[This post is from Matt’s point of view.]
Matt opened his eyes.
He wasn’t quite certain what he’d expected to see—beyond being surprised to still be alive, he hadn’t really thought much about his situation, not yet.
Maybe I hallucinated the whole thing.
But the ceiling above him was unfamiliar, so he doubted that his experience with the Hecate had been a figment of his imagination. The bed he’d been lying in was strangely comfortable, and the blanket was warm. He sat up slowly.
The room was simple, the walls painted in a pale color, though there were no windows, no real identifying marks. Beyond the bed, there was a small bedside table where a lamp was lit, an easy chair, a dresser, and a desk with a chair. His boots sat near the bed and his jacket had been hung from a hook on the back of the door.
He stared at his wrists, at his ankles.
No ropes, no chains, no nothing. Door’s probably locked, though. She expects me to run, but not to fight.
His eyes fluttered shut. He honestly wasn’t sure what he intended to do.
If it means protecting them, though…
Bile crept up in his throat and he swallowed hard, trying to ignore the sour taste it left in its wake. He had to protect them, to keep them safe—that was the most important thing now, and he’d do whatever it took to make sure that Marin, Thom, his unborn nephew, and all of the others were safe from a particular bitch-goddess’s predations.
The longer I can keep her occupied, the better odds they’ve got of doing one of two things—fortifying our defenses against her, or finding a way to end her once and for all. Whatever happens to me happens.
Matt took a pair of deep breaths and opened his eyes again.
You can handle this.
The door swung open.
I see that Matt’s ready to take one for the team.
Whatever she’s after, I bet she’s going to try to get him to cooperate willingly (lack of shackles).
Also telling, there was no sound of a lock being released before the door opened.
I’m a terrible person. I really am.