Page 81 of Star-Born Anomaly
“Face down!”
Each confusing command layered the next. Wynn flinched as they echoed inside the hangar, each like a physical blow.
Movement blurred, then Sawyer was gone. A firm hand gripped the back of her neck and pushed. Something banged into the back of one knee.
With her hands on her head, she couldn’t catch her balance and fell forward with a shout.
Her cheek slammed into the deck. Stars dotted her vision. Through the haze, she saw Sawyer with his face pressed into the deck too, a hand behind his head and a knee in the middle of his back.
Someone wrenched her arms behind her. She whimpered.
Her eyes watered, blurring the sight of someone in a bio-suit reaching for Sawyer’s neck, a dermal syringe in their hand.
Something cold touched her throat.
Then all went black.
Chapter thirty
Consciousness trickled in through a haze of drugs and pain. Sawyer’s nose twitched, then he froze when he realized he didn’t know where he was, or why.
A throbbing ache resonated through half of his skull. Memories followed, ones of being slammed into the deck in the hangar, and of the good doctor receiving the same treatment.
The fear on her face wasn’t something he was used to. He’d scared a huge number of people, sure, but there was something raw and unsettling about her pleading expression.
He’d been expecting the reception, knew from what he’d sent the general that there would be questions: how neither of them were changed into Calypson and how they’d gotten away.
Right before he’d gone under, all he’d wanted to do was fight them off—and that would have led to his death. And hers.
Keeping motionless, Sawyer assessed where he was without opening his eyes. He lay on his side, with something soft beneath his shoulder and hip. No injuries except for the throbbing in his head. Air touched his skin, his flight-suit removed. It wasn’t an enormous space, maybe the size of crew quarters.
And though it was silent, he didn’t feel like he was alone.
“Ahem.”
The deep sound of a throat clearing bounced off the walls. Sawyer’s eyes popped open. Across from him, a man with pale skin and a dark goatee leaned against the door frame, someone he’d never met in person before: General Cazin. His white CORE military uniform was pristine, its silver trim gleaming in the overhead lights. Emblems adorned the space beneath the CORE insignia, denoting his rank and commendations.
An important man.
Sawyer had killed many important men, quietly, and in the name of the CORE.
Bracing his hand, he sat up in one smooth motion, his legs swinging over the edge of the bed. His head spun for a moment, and he gripped the bed’s frame tight to keep from tilting.
He stared down at his bare legs, the blood rushing to his toes. They’d removed everything except for his underwear, no shirt, and he wasn’t even sure those were the same shorts he’d put on at the onset of this mission. A new pair of CORE-issue boots sat tidily near the door. He mourned the loss of his old ones. He’d just broken them in.
He lifted his head. “Sir,” he said, meeting the general’s narrowed gaze.
Bushy eyebrows shrouded deep-set eyes, his mouth pursed. “You cut it a little close.”
“I got the job done, sir.”
Cazin tipped his chin. “Congratulations. You’re not Calypson.”
Sawyer ran a hand over his face and across the thick stubble of his jaw. “Didn’t think I was.” How long had he been out?
He reassessed his body. They must have fed him something, because he wasn’t hungry. And they wouldn’t have brought him here first thing, would’ve taken him to a lab, or a medical facility, to have him checked out in a controlled space.
He ran a hand over the back of his head. “And the doctor, sir?” The question came out before he could think better of it.
