The Sixth | Ekko

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Six lay in the cot on the floor, the raging conversation with Daunter having come to an end, which extinguished any energy she had left to do anything that wasn't lying in defeat.

Her clothes were still damp, the remains of salt water soaking into the blankets. However, she couldn't bring herself to care.

"Experiments?" she asked, knowing what she heard but not willing to believe it.

Daunter's face grew hard, and he smirked. "That's right," he leered, "On the runts, or even Four if you must."

It was too horrific to imagine herself doing.

She couldn't do it.

Wouldn't.

The willingness to participate in such atrocities didn't exist, and even if it did, it would come with the consequence of betraying herself.

She couldn't understand how Five could suggest such a thing. He knew first hand the shit she'd gone through. He'd been there too. He'd been a victim. Witnessed her mental breakdowns. Her pain and suffering.

How could he expect her to inflict those things onto someone else?

She turned her head, the carved stone in the ceiling suddenly too empty to distract her from her flailing thoughts.

Her eyes fell on the carved barn owl and queen chess piece she'd carved from scraps of wood during her first month here. They sat atop one of the many shelves situated along the wall behind her workbench, positioned next to Claggor's goggles.

Escaping seemed like such a far away concept now, and even if she did manage to get out, Derora wasn't there to run back to, and there was a chance that Ekko and Jinx might...

Even if that weren't the case, how would he react to knowing that she had been working for the enemy? Would he understand that it was to protect his parents? Would that even matter given the fact she had the chance to tell him but didn't?

Her breath started to hitch, throat congesting and eyes burning as tears formed.

How many times had she laid in this cot wishing she could die?

Daunter had taken everything from her, and her away from everything.

The Vatalia was gone, most of its members dead.

Derora was dead.

Jinx was back.

It was too much—it made it physically painful to breathe. To think. To exist.

She curled up, hugging her knees to her chest, back curling so that she formed a tight ball, blankets rustling underneath her.

Her gaze returned to the wooden figurines, locking onto the chess piece.

She had been forced to mourn Derora and the others' deaths alone and in an unfamiliar, cold place. The grief tainted the space, maximizing the feeling of being trapped.

Maybe the ceiling would collapse, finally freeing her of a life filled to the brim with agony and loss.

She knew it wouldn't. The universe wouldn't grant her such relief.

She stood, her back gone stiff and needing to be stretched. She ignored the sensation, and instead walked over to her workbench and sat down. She took the wooden owl carving into her hand, holding it like something precious.

Please forgive me, Ekko.

I'll always love you.

As long as some piece of me exists in this world, I'll love you.