Page 222 of Caged

I want to chuck the dead guy’s journal across the room, but I’m low-key creeped out, so I set it gently to the side and subtly scoot further away.

When I glance at my packmate, he’s grinning at me.

“Oh, it gets better,” he says, and his shit-eating grin grows wider. “I read through it. Most of the stuff at the beginning is useless. Training notes. Gossip about the other recruits. Rants about how much he hates Caelan. Complaints about how I’m a dick. You know, normal Bastard-in-training shit.”

“Riveting,” I mutter.

“Then we get to the mission entries. Again, all normal. He’s excited to go, he wants to find the rogue Vamps, and prove he belongs. Blah, blah. Then we hit this entry.”

I turn to Gavran, hoping to appeal to his… I don’t know…? Authority to make Daxen shut the fuck up?

“Please make it stop,” I beg. “I do not want to hear the 19th-century version of The Hills Have Eyes.”

Gav gives me a long-suffering look and, like the fucking traitor he is, gestures at Dax to continue.

And because he’s an absolute asshole, Daxen clears his throat, squares his shoulders, and starts reading from the Death Diary like it’s the final round of a High School speech competition.

“‘I didn’t mean to lose them. Told Reid and Silven to go on without me while I relieved myself. Just as I was buckling my belt, the fog rolled in thick and fast. I walked around, searching for the boys, yelling their names and continuing to walk in the direction I thought they’d gone. But the fog plays tricks with sounds. It muffles and throws back echoes that don’t belong to you.”

The entry sparks a memory. “Isn’t that what Riven said happened to him?”

Dax shoots me a look that says, ‘Keep up and stop talking,’ and continues reading.

‘I’ve been careful. Marking trees, following the slope of the land. I don’t believe I’m walking in circles, but all the trees look the same. My compass just spins uselessly. I’ve tried to climb for a better vantage, but the fog is too thick, and the branches are brittle. I believe I’ll sit by this cedar and rest. Perhaps the fog will lift by morning. God willing.’

Dax pauses, eyes scanning the next few lines. His voice drops when he speaks again.

“There’s a line break, and then he finishes the entry with,

‘I know it sounds mad, but I’m sure the air was pulsing earlier. As though something were trying to push through..”

“Interesting.” Gav stands and starts pacing a circuit of the room, expression thoughtful.

“Interesting. Sure,” I mutter.

Dax starts reading again.

‘I reckon it’s been over a day now—possibly longer. Came to the realization this morning that my pocket watch has stopped functioning. Looks to have ceased ticking around a quarter after five yesterday evening. Thinking back, that’s near the time I lost the boys. The fog has worsened, and I haven’t seen hide nor hair of them.

I was forced to take from a squirrel this morning. The first blood I’ve had in a week. Oddest thing— it made my hands tremble and my heart race. Like I had drawn from the vein of one of my own kind.

The small mercy is, I shan’t need to feed again for some time. Given I haven’t the faintest idea how to make my way out of these cursed woods, that’s one less worry.

I found a beautiful dagger in the foliage a few hours ago, so I suppose this hasn’t been a complete loss.

I’ve decided to rest for a spell. Perhaps the boys will happen upon me while I slumber.

Sleep was hard to come by last night. Every time I’d lie my head down, I could swear I heard voices under the ground. The higher the moon rose, the louder they got. There was singing. A lilting, beautiful lullaby that seemed familiar, and made me yearn for home, of all things.

Yes. I believe I’ll stay put a while longer. I pray that they return.

The voices, I mean.’

The air’s heavy. Chilled. Goosebumps rise on my arms. There’s a beat of silence before I jump up, backing away with my hands raised.

“Fuck. No. Absolutely not, Daxen. That’s a haunted-ass journal and dagger, and you’re just—” I wave my hands at him, appalled, “carrying them around like they aren’t obviously possessed by Benedict The Damned.”

“Just because you’re freaked out doesn’t change anything.” He replies flatly. “Who knows how long that satchel’s been down there. Years, probably.”