CHAPTER 10: VANT'S LITTLE THORN
1032 Words
Selene didn’t have to leave the med bay to hear it.
The nurses talked in the hall. Soft at first. Then not soft enough.
“...bleeding for him now...”
“...3am visitor, but Vant covered...”
“...Vant’s little thorn...”
The words slid under the door like needles. She counted them. One. Two. Three. Each one sharper than the last.
Her ears were still raw from the hour yesterday. Blood had dried under her nose. She hadn’t washed it off. Part of her wanted Vant to see it again when he came back. Part of her wanted to disappear.
The door hissed.
Serath.
No clipboard. No med tech. Just her. Arms folded. That cold stare pinned to Selene like a target.
“Morning, patient,” Serath said. Voice sweet. Too sweet. “How’s the bleeding?”
Selene didn’t answer. She counted the tiles on the floor instead. Twenty-seven. Twenty-eight.
Serath stepped closer. “Word travels fast in a mountain. Kade knows something happened at 3am. The nurses know Vant lied. And I know you had a toy.” She glanced at the empty table where Cael’s device had been. “A null bubble. Cute.”
Selene’s hands clenched in the blanket. “I don’t—”
“You don’t have to say it,” Serath cut in. She smiled. It didn’t reach her eyes. “Everyone already thinks you’re special. Vant’s pet project. Vant’s little thorn.” She leaned in. “Bleeding for him now, are we?”
The door hissed again before Selene could breathe.
Prof. Kade.
He didn’t look at Serath. He looked at Selene. Eyes sharp. Clipboard gripped tight.
“Leave us,” he told Serath.
Serath didn’t move. “Just checking on the rumor mill, Professor. Wouldn’t want—”
“Leave,” Kade said. One word. Final.
Serath held his gaze one second too long. Then she left. But at the door she paused. Her gaze flicked to Selene. `I know.`
The door closed.
Kade sat on the edge of the bed. Not close like Vant. Not careful like Cael. Just there. Heavy.
“I know it wasn’t a nightmare,” he said quietly. “Neural spikes don’t look like that, Dr. Vant. Not unless someone turns off every filter in your skull.”
Selene said nothing.
Kade set the clipboard down. “What did he do to you at 3am, Selene?”
She thought of Cael’s silence. Warm. Safe. Ten minutes where she wasn’t counting to survive. She thought of Vant’s thumb on her pulse. Four seconds. Then the hour of hell.
“Nothing,” she whispered.
“Lie,” Kade said. But his voice was softer than Vant’s. Tired. “I’m not trying to punish you. I’m trying to keep you alive. If he’s pushing you past 40% without a Helm—”
The door hissed.
Cael.
Dirt on his sleeve again. Grease on his knuckles. In his palm: another matte black device. Smaller this time. Like he’d rebuilt it overnight in the lower levels.
Kade stood. “No tech. I said no tech.”
Cael didn’t look at him. He looked at Selene. “One minute,” he said. “That’s all it has. One minute of quiet. For her.”
“Cael,” Kade warned.
Vant filled the doorway before anyone could move.
He didn’t speak. He just looked at the device in Cael’s hand. Then at Selene. Then at Cael.
The temperature dropped.
Cael didn’t lower his hand. “She’s bleeding, Vant. Let her have one minute.”
Vant stepped inside. Slow. Measured. He stopped between Cael and the bed. His back to Selene. Shielding her again. But not from the mountain this time.
“Give it,” Vant said. Flat.
Cael hesitated. Then dropped the device into Vant’s palm.
Vant didn’t look at it. He closed his fist.
The device cracked. Once. Twice. Metal and plastic crunched under his grip. Sparks died between his fingers. He opened his hand. Let the pieces fall to the floor.
Silence.
Not Cael’s bubble. Not Kade’s office quiet. The kind that meant a decision had been made.
“Her training is mine,” Vant said. He still wasn’t looking at Selene. “Not yours. Not Kade’s. Mine.”
Cael’s jaw tightened. “She’s not a weapon you can calibrate.”
“She’s not your patient either,” Vant cut in. He finally turned. Gray eyes met Selene’s. No blood this time. No pain. Just her face. “Don’t you have something else to do, kiddo? Leave.”
Cael looked at Selene. She gave the tiniest nod. He left. Shoulder brushing Vant at the door. Neither spoke.
Kade watched it all. Then he sighed. “48 hours, Vant. No more tests until then.” He picked up his clipboard. “And no more lies.”
He left too.
The room was quiet again. The heavy kind.
Vant crouched beside the bed. Not on it like Cael. On the floor. Eye level with her. He picked up a shard of the broken device. Turned it in his fingers.
“You wanted quiet,” he said. Not a question.
Selene swallowed. Her throat hurt. “For five seconds,” she whispered. “Just five.”
Vant’s gaze didn’t change. “You don’t get to choose. Not yet.”
He stood. Set the shard on her bedside table. A reminder.
“Filter training,” he said. “No tech. Just you. Again.”
Selene stared at the broken pieces on the floor. At the shard on the table. At Vant’s back as he turned to go.
“Control, not escape,” she said. Voice hoarse.
Vant paused at the door. “Control is the only way you survive when it finds you.”
He left.
Outside, Serath was already talking to another nurse. Her voice drifted through the crack.
“Vant’s little thorn doesn’t get to choose anymore...”
Selene lay back. Stared at the ceiling. Twenty-seven panels. Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine.
But this time she wasn’t counting panels.
She was counting how many times she’d have to bleed before someone let her choose peace.
And somewhere in the mountain, the frequency pulsed twice.
Like it was listening.
--
- Writer
