.” Joanie’s determination faltered. She had been all for suffering through this if it meant saving her family, but she didn’t want Mina hurt. She didn’t want Mina anywhere near him. But Mina’s voice shook as she forced the words out. “Don’t tell him.” Joanie froze.Clearly she’d been listening. [colour=plum]“Mina…”[/colour] She began, panic returning to her as her anger faltered slightly. “Don’t.” Mina whispered. “Even if he hurts me. Even if he kills me. Don’t tell him.” Icelander just watched, clearly bemused. Then, as if this were some routine appointment, he spoke. “Right then, let us start with you then.” He reached out. His fingers brushed Joanie’s cheek. The touch was not cruel, nor was it gentle. It was simply cold. “I learned this ability decades ago,” he said. “A Gray in Reykjavík gifted it to me in the event of his death. He could read memories. It has served me well.” He paused, then added quietly: “In my country we say, ‘Blind is a man without books.’” His eyes burrowed into hers. “So it’s time for you to become my library.” Joanie tried to pull back. Her body refused to move. He placed his hand against her temple. She screamed as the cold reached her mind. Her thoughts scattered. Her vision blurred. Her heartbeat slowed. And everything went dark.