The Sylph

chapter TWO

Arin

I watch as the guards close the vault door, leaving me alone in complete darkness. It's as if the loud silence is mocking me. Tormenting me. I don't deserve to be here—it knows that, and it berates me for it.

I scramble for the clothes I'd discarded moments ago and work quickly to put them on. When finished, I wrap cold arms around my tired body, sinking down to the ground against the far wall. I'm just thankful the guards at the entrance let me keep my jacket. They stripped me of all my clothes and threw a new pair on the ground at my feet then proceeded to make me walk through the hallways naked. I have never been so embarrassed.

I shudder, thinking about what the Sylph had just said moments ago: I could find my cot by the far wall. But I don't feel like groping around in the darkness to locate it—instead I feel lonely without him in the room. He may be a Sylph, but he is on my side. No matter the creature he is. Though he doesn't exactly look like a creature. I'd been told Sylph are unpredictable and beastly. I think back to the pale light shining in his dark eyes. The broken smile he had given me. How sad he looked. This Sylph hardly looked beastly . . . unpredictable, maybe, but he is clearly not a monster, as I'd imagined he'd be.

How long had he said he'd been here, trapped in these vaults? Years, was it? I couldn't imagine spending my entire life in the dark as he had with so little human contact, though he didn't look all too deprived of it. Nor was he emaciated like I imagined he'd be when I agreed to this job. He is actually a bit stockier and quite taller than I expected of some kid. Courtesy of his Sylph blood? How old is he, anyway?

I take a deep breath, replaying our conversation in my head. I'd been taught to read behind the words of my clients, analyze their behaviors, see things that they themselves wouldn't even know. And this boy was the epitome of that—his soul shattered into pieces but hidden behind a mask of his own creation. It was hard not to feel bad for him, no matter how much they encouraged me to keep my emotions in check.

And now he's in the chambers, whatever that could mean. I hadn't been briefed on them before coming here; they only told me that's where they administered treatments on the Sylph. But I thought his treatments were all done. Wasn't he just supposed to wither away in Vault 211 now? Why were they still performing on him? They handed me a file before I agreed to take on this job so that I could read through it to know everything there is to know about the Vaults—all the information they'd been able to gather, that is. It seems my task might now be more complicated than I originally thought it would be.

I rub my arms, wondering how that boy survived this cold, numb darkness. I remember back to what Caiaphas had said to me about the Sylph and their fear of the dark. How he knew they fed off light; it was the only way they gained strength. It was the only way they'd be able to transform. To waste away in darkness, void of the one thing that can replenish their health, would be terrifying.

So how does 67 do it? What gives him the strength to survive so long in such a treacherous environment?

At least he won't have to be here for much longer. I am here to get him out—here to get them all out.

A long, cold hour passes with me trapped in my own thoughts. I begin to worry about the plan, scared that I might have to remain deep within the Vaults for a longer period of time than I'd previously anticipated. Already, the plan seemed to be crumbling beneath our feet, and I'd only been here less than two hours.

The creak and clamber of the vault door slowly opening brings me out of my spiraling mind. I squint against the light as three silhouettes come into view—the one in the middle hunched over with his hands clutched firmly against his body. I stand up quickly.