I pretended not to hear him, as I’d done the entire time. They seemed to expect me to be awake but so out of it that I’d do little more than shift around and whimper. I had no idea how much time had passed, though I’d moved between sitting on an exam table and being strapped down to it. They had worried little about guards, probably because they assumed I’d been so drugged that I was hardly a threat. The only time they strapped me down was when they needed me still, like when they were taking the biopsies.
It had struck me as far more routine than I’d expected. I’d thought the worst things when I couldn’t recall the last time, had feared what could have happened. Instead, it felt more like a run-of-the mill physical.
The typing of the doctor at his computer felt like white noise, and as time dragged on, as I had nothing else to think about or do, exhaustion got the best of me. I drifted off as I lay on the exam table, lulled to sleep by the monotony of it all.
I dreamed as I slept, which was common, though the type of dream differed. Usually my dreams were frantic, a mess of switching from one thing to another based on what I’d heard. My dreams seemed to be less about my brain sorting out what had happened during the day and had changed to reaching into the soundsthat surrounded me.It meant I’d pick up noises and glimpse bits of the person’s life and their memories.
This time was different. My dream lacked the frenzied movement and instead focused on a single scene.
In the darkness, I saw Kit. He appeared human in my mind, even though I knew the real him beneath that façade. I had been face-to-face with what he really was, had tasted the power of his voice.
When I saw visions based on sound, it normally made me a spectator to whatever happened. They never noticed me because it wasn’t real. The images would move around before me, but I could never interact at all.
This felt...different.
His black eyes lifted and met mine, but they didn’t flit away. Instead, they locked on me and remained.
“Can you see me?” I asked.
Kit flashed his normal smile, the reserved one he used that was perhaps amused but not thrilled. “Of course.”
“How?”
“Because of my voice, my toxin, we’re connected. It is the bond between us. I did warn you this may happen.”
“So you’re really here? This isn’t some weird dream?”
He shrugged. “It is a dream, in a way. Not many are able to connect so directly with me. It seems, yet again, you are special.”
“Lucky me.” That was when it hit me, when I froze for a moment. “Am I speaking?”
His smile widened in amusement. “Yes, and you have a lovely voice. It is even more of a shame that itwas stolen from you.” At my look, he sighed. “You were silenced by destroying your voice box. This isn’t your actual body, however, thus there is no reason for you to be unable to speak like this. It means that at least during these times, you will have no trouble speaking.”
The idea that I could talk, that I could communicate as I’d done before, almost made me giddy. I didn’t have to write things down, didn’t have to use sign language and hope the person I needed to communicate with understood it. I didn’t have to keep my hands empty or ensure the other person looked at me. I could just open my mouth and say the things I wanted to say.
How had I taken that for granted for so long? It seemed we never knew what we had until we’d lost it.Hell, a stinging in my eyes made me worried I’d make a fool of myself.
And while Kit made me nervous, while I wasn’t sure how to handle him, him being the only person I could talk to meant I’d push past any discomfort I had.What was a little soul-shaking terror between conversational buddies?
“How is Medical?” he asked with a softer voice, as if afraid to bring it up.
“Not bad. Your little trick seems to have worked.”
“I’m glad. I’ve never tried it with a siren, so I had no idea if it would actually allow you to resist the drugs.”
“And you just failed to mention that?” I didn’t bother to hide my annoyance at how he’d left that out.
“What was the point in telling you? You would only worry and have nothing you could do to change it. Shades are all different—what works with one may not work with another, and even in a single type, the levels of source change how they react.” He paused, then letout a soft chuckle. “I didn’t intend for this to turn into a lecture.”
“Everything turns into a lecture with you.”
“I rarely speak to anyone outside of my professional obligations. I suppose I’m used to turning the conversation to those topics.”
I frowned at that. “You don’t ever talk to anyone else?”
“Not really. And before you choose to pity me for that, have you ever considered having a personal conversation with me?”
Which was pretty much fair. “I guess not,” I admitted.