Chapter 9

On the fifth day that she had awoken in the unnamed place, Brielle saw that the steel door had once again been unlocked and half-opened. And just like the first time, Talin was missing. That too wasn't such a shocker. The defender had been irritable the whole time that they had been sealed inside yesterday. Though she didn't speak directly about her woes, her grumblings and constant checking of the door were incessant.

Brielle didn't go out to explore the minute she saw the opportunity. She knew better this time to leave the room with an empty stomach, so she prepared food, something light to tide her over. For fear that Talin might do something rash- like wreck the rest of the furniture if she came back with an empty stomach- Brielle set aside a huge portion of omelet for the defender too.

Then, she went out.

Her steps were cautious although her footfalls were the sole occupants of the hallway. The place was still a mystery to her, as with why she was kept in a room with a code with Talin. If she was meant to be prisoner there before The Offering, why did the door open every now and then? Why did no one stop her? None of it made sense.

Brielle crept near the walls, listening for approaching people. Despite the possible consequences of wandering about, the familiar motions of slouching and hiding made her smile to herself. She was back to feeling like a nine-year-old, sneaking to her father's study.

Keith hadn't forbidden her to go to the attic. In fact, he encouraged it. What he didn't want was for her to stay up past her bedtime to read, which she did anyway, most times. For her, between ten and midnight were the perfect hours to pore over the dog-eared pages. She called it the 'Godly hours,' wherein most of the neighbors were asleep so there weren't noises outside to hinder her from concentrating, and the chill of the night was felt not only on the skin but the bones too.

Close as she was with her father, Brielle didn't tell him about the 'Godly hours.' First, because she felt that it should be kept in secret, and speaking it to anyone else wouldn't make it her ownership, her special something, anymore. The second reason was because no one in the New World believed in God, so 'Godly hours' wouldn't make sense.

What they believed in was The Offering. It was what saved them from extinction, not an invisible deity.

One time, she remembered, on a night when the snowflakes made the windowpane mist, Brielle had crept to the attic, much like what she was doing now. Her conscience was prodding her to go down the stairs, back to the warm blankets where Keith had tucked her two hours ago. Back to the bed she was supposed to be long asleep on.

But she couldn't shut her eyes, not if she could help it. She'd been tossing and turning, thinking of her father's satchel. It had been extra bulky when he arrived before dinner. The leather bag was only in that state when he had new books to bring. It was enough reason to keep her awake.

Courtesy of the open lamp on the corner of the room of the attic, Brielle had no problems navigating her way around. She was thrilled to see that there were four new books stacked on the table. What kind of story did they hold? Did they say how the people of the New World revived technology after the war, and improved it for what it was today? Were they about the rebuilding, the reconstruction leading to their generation? Or maybe it told of what the government in every Sector were doing to save them from the unstable weather.

Reaching the table, Brielle's hands, small and nimble, skimmed through the first book on the top. She released a foggy breath. On the papers were drawings of crystals and rocks, her father's favorite. They weren't printed like the other texts. The information's were made by his own messy handwriting.

"You're just like your mother," Keith's voice resounded in the room.

Brielle dropped the book with a gasp.

Her father was beside her in a few steps, scooping the fallen research. "She doesn't listen to me too." His brown eyes were disapproving, though he didn't look like he'd scold her.

"How did she die?" Brielle asked. Her voice was small. Scared.

His shoulders sagged. He turned to the window before looking at her again. He hadn't expected a retort as heavy as the one his daughter said. "Sit with me on the sofa."

She was too guilty to perch on his lap, so she stayed by his side on the couch, hands folded on her knees. Brielle had never asked the reason of her mother's death before, not that she didn't want to. It was the thought of sadness crossing her father's face that made her hold back. But she was nearing her tenth birthday, and there was no better time to ask when she was so openly compared to her mother.

Keith cleared his throat. The book was still on his hand, forgotten but gripped tightly to bear the weight of his explanations. "Your mother died in an accident," he said quietly, not entirely wanting to speak it out loud.

"What kind of accident?" Brielle didn't mean to press the issue. The words keep tumbling out on their own.

Her father opened the book in the middle, where a red thread that served as a bookmark was placed. He pointed to a drawing of a rock she had never seen in all his other books about minerals. It was red. Not a ruby though. It was spiky like knives stitched together. "In one of our expeditions to study this gem, your mother slipped and hit her head."

Brielle fell silent. Both of them did. Keith was somber in his grief, while she digested the news about the brilliance of her mother who was a scientist like him. "That's a very interesting-looking rock," she murmured.

Enough to die for, her young mind concluded.

Keith shifted on his seat, the fire rekindling in his eyes. "It's the rarest stone we've ever come across in our field." His tone hinted of intense fascination. "Your mother knows that. She and I had been the ones to discover it. It's not even from here."

Brielle looked up from her feet and saw that she'd arrived close to the meeting room where she'd last seen Vincent and her father's colleague talking, before Xander introduced himself. She hadn't meant to retrace her steps. The thirst for answers brought her there. Locked in the room with Talin, she could do nothing but to silently ponder on why her father's research was posted on the white board. Free now, she had every reason to go inside the meeting room to find out.

She glanced behind her once to check for guards. When she found none, Brielle pushed the door open. The lights remained close to avoid suspicion. She waited for her eyes to grow accustomed to the darkness before moving forward.

The meeting room was sparse of ornaments. The only obstacles she had to traverse were the long table and the roller chairs. Upon reaching the white board, her eyes squinted on the clippings. She wished she could turn on the lights to see better. The pictures were right in front of her nose, but she could barely discern the details on them. She needed more light.

"You shouldn't be here."

Brielle was pinned to the spot, a nail hammered on the floor. There was only one door, one exit, and whoever said those words were blocking it. The stranger's shadow emerged from the doorway, casting a blackness on the whiteboard in front. The door fell close.

A few seconds after, her arm was grabbed by someone, and she was spun, only to face another question. "Y-you?"

Her father's former colleague sighed wearily. "I unlocked your room in order for you to stretch your legs, not so you can snoop where you're not wanted. Haven't you learned anything from your years of stay with Vincent?" Brielle could barely see her face, but based on how strong the woman's grip was, her expression could only be tense. "I don't think you remember me. I'm. . . was your father's friend. My name is Sarah." She let go of Brielle and walked briskly to the door. She didn't leave. Her stance was reserved as she checked the glass panel, as if she was watching out for something or someone.

"I don't understand," Brielle said. "What are you doing here? Why are you still working with Vincent? I thought my father's team was dispersed with him." It felt like a storm was brewing, and only she wasn't informed.

Beside the glass panel, Sarah's face was better illuminated by the light in the hallway. It was constricted in a scowl. "I have a contract with the government," she said. "I'm not allowed to leave until it's over."

"And my father?" Brielle started to move. She wanted to go nearer to Sarah, to pry the answers from her.

Sarah shook her head. "Your father is gone. If you don't start acting like it, you'll follow his footsteps in the grave."

Brielle stopped on her tracks. She could barely breathe. To have it said by people other than Vincent was painful. But she had to find her father still, or what remained of him. She couldn't just bury the past like what everyone was suggesting.

Sarah looked at her again with kinder eyes, the toughness consumed by regret. "I'm sorry that things are hard for you," she said. "Your father and I, we go years back. The only way I know how to repay his friendship is by assuring you that Vincent entered you in The Offering knowing that you won't die. As much as he hates it, Talin is the best fighter we've had in eight generations. Stick with her, keep your head down, and maybe you'll get to live through this."

"Talin doesn't want me," Brielle said, her voice catching on her throat.

"It doesn't matter if she wants you as her partner or not. She'll fight for you anyway. She has to." Sarah glanced at the glass panel, her brows knitting. "He's gotten here earlier than expected. I have to go."

The door swayed to and fro, and she was gone like a flicker of a candle blown out by the wind.

The lights switched open before Brielle could react. She knew who stepped in Sarah's stead even before her eyes had seen him.

"You should be doing other things right now. I wonder who let you loose?" Vincent said. "Hmm. No matter. Did the little ghost come here to play with me?" She blinked in the harsh glare of the fluorescent, willing her eyes to coordinate. His smiling face swam in her blurry vision. Her heart ignited with anger. "Why give me such a look, Brielle? Is that how you welcome your father after not seeing him for days?"

She drew her lower lip between her teeth. The jigsaw was still incomplete, yet for all the missing pieces, she could make out a connection. "You have something to do with my father's disappearance, don't you?" It was a full-pledged accusation that she would have been too terrified to say if they were still inside Sector I.

Vincent pinched the space between his eyebrows. "Your tone is giving me a headache," he said. "Spending too much time with Talin has made you an ill-bred animal. Maybe I should tell the guards to lock you in different rooms." He pushed his glasses up. "It didn't occur to me that you'd pick up the bad behavior. I thought better of you."

Brielle's ears didn't hear a word he said. Her feet moved on their own. When she was right in front of him, she gripped Vincent by the collar roughly, and in a low desperate voice, said, "Where's my father? What did you do to him?"

Vincent's eyes rounded with surprise. It was the first time that he was treated with such harshness. His arms were limp on his side while Brielle shook him. Only when the eagle pin from his lapel detached and dropped to the floor did his face twist in anger. "Guards! Guards!" he yelled.

Two brawny men emerged from the door, rifles at the ready. When they saw that it was nothing but a puny girl assaulting their master, they put their weapons away and began to grab Brielle by the arms, pinning her hands to her back. "Where's my father?" she kept repeating, hungry for vindication. Her voice was scratchy and hoarse. It didn't sound like her own.

Vincent stooped down to retrieve his pin. His fingers were shaking as he fumbled to attach the eagle on the lapel. "Throw her to Matilda," he said. "That girl deserves a flogging."

Brielle only stopped squirming when the guards bodily lifted her up and took her from Vincent's sight. She recalled her master's punishments from before. As a child, she was forced to endure severe lashings, taunting's, being thought of as an imbecile, and a hundred more accounts of intentional humiliation from him. Matilda was a new name, a different kind of torture. It could be a rabid dog waiting for her in a cage somewhere. They'd release it to tear and claw at her face, not enough to kill, but only to disfigure.

She didn't look at where they were going. She kept her head down. If she raised her eyes, they'd see the fear in it. That was the last thing she wanted them to recognize her with.

Before long, the guards entered codes on a door, the subtle beeping alerting her. Still, she kept her eyes to the floor.

"I was wondering when you'd bring the albino in," a woman said.

"She was a handful," the guard to Brielle's left explained. "The others had been looking for her."

"She's just a girl. Let her go." The two released her arms. "Why do you reckon didn't Sir Vincent put her on the same floor with the others where there's supposed to be tighter security? The cat and mouse would have been prevented."

"I have no idea," the guard to Brielle's right stated. His voice was pinched, like he wasn't comfortable with the manhandling.

The woman stepped to her. "You there, girl. I want to see your eyes." Brielle was adamant to let them stay down. "Tsk. The mute followed my instructions better, and she couldn't even respond. How about we cut this one's tongue too?"

"Matilda," the guard protested.

"I was kidding, you blokes. I wasn't going to mute her. The other defenders have that part down." The woman waved at the guards. "I'll take care of her. You can both wait outside the door. Make yourself comfortable."

The two guards nodded reluctantly before leaving.

"Well then," said the woman when they were alone. "Why don't you start by looking at me? I said I wouldn't cut your tongue, but I didn't promise anything about your eyes." She didn't sound like she was making light threats.

Brielle slowly raised her gaze. If a dog was going to be released on her, she must know where it was coming from. Her forehead puckered. "I know you," she said when her eyes have fallen on the woman. "You're the one who locked me in the room with Talin."

Matilda shrugged. "It's nothing personal. It's my job to follow orders around here." She pointed to a door further down the room. "Take a bath and don't come out until you've scrubbed every inch of your body. You're filthy. Smells like it too. There are fresh towels in there to use. Wrap yourself in one after you're done and go back straight to me."

"You're asking me to take a bath? Now? Why?"

"I'm not asking. I'm ordering you to. And I don't want any more questions." Matilda crossed her arms. "You can do it yourself, or I can ask the guards to join you. Which one do you prefer?" Brielle gave the woman a dirty look, to which Matilda just laughed. "Don't take forever. We have to get you there before it begins. It's your fault for being so late."

Brielle turned her back to the woman, uncertainty making her weak. With everything that's been happening, self-preservation was the only thing that kept her going. Vincent wanted her to learn a lesson, but he'd sent her to Matilda instead. What kind of punishment would be given to her then?

"Hurry up, girl. Talin is waiting for you."