Invisible

Invisible Chapter 33

Chapter 33

Shatters

(Olivia)

The sound of a familiar, yet repulsive voice echoes in my ears as I struggle to open my eyes. It’s hard to focus with the awful pain pounding through my head. I try to reach up and touch the spot on the back of my head that seems to be the source of the pain, but my hand won’t move. I try again, my head lolling to the side when the small, unsuccessful movement causes another wave of pain.

“The longer you wait, the worse their punishment will be,” taunts the voice.

That voice. It isn’t just familiar, I know it.

My eyes snap open to the sight of Alex the Sentinel pacing in front of me with a knife in his hand and a gun tucked into the waistband of his black cargo pants. Rage outweighs the fear and I lurch at him.

Except I don’t leave the chair.

Ropes dig into my skin as I strain against them. My eyes burn as I take in his slinking form, walking back and forth with the knife held out menacingly.

“I know you’re here, Mason. Come out and play or your friends are going to regret ever meeting you.”

My body goes cold. He knows Mason’s name! Weakness slides under my skin and wraps itself around my insides. They know who he is. They know he escaped them last time. I know they will not let him get away a second time. My eyes sweep the room for Mason, sure he is somewhere nearby.

Halfway through my sweep, I see Evie next to me. Seeing her trussed up next to me makes me want to cry. The thin stream of dried blood running down from behind her ear makes me furious. She had to have been attacked before I was, but she isn’t awake yet. Why? I search her face desperately, trying to evaluate her coloring, see her chest rising and falling. Panic rises from the pit of my stomach because I’m not sure. I don’t know.

I can’t stand the idea of looking away from her, but I need to know where Mason is. I need to know he is safe. Maybe he can get to Evie and check to see if she’s okay without the Sentinel knowing. The way my chest pulses in and out so rapidly brings black to the edges of my vision, but I can’t slow it down.

“This is your last chance to save them,” the Sentinel says. “I won’t make the same mistake my predecessors made, Mason. You will die here tonight. That is already decided. What is still to be seen is whether or not your pretty little girlfriend and her sister will die too.”

It’s so dark, it’s nearly impossible to see anything more than three feet away, but the Sentinel’s words do the trick. Mason stands up from behind the couch. The expression on his face is murderous. I can see it in his eyes that he has every intention of attacking the man holding Evie and me hostage.

My head starts shaking frantically, silently. He can’t! The Sentinel will kill him if he reveals himself! I shake my head harder, trying to catch his attention, but the Sentinel is all he can see. I don’t want to draw the Sentinel’s attention to me and Evie any more than I want it drawn to Mason, but I have no choice.

“What do you want from us?” I scream at the Sentinel.

The quick turn he executes to face me is startling. I press myself into the chair, but refuse to look away. I have to keep his attention on me. I can’t let him realize Mason is in the room. He stalks over to me. The knife stays held out in front of his body. It stops inches away from my throat as he towers over me. His amused expression makes me hate him even more than I already do, something I thought was impossible.

“Olivia, you’re awake. How nice. It’ll be more effective this way.”

I only get a second to wonder what will be more effective before the knife digs into my arm. I don’t want to cry out, but I have never felt pain like this. A scream tears out of my mouth. I can’t smother it. I can’t be strong and brave and silent even though it might mean keeping Mason safe. Tears pour down my cheeks as he yanks the blade from my shoulder. I bite my lip, drawing blood, and groan in agony.

Gulping in air, I try to fend off the pain and show Mason I can handle it. When I look up, Mason is barreling toward the Sentinel. The look in his eyes is utter chaos.

“No!” I scream at him.

But he doesn’t hear me.

I watch as Mason’s hands clamp onto the Sentinel’s shoulders. There is no look of surprise in the Sentinel’s eyes, only the triumph of success. Everything is stolen from me—air, speech, hearing—as the Sentinel’s blade arcs through the air toward Mason. I am helpless, forced to watch the silent tableau, tied to a chair with no hope of saving him.

Evie’s eyes flutter open slowly. The scene before her snaps her out of her haze. We both stare in horror as the blade jerks downward. Mason doesn’t even seem to see it. His hands clamp around the Sentinel’s neck as the knife touches his skin. I gasp in a breath, and everything happens at once.

Mason’s body turns in the blink of an eye, wedging his elbow under the Sentinel’s ribcage as the blade slides across his collar bone, drawing blood along its way. Another blink and the Sentinel’s body launches into the air. I am stunned by Mason’s strength as he flips the Sentinel over his shoulder and slams his back into the ground. The Sentinel wheezes out a painful breath, but Mason does not give him even half a second’s break before he spins and rams his knees into the Sentinel’s chest.

“Nothing is decided,” Mason growls, “except that you will be the one to die tonight.”

The world inside the living room changes into something unfamiliar, something frightening and beautiful at the same time. There is no sound as the air in the room changes. What felt close and hot a moment ago now feels icy and swift, like air is being swept into the room at amazing speeds. But nothing moves. Not a single hair on my head is disturbed as the air compacts itself around Mason.

Evie whispers something to me, or maybe it just sounds like a whisper because I can’t spare even a tiny portion of my attention to listen. I don’t know what she says. All I can do is watch in amazement as the air solidifies around Mason’s hand. It turns cloudy, then a brilliant white, flaring and becoming like glass.

What is even more startling is the shape it takes. A terrible mixture of fear and excitement rushes through me at the sight of a glassy dagger in Mason’s hand. It points at the ceiling. Mason turns, his eyes drawn up to the blade. I expect surprise, unease, something, but he doesn’t seem shaken at all to see what he has created. I watch in fascination as his fingers loosen and the knife begins to fall. For a moment, I think the shock has set in and he’s going to drop the knife.

Then the tip of the blade spins downward. Mason’s fingers tighten around the hilt when it is pointing at the Sentinel. His hand plunges down with the knife. It slams into the Sentinel’s chest, sinking in to the hilt. Light flares as the blade shatters and throws everyone to the ground.