Kindred Souls

Chapter 25 - Captured

A/N: Warning as the following can be mildly disturbing, graphic, or depressing.

When I finally come to, everything is quiet. The air is cold, and stale, with an eerie stillness that tells me I'm somewhere underground. I blink, my eyes adjusting to the dim light from the ceiling lights. It takes a second for the fog in my head to clear, for me to realize where I am.

A cell.

The walls are solid concrete, a single cot pressed against the far wall, and a metal door with no visible handle. There's no sign of Soren. My chest tightens at the thought of him, at the possibility that we've been separated. I try to move, but my body aches with the remnants of the tranquilizer, my wrists sore from the restraints they had on me.

A sense of isolation creeps in, but I shake it off, forcing myself to sit up. I need to focus. I need to think.

Where is Soren? What do they want with us? I feel the faint flicker of our bond, like a distant hum in the back of my mind, but it's weak, barely there.

Whatever they've done, they're trying to suppress our connection, trying to keep us from reaching each other.

I get to my feet, stumbling slightly as I approach the door. My hands press against the cold metal, searching for any weakness, any way to break through. But there's nothing. No lock, no keypad—nothing.

I back away, my heart pounding, frustration building. I try to call out through our link, 'Soren, can you hear me?'

But it's like shouting into a void. There's no answer. It feels empty. My heart sinks as I realize just how accustomed I've grown to accept Soren's presence. Even when we weren't in the same room, I could still sense him present with me.

Now, I feel disconnected. I can't even feel the warmth of the flame from within me. It's like cold water has been poured on me. I feel exposed and naked.

I take a deep breath, pushing down the rising panic. I assume I'd instantly know if he wasn't alive, but it's strange I cannot even feel his presence. I can't afford to lose it now. I have to stay calm and find a way out.

Suddenly, the door to my jail cell swings open. A man I have never seen before walks in silently. The temperature seems to drop as soon as he walks in and I find myself shrinking inwardly at his appearance. He stands and observes me. Behind him, another thin man hides behind his figure. He almost disappears when I glance at him as he hides behind his worn lab coat. He reminds me of a bookish scientist.

The imposing man before me appears to be in his early 40s, with an ageless, ethnically ambiguous face that's both striking and unnerving. His skin has a smooth, almost unnatural quality, the kind that makes you question whether he's ever seen the harshness of the sun or the strain of life. His sharp features—a straight nose, high cheekbones, and deep-set dark eyes—give him a calculated, cold appearance. But it's his gaze that sends chills down my spine: it's not hostile or cruel in an overt way, but detached, as if he's watching me more as an experiment than a human being.

He stands tall, with an unsettling stillness. Every movement he makes is deliberate, controlled. His clothes are simple but elegant, tailored to perfection—dark, clean lines that speak of someone who appreciates order and precision. His hair is jet black and slicked back with not a strand out of place. He wears gloves, a detail that only adds to the eerie sense that he's above the grime and mess of the experiments.

We seem to be in a staring match, neither of us breaking eye contact. For a moment, I wonder if his unmasked identity means I may not leave this place alive. Isn't that what movies show? Once the evil character is revealed, there is no way they are leaving their victim alone to tell officials their identity?