Page 7 of Requiem
“Stop.” Rafe’s voice is quiet.
I drag a hand down my face, exhaling sharply through my nose as I force myself to stay where I am. Even as my chest tightens like it’s being pulled apart from the inside. “He’s going to hurt himself,” I mutter, my voice rough.
Rafe doesn’t look away from the screen. “He already is.”
The way he says it makes me fucking sick. “That’s not what I meant,” I snap, my eyes flicking to him for half a second before I look back at the monitor.
Jude is pacing now, his movements jerky and erratic, like his body doesn’t know what to do with itself. Or like it doesn’t even belong to him anymore.
“His mind is gone,” Rafe says softly.
The words are like a blade sinking deep into my guts. I shake my head immediately. “No. No, it’s not.”
It can’t be.
I’ve seen Jude high. I’ve seen him drunk, pissed off, reckless, and stupid. I’ve seen him bleed. I’ve seen him break down and sob into my shirt. And I’ve seen him kill.
This?
This isn’t that. It’s something else entirely.
On the screen, he suddenly turns, staring at something off-camera, his body going rigid like he’s seen a ghost.
I lean forward, squinting. “There’s nothing there,” I say under my breath, more to myself than anyone else.
But he’s talking. Not loud enough for us to hear clearly, just fragments through the speaker. It sounds a little like he’s arguing with nothing. A sick, hollow feeling opens up in my chest.
“He’s talking to that mask,” Rafe mutters.
“Adriana said they conditioned him,” I say, swallowing past the nausea. “That they fucked with his head. Made him…hate Emma.”
Rafe’s gaze sharpens as he watches the screen. “Not just hate,” he says. “They rewired his associations. Pain, fear, and aggression are all paired with her. It’s why he almost killed her last night.”
My stomach drops.
On the monitor, Jude lashes out suddenly, yanking against the restraints, his entire body straining like he’s trying to tear himself apart.
“Fucking hell,” I breathe.
“He’s not seeing her as she is,” Rafe continues, now taking a seat on the couch. “He’s seeing what theytrainedhim to see.”
“A threat,” I say, the word tasting bitter. “Right? That’s how that shit works?”
“Yes.”
My chest tightens painfully.
“However, he did seem to recognize you and Adriana.”
I swallow. “Should we go in again?”
He shakes his head once. “He is actively withdrawing and hallucinating, it seems. So I don’t think that would help. I offered him Suboxone, but he didn’t want it.”
“When you’re withdrawing, you’ll take anything that could ease the pain.”
“I agree,” he mutters. “But not him, apparently.”
“Goddammit,” I hiss.
