The last thing Zephren wanted to do was open his eyes. A sudden, real fear that he was going to be back in the cell and locked behind that massive metal door held him frozen. His body ached and his lungs felt sore and dry as he let out a heavy breath. He was hungry…and he wanted water; all Zephren could taste was smoke and ash in his mouth. Slowly, he squinted his eyes open, not really believing that he was alive… But he was.

He was lying on a dusty hardwood floor, wrapped tightly in blankets beside a warm, lit fireplace. Glancing around covertly, he saw that he was in a large, dark room. There was no furniture, only a few old and rotting doors on the left of him but no windows, everything cast in a cold blue hue that clashed with the warm flickering glow of the hearth.

The light of the fire dancing on the walls made him shudder, spliced memories rampant in his mind as he thought of his escape…the city burning…him burning.

Zeph couldn’t help but wonder how far away he was from the scene of horror he’d left behind.

As his gaze traveled across the wood floor, he could see a large stain where there had once been a rug and there were footprints in the dust that seemed to coat the wooden floors in multiple layers. Who brought me here? Of all the questions he had, that was the one he couldn’t help but hold onto.

As Zeph went to push himself up, he felt his body fill with pain. He gasped, looking at his right hand that was wrapped in gauze, his left arm tucked neatly to his chest in a sling. The thick bandages were stained translucent yellow with dark blotches visible underneath the several layers. Staring down at his body, the shock began to wear off, and Zephren was faced with the extent of his injuries as he noticed how tight and swollen his wounds were.

His dirty white rags had been replaced with a large black shirt that reached just above his knees, and dark pants that had been crudely cut off at his ankles. The fabric smelled sweet and floral.

Soap?

Zephren’s eyes adjusted to the dimness, flinching as he heard someone walk across the floorboards. He immediately lay still and shut his eyes, hoping they wouldn’t notice that he was awake; he wasn’t ready to face anyone just yet, not when he didn’t know anything… He could trust no one.

When the thudding sound of heavy boots was safely on the other side of the room, Zephren stealthily peered over, staring up at a tall stranger cast in shadows.

His eyes were large and round, orange like the fire. His hair was black, layered and combed away from his dark brown face. He wore a dark trench coat and shirt, his pants dusty and frayed. “Are you out of your mind?” he chided with disapproval. His voice was deep, and though it was a whisper it echoed in the silence of the room.

He spoke to someone in the darkness that Zephren could not see.

“He’s a siren,” the same voice uttered. It was a harsh accusation, the tension making Zephren’s stomach drop…because he was right. Unaware of Zeph’s consciousness he continued, “You do realize that if he works for Crimson, we’ve led the entire army right to us! You can’t know that it’s him. And even if it is…look at him.”

Zephren tried to slowly crane his neck to see who the man was talking to, his eyes searching the darkness. Heart pounding, his focus drew to the other side of the room.

As his eyes adjusted, he could finally make out the muscular silhouette of a man.

Had he been there this whole time?

Zephren swallowed down his worry, watching the shape. The man stood in the corner like a specter, hidden away in the shadows just out of reach from the fire’s light. Finding where the top of the man’s head ran nearly parallel to the top of the doorframe, Zeph realized the stranger must have been almost seven-feet tall.

There was a heavy sigh before the figure moved and stepped into the light. The man stood with a regal, ominous air and Zephren was held transfixed.

He was dressed completely in black, wearing a long leather coat, emphasizing his broad shoulders and narrow waist; his high collar and cuffed sleeves were adorned with elegant clasps. Gloves covered his long fingers, holding a glass of water in one hand as he raked the other through his long white hair that reached his waist, shining like silk in the gloom. His face was handsome, but he was older than Zeph, he was sure. His paleness held a strange shimmer; nothing compared to his eyes, which were a bright silver. The man’s thick white eyelashes blinked slowly…

He was a siren…just like Zephren, but he was beautiful.

The man’s face was grim, walking forward with conviction as he stated, “Well, why don’t we find out?” His voice was deeper than his companion’s, smooth and cold, crashing over Zephren like a wave. His high boots kicked up dust as they moved across the boards, walking over to where Zephren lay.

Before he could squeeze his eyes shut and pretend to be asleep once more, Zephren felt a shiver run down his spine as the silver irises slid to meet his.

He couldn’t break the stare, completely and utterly stunned by the siren’s presence. He had never seen another siren…never had a conversation with anyone outside of his blood relations. With his voice caught in his throat, Zephren had the chilling thought, He’s been watching me? Zephren gazed up at the two men, staring at them with confusion as more questions raged inside his mind, all of them going unsaid.

“How are you feeling?” the siren asked Zephren, holding his gaze. He placed the glass of water in front of him like an offering, crouched and waiting to see if he’d accept it.

Zephren didn’t stop to wonder if it was poisoned, there would be no point, and he snatched the glass up almost instantly. The cool, sweet water was a balm to his mouth, washing away the bitter taste of soot. He swallowed it, gulping it down as droplets trickled past the corners of his mouth. It was only when the glass was empty that Zephren realized how desperate he’d been for a drink, his thirst barely quenched.

Drawing his bandaged hand over his mouth, Zephren’s voice was barely audible as he muttered, “Thank you.” Zephren set the glass down between them, blinking up at the man that was watching him so carefully.

The siren didn’t move, observing Zeph from a cautious distance, just barely out of reach. “Are you hungry?” he asked, his eyes moving to stare at Zephren’s thin frame, brows twitching in concern. “I could offer you something to eat… If you’d like?”

Zephren was starving, he had been for years, but he could feel a sick twisting in his stomach, doubtful he’d be able to keep anything down. He shook his head, not wanting to risk being even more sick than he already was.

With a deep sigh, the siren nodded, slowly saying, “Well… If you’re sure, perhaps you would do me a kindness in return and answer me this question…” He waited for Zephren to answer, staring at him.

Shrugging softly Zeph replied, “I can try.”

The siren looked pleased, the corner of his mouth tilting up in an almost smile. “As my friend here so badly wants to know,” he looked over his shoulder to the man with orange eyes before asking Zephren, “are you Zephren Kyne?” Though he was calm, his voice rang with a certain authority which Zephren felt compelled to answer.

Zephren’s brows furrowed as he sucked in a breath and admitted, “I am… How do you know my name?”