"[Thomas Quinn Approaching!"]
My froggy vision blurred, dragging itself away from the shimmering blue feather tucked in my hand. Confusion clouded my head as the beeping of unseen machines echoed in the sterile silence.
That's the server.
Suddenly, a warm voice sliced through the fog, familiar and comforting.
"Glad you're finally back with us, sleepyhead," it chuckled, announcing the arrival of Thomas Quinn. My head lolled towards the sound, catching his face etched with relief as he pushed open the sterile door.
"Just enjoying my beauty sleep," I managed, trying for a playful smirk that probably ended up looking more like a grimace. Lazaros's mischievous streak was definitely rubbing off on me.
He settled into the plastic chair beside my bed, his previously drawn features softening. Our gazes locked for a moment, unspoken understanding passing between us. The stark white room, punctuated only by the rhythmic chirping of medical equipment, felt both expansive and suffocating.
"They told me about the wound," he finally said, his voice a low rumble. I knew where he was heading, the unspoken question hanging heavy in the air. I responded with a tight smile, humour failing to reach my eyes.
"Yeah, guess we're in the same boat now," I mumbled, the weight of his words and our shared predicament settling upon me.
He leaned back, sighing heavily. "Grace told me about the virus the FBI's hiding. She's worried, Rome. She wanted me to talk some sense into you, get you to drop this whole case."
His words didn't surprise me. Grace wouldn't tell him about the infection, but the truth was etched in his worried eyes. My breath hitched, escaping in a shaky sigh. "It's not just a case, Tommy. There's something bigger here, something worse than we can imagine."
"But you're… you're…" He struggled for words, his gaze darting to the closed door before returning to me, his voice dropping to a hushed whisper. "You're dying, Rome. You need to find a cure, not chase shadows anymore."
"Everyone's life is on the line, Thomas," I whispered, the truth heavy on my tongue. "This thing… this virus, it's not just some random sickness. It's connected to everything, a web of secrets and lies."
His jaw clenched, frustration flickering in his eyes. "You're talking yourself into the grave, Rome! This is bigger than you, bigger than both of us. Give it up, find a way to heal, please."
"[Armed Agents approaching!]"
Suddenly, a sharp alarm blared, jolting us both. The closed-door rattled as heavy footsteps pounded towards it. Dread clawed at my throat as the system chirped a frantic warning.
The door splintered under the agents' boots, a cacophony of shouts and the glint of steel filling the sterile room. My jaw clenched tighter than a sailor's knot. "What the-?"
Before the thought could finish, bullets whined through the air, aimed like accusing fingers. "Holy..." the curse barely escaped Thomas's lips before I launched into action.
Time slowed to a molasses crawl. The silver streaks arced towards us, two for me, one for Thomas. But then, a surge of energy ripped through me, familiar and exhilarating. With a roar I couldn't suppress, I shoved Thomas aside, rolling off the bed like a ragdoll, ignoring the wires ripping at my skin and sending fresh waves of pain down my arm.
The mattress sucked in the bullets like spongey teeth, leaving clean holes where my head and chest would have been. Adrenaline pumping, I scooped up a stunned Thomas, the weight barely a feather in my newfound state. A fleeting glance caught the doctor, file clutched in trembling fingers, her eyes wide with a terror that mirrored Thomas's own.
Ignoring the agents' confused shouts, I hurtled towards the window, the morning sun a painful blessing against my closed eyelids. With a last desperate shove, we vaulted into the crisp air.
The ground welcomed us with a bone-jarring slam, wind knocked out of my lungs. But I scrambled to my feet, hospital gown flapping like a frantic flag, and sprinted across the manicured lawn, my bare feet stinging on the dew-kissed grass.
"Shit!" Thomas's shriek pierced the air a second later, his senses finally kicking in. I slowed, catching him as he stumbled. My blood-painted fingers dug into his shoulders, steadying him.
"They want us dead!" he hissed, his voice laced with a raw panic that sent shivers down my spine. I gripped his hands, my own slick with crimson.
"Hey, hey, easy," I soothed, though my voice lacked its usual confidence. "We're alive, the bullets missed."
His trembling slowly subsided, a fragile calm settling over him. Relief flooded me, tinged with a bitter regret. The medical department, of course. The damn blood test must have given them the answer they craved. I should have left sooner.
"We need to go to Grace's," I told him, my eyes scanning the shadows for potential pursuers.
Later that night, the clock blinked a mocking 23:00 as a tap on my shoulder roused me from a restless sleep. My eyes, tired and heavy, blinked against the gloom.
"Heard you've got your cover blown, aye?" Lazaros's familiar smug drawl slithered through the darkness.
I adjusted to the dimness, my gaze flicking first to Thomas, still asleep on the makeshift pallet, then to the shadowy figure sprawled on the couch. "What do you want?" I hissed, my Irish accent thickening with apprehension.
"Your pretty little cover's gone up in smoke, and I'm afraid I can't fix it." His mocking grin sent nothing down my spine, the last vestiges of sleep only fled my tormented mind.
"Why?" I whispered, rising from the bed with a cautiousness that bordered on confusion. His nonchalant presence in this hidden haven was a slap in the face, a grim reminder of the precarious web we were tangled in.
My question hung heavy in the air, a bombshell dropped into the already volatile atmosphere. "How do you think they knew?" He countered, his voice laced with a strange mix of amusement and concern.
My brow furrowed, confusion clouding my thoughts. "They ran a blood test," I finally managed, "the agency's medical department."
Lazaros chuckled, a dry, humourless sound. "The virus isn't detectable by conventional means. It's only called a virus because it can be transferred."
His words were cryptic, sending shivers down my spine. "Then how…?" My question died on my lips as realization dawned.
"The rogue personality bender," he explained, leaning back further into the couch, his voice almost nonchalant. "You're interfering with her plans, Rome. And I can't compel them to forget when I know she'll just un-compel it anyway."
Frustration bubbled up within me, spilling over in a sigh. "Interfering? I'm just trying to save lives and understand what's happening to me."
A flicker of surprise crossed Lazaros's face, extinguished as quickly as it appeared. "The server- system is back, isn't it?" he asked, his usual mischievous grin returning.
Hope sparked in my chest. "Yes," I confirmed, hope bubbling beneath the surface. "That's what I was trying to tell you."
He leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with a renewed intensity. "That's excellent news, Rome. It means we can finally get some answers."
Then, a question that had been gnawing at me for days finally escaped my lips. "Is the system… sapphire related? Like energy, with cloud-like wings?"
As I spoke, I watched his face drain of colour, replaced by a chilling realization. "You died," he breathed, his voice barely a whisper.
I ignored his cryptic statement, pressing forward with my questions. "How can you create something so… ethereal? Pure energy, like a sapphire cloud?"
Lazaros didn't answer, instead cutting me off with a question of his own, his playful facade replaced by a grim seriousness. "Do you truly want to know what the trickster wants?"
The air seemed to thicken, the playful banter replaced by a chilling premonition. My eyes narrowed, a sense of awareness creeping into my heart.
"What?" I managed, my voice barely above a whisper.
He leaned closer, his smirk cold and calculating. "It's not a what, Rome," he said, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "It's a who."
A cruel twist of his lips revealed a hidden darkness in his eyes. "And that who… is you."