Lucid

CHAPTER 10 - THE GIRL WITH A NAME

I've dreaded this day for what feels like an eternity. I wouldn't say it consumed me—no, that would suggest weakness—but it hollowed me out in ways I could never admit. Sympathy. Empathy. These emotions had become foreign to me, distant echoes of a self I no longer recognized. Instead, I kept my eyes fixed on the road ahead, the only thing grounding me in this moment.

That's the curse of knowing. Knowing what I know. Knowing what's coming. To drive him down two conflicting paths, only to veer him sharply onto a third—one hidden from even himself.

"C," Spears' voice cut through the haze. He shifted uncomfortably in the passenger seat. "We're not gonna make it."

"We're going to," I snapped, shifting gears as I pushed the car harder. The engine roared like a feral thing, straining against the limits I demanded of it.

The wheels screeched as I took a sharp turn, the car skidding across the asphalt, the memory of this place clawing at my mind. It felt like another lifetime ago—the day I ran away from here, from the aftermath of what I'd set into motion.

Beside me, Spears exhaled shakily as his house came into view.

"It's going to be okay," I said, though the words felt hollow in my mouth. I didn't believe them, not fully, but they were all I had to offer. Improvisation had become my currency, and right now, I was spending it recklessly.

The car screeched to a halt in the driveway. No sign of Isabel. Not yet.

I left the car running and threw the door open, not bothering to close it behind me.

"Clare?" I called out as I moved quickly toward the house. Spears' footsteps followed, hesitant and nervous, the weight of the moment pressing down on both of us.

Clare appeared in the doorway, breathless but visibly relieved. "Will's tied up in the bathroom. I didn't know what else to do."

"Where is he?" I asked sharply, brushing past her.

"Bedroom," she answered, her voice shaky.

I made my way through the house, my steps brisk and determined. I hadn't spent much time here, not since the days when Spears and I were closer—before this burden swallowed us both whole. Before duty replaced everything else.

When I reached the bedroom, the sight of him hit me harder than I'd anticipated. Will, subdued and restrained, looked more vulnerable than I'd ever seen him. It was wrong. All of it.

"It's not him," I whispered to myself. "It wants you to feel like this. Remember."

The words steadied me, a reminder of what lay beneath the surface. I scanned the room, taking in the tangled mess of wires and equipment hooked up to him. There was no way I could bring it all with me—not in the time we had.

I moved to his side, standing over him, forcing myself to focus.

Carefully, I placed my palms over his chest and head, closing my eyes as I felt the shimmer of energy radiating from him. It was subtle at first, a faint glimmer of light and colour that most wouldn't notice. But to me, it was blinding.

The memory came fast, sharp and vivid. It wasn't mine—it was his.

He was trapped, held hostage in a space designed to subdue him entirely. The environment was cold, sterile, calculated. He wasn't meant to escape it, not without help. I had to act quickly, to do something before it was too late.

Drawing a deep breath, I strengthened my focus, reaching into the void where he was held. It was a place I knew all too well. A perfect reflection of the worlds above and below—a liminal space where power flowed unchecked.