Grohanva slept peacefully on the floor, unbothered by his restraints or the dried black blood stiff against his skin.
Zero did not.
He twisted and turned through the night, sheets tangled around his legs, sleep refusing to settle over him. The room felt wrong. The bed felt wrong.
Was it because this was the same space the women had been dragged into without consent?
Or was it the thought that would not leave him alone—the knowledge that there were others out there just like him?
Living weapons.
He couldn’t decide which disturbed him more.
With a quiet exhale, Zero pushed himself upright and swung his legs off the bed. The air felt stale. Heavy. He stood and looked down at Grohanva.
The alien’s face was still brutally battered, swollen and dark with dried blood.
But he lived.
Zero
