Chapter Four
1182 Words
I woke to pain. Not a dream-hangover, not a stiff shoulder—real pain. Sharp and immediate, threading up my arm like fire following wire. I gasped before I meant to, the kind of breath your body takes before you even know why.
Something was wrong.
The sheets under me were soft—too soft. Not the cheap cotton I’d fallen asleep in. These were silk. High-thread-count, temperature-regulated, expensive kind of silk. My pulse jumped.
The air wasn’t right. It was too clean. Not sterile—just... filtered. Dry stone and distant warmth. Something ancient in it.
I shifted, and the bandage on my arm tugged. I looked down.
Wrapped in gauze. Sloppy. Uneven. Blood had already seeped through the top layer. Definitely my work. Done fast. Done scared.
Memory started catching up—Gabriella. The alley. The guards. The flash of light that bent sideways.
I sat up. Not fast—carefully. Like something might still be hunting.
“It was real,” I muttered. “It is real.”
The room I was in didn’t belong to me. Or Earth. Dark stone floors. Tall, curved ceilings. A glow along the walls like the sun trapped in amber. No windows. No vents. No familiar hum of life. The silence was patient. Too patient.
Then I heard it—a faint shift of weight on fabric.
I turned my head.
She was kneeling in the doorway. Bare skin draped in dark silk, posture perfectly still. Her hands rested in her lap, head bowed. She wasn’t tense. She wasn’t trying to disappear. She was just there. Waiting. For how long, I couldn’t say. She didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
I cleared my throat. “Good morning.”
She looked up slowly, and when she smiled, it wasn’t forced. It was soft. Present. Human.
“Good morning, Sir. How are you feeling?”
Her voice didn’t echo in the room, but it felt like it could’ve.
“Thought this place was a dream,” I said. “If it is, I’m not in a rush to wake up.”
“It’s not a dream, Sir. I promise you that.”
She rose with fluid grace, like movement itself respected her timing.
“Your bath is drawn. I’ve laid out fresh clothing and grooming tools. Breakfast is on its way, along with proper medical supplies. We’ll take care of your arm once you’ve eaten.”
Her eyes shifted briefly to the bandage, polite but honest.
“You managed. But just barely.”
“Thanks,” I said dryly. “It was a rush job.”
She gave a small nod. Not mocking—just factual.
“Infection sets in quickly. Especially in foreign climates.”
Foreign.
Right.
I exhaled. “What’s for breakfast?”
“Eggs over easy. Steak, medium rare. Hash browns. English muffins with toppings. Pancakes with real butter. And all the milk you’d like.”
“That’ll work.”
“Lord Raven wanted to join you, but was called away. He asked that you rest, eat, and prepare. He’ll summon you soon.”
I stood slowly, testing my legs. They held. Just barely.
“So... Raven’s your Master too?”
Her gaze met mine—not sharp, not distant. Just grounded.
“Lord Raven is the head of this House. I serve him. But no, I haven’t earned the right to call him my Master.”
She paused. Not out of hesitation—but reverence.
“That title means something.”
The way she said it made it feel sacred. Not heavy. Just... whole.
“What’s your name?”
“Jenny.”
“Nice to meet you, Jenny.”
“Likewise, Sir.”
She gestured toward the open suite door. “Will you need assistance?”
“Still a little fried from that gizmo your guards hit me with, but I’ll manage.”
A flicker of amusement reached her eyes.
“The stasis field projectors. The weakness fades quickly, though rare relapses do happen. Sudden loss of muscle control. No warning.”
She tilted her head slightly. “If you feel faint, call for me. I’d prefer not to report to Lord Raven that his guest drowned before breakfast.”
“I’ll try to stay vertical.”
“Robe’s on the hook. Kit’s on the sink. I’ll be here when you’re done.”
The bathroom was quiet in a way nothing on Earth ever is. Slate walls, matte black fixtures, a deep square bath set into the floor. Water steamed slightly, lit from beneath like it had its own inner source.
I stepped in. Heat wrapped around me. I exhaled—finally.
The scent in the air was grounding. Herbs I didn’t recognize. Earthy. Bitter. Alive. Even the silence was structured. Not absence—presence. This wasn’t for luxury. This was for resetting.
I let myself float. My body tried to relax, but my brain wouldn’t let go.
What was this place? Why bring me here? How did I end up in a room built like a sanctuary, guarded like a fortress?
There was no map for this. No coordinates. No safety net.
Just steam, pulse, and too many questions I couldn’t ask yet.
Jenny hadn’t moved.
When I stepped back out—clean, robed, slightly more myself—she was already ready. The table was set. The lighting softened. Breakfast plated and perfect.
I sat.
She knelt beside me and unwrapped my arm with practiced care. Her touch was precise but not detached. Present. Gentle in a way that didn’t try to impress.
“So... who is Lord Raven, really?”
“He is the Master of this House. The one who built it. The one who holds it together.”
“And the House of Raven?”
“A collective of Houses. Aligned by oath, not fear. Each sovereign. All stronger together.”
“And you?”
“I chose to serve.”
“That simple?”
“No. But it’s true.”
She said it with no apology. Like she meant every word and had nothing left to prove.
When she finished dressing the wound, she stood quietly and stepped back. I rose and made my way to the tall doors at the far end of the suite.
They opened soundlessly.
What lay beyond stopped me cold.
The sky was impossibly clear. Ridges cut into the horizon in shapes I couldn’t name. The trees moved like they remembered storms. And the light—
I watched the sun rise.
And next to it—another. Smaller. Dimmer. But real.
Two suns. Hanging in the sky like a riddle no one had solved.
I felt my breath catch.
Not panic. Not wonder.
Just the sharp, still weight of truth.
“Jenny?”
“Yes, Sir?”
“Am I still dreaming?”
“No, Sir. You’re not.”
I watched the twin suns burn over the mountains. And for the first time since waking, I knew exactly what I felt.
Lost.
Not scared. Not even angry. Just... off-map.
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “I think I’m in deep shit.”
- Writer
