The Lonely Orphan (The Lost Planet 5)

He will keep me safe.

I try to say his name, to tell him thank you for staying by my side, but all I can manage is a moan. My throat burns, which reminds me of how thirsty I am. And then I remember the fierce, unrelenting itching and the cycle starts all over again. I don’t know how long it lasts, but it feels like a lifetime passes with me weaving in and out of consciousness.

There is only one constant in the sea of pain and despair: Hadrian.

Hadrian never leaves my side. I have enough presence of mind to know that. His voice is always there. He tells me about the Facility, stories of what he can remember of his parents, the morts. When I feel as though I’m going to burn up from fever, he’s by my side with a cool cloth and a soft word.

He is the voice in the darkness. My anchor to the world.

I come to in a place I don’t recognize. Perhaps I’m dreaming.

I’m not sure if it’s real or The Rades playing tricks on me.

As time passes, the rising sun coming in from a small window I notice in the wall illuminates my surroundings. I’m in a cell. My heart begins a slow thud in my chest because I recognize the cell. I want to throw myself against the bars I now see on the far wall, but I can’t bring myself to move.

How did I get here? Did Hadrian put me here? Have The Rades gotten so bad I had to be removed from the infirmary?

Footsteps have me scrambling from the small cot I’d been sleeping on. I throw myself against the bars, the metal cool under my hands. My eyes are wild, my breathing erratic.

The shape of a person appears at the far end of the hall. Maybe they know something. I open my mouth to ask about Hadrian, but the words I want to say don’t come out. Instead, I hear my voice say, “Hey! Please help me. I’m looking for my sister, Aria. She was supposed to be sent here. Please.”

The person grows closer and I recognize his face. It’s Bruce. A guard. Confusion wars inside of me. This can’t be right. We locked the guards up a long time ago.

“Keep your mouth shut or I’ll lock you up in solitary. You better learn now, girly. You’re better seen and not heard. You understand me?” He jabs what looks like a metal pipe through the bars, driving it into my stomach and stealing my breath. I crumple to the floor and I hear him unlocking the door and arguing with someone under his breath. There’s the sound of rustling movement and then he walks away, listening.

Then I realize what’s happening. This is a dream—a nightmare. A memory.

The first day I’d woken up at the prison, before we’d taken it from the guards.

Someone shifts, moving closer toward me and I shrink away, still trying to catch my breath and afraid of being on the receiving end of another blow.

“It’s okay,” comes a soft, tentative female voice. “I won’t hurt you. My name is Willow. I’m a prisoner, too.”

I manage to blink away the tears of pain and the face of a beautiful young woman with red hair fills my vision.

“I heard you were looking for your sister.”

“Yes, I am. Are we in Exilium?”

“That’s right. I’m your roommate, apparently. But we can be friends. I’m looking for someone, too.” She glances up at a sound down the hallway. “Look, the guards can be super shitty, but if we have each other’s backs, I think we’ll be all right. Whaddaya say?”

I wake, the fear from the fever-dream coming with me. When I try to sit up, there’s a strap across my chest, which only increases my panic. I flail, trying to break myself free, but there’s no use. I’m so weak I tire out after a few minutes.

The dream had been so real, for a moment I feel like I’m back in the cell, locked away, trapped, in a strange place with sadistic guards at every corner. Alone.

Except when I look up, I realize I’m not alone.

I’m in an isolation unit and Hadrian is asleep by the side of my bed.

Hadrian.

The memory of his voice, his touch, comes back to me. Had he been with me the whole time?

His spikey, black hair sticks out messily all over the place and dark circles are evident under his closed eyes. He’s still wearing the same clothes he had been the last time I remember being awake. How long has it been?

Carefully so as not to disturb him, I look around for a screen and find one on the right side of my bed. It beeps and dings, monitoring God-only-knows what, and find it’s been nearly a week since I got sick. A week. Horror fills my chest. What happened in a week? Who else is sick? Has anyone died?