WE BECOME THOUGHTLESS

thirty-six | it was nice while it lasted

Cole was only just coming back into his body when he felt ironclad fingers take him by the arm and haul him through some sort of crowd.

He could feel the dried blood pinch against his skin as he winced. His legs were surprisingly weak, he found, after trying to lift himself to his feet, only to fall back down and have his knees thunder against the floor. Whoever was pulling him was stronger and far more equipped than Cole in his current state.

It was intensely disorienting when he was dropped back down, feeling a hundred tons heavier, and went to pull his hair out of his eyes before he felt the blistering rope wrapped tight around his wrists. He was gagged with an old rag, and struggled to exclusively breathe through his nose. The panic set in before the anger did, making his shoulders shake, wrenching him from the lingering loss of conscious.

Where was he? The only thing he could smell was old blood and acrid sweat, and the only thing he could see was his own mop of dark hair, shielded over his eyes. His hearing was the last sense to finally settle in.

The voice rose from beneath the rush in his ears. "Can you hear me, Cole?"

Cole lifted his head tiredly, heart thumping, and tossed it back to get the hair out of his eyes. A few strands remained, clinging to patches of encrusted blood. With his vision cleared after blinking a couple of times, he was immediately able to piece together what was happening – Alistair had his hand clutched to his chest and was unable to look him in the eye, leaning forward on his haunches.

"Don't say anything," he said quickly, and Cole raised a single brow. How could he? Even without the gag, his tongue felt big and sore in his mouth. It brought on an onslaught of aching spots and joints, floating to the surface of his awareness. He barely bit back a groan. "Right, sorry."

But Cole knew what he meant – he knew it now, hunched down on his knees, the general watching them from the other end of the room. Don't say anything because he could use it against me.

An explosion of anger erupted from inside his chest, and if it weren't for all the rope, all his injuries and aching spots, he would've leapt up and killed him right there. No words. No mercy. Just his bare hands wrangled around his throat. But of course the universe was against him – he could all but glare, hoping privately that the man would suddenly combust and die.

He didn't.

Alistair seemed to have sensed it, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he rose off his haunches and turned his head to speak with Tobias, and Cole wanted to scream. He wanted to writhe and tear and rend. But he was still and silent, completely knackered. All the energy had been sucked from his body. He was useless.

The realisation was terrifying. It sent his heart into overdrive, made the rage in him spit and roar – but still, there was nothing he could do.

"Where are you keeping the other group?" Alistair demanded.

The general cocked his head. One part of Cole wanted to shrink and disappear as his grey eyes flitted down to look at him, the other part was seeing red. Tobias smiled. "Do your job first. I would hate to think you've lost your touch, but a lot can happen in four weeks."

Alistair looked like he wanted to scoff, Cole could see his halfway sneer in all the lines of his face, but refrained. Tobias was still his general, and there were some lines he couldn't cross, even if he wanted to – no, those were for Cole to traverse. But he couldn't do that while tied up and tossed aside like a piece of meat.

And so Alistair kneeled down again, lifting his expertly hidden shaking hands. Cole couldn't talk. Instead, he looked him in the eye. Watched. Waited. He didn't even know what he'd say if he could.