Blinding Light (BLS Book 1)

Nolan

Present time…

“It’s done.”

“Good job, son.”

My father analyzes the results, “Her ability is growing. It’s good results for the APT.”

“Mr. Quinn?”

My father and I both look up. I quickly look away when I realize the address was not meant for me.

“We need to discuss the process of the Project. And it may involve your son.”

“Nolan, excuse us,” Father says.

I bow my head and head back to my room. Passing by Asher’s, I knock on the door with no answer. I wonder where that jackass is now.

Probably worrying about some other stupid shit than this Project.

I roll my eyes. You’d think he give more effort to this Project. He even volunteered for this, determined in the beginning to help us save lives, and now, his primary focus wasn’t with us anymore.

I sit down on my bed, and the white sheets sink at my weight. I stare at the ceiling, wondering what I should do next. Then a wave of nausea hits me like a tidal wave. My hand instinctively travel to my forehead, pressing my temples to ease the headache.

“Ughhh,” I groan out loud. My head is on fire.

Is this what she’s dealing with every day? I can’t help but wonder, she’s so much stronger than we combined. I know her body can comprehend this.

But we can’t.

We’re still not making significant progress around here. It’s not—what’s the word…enough. We need some trigger that will awaken the ability already. My headache downcasts, but an ache remains.

We’re running out of time.

***

I go back to the Project room at exactly 13:00 hours. The host lays there, peacefully—for now.

Although peacefully might have different interpretations. Tubes are attached to her temples and right wrist. Her skin is broken from the needle, but it will heal with time. The clear-colored cyro-sleep injection is used twenty-four-seven for memory wipe and rewire. Human brains can be remarkably inventful when it comes to a life or death situation.

I’ve gotten the injection so many times that I’ve become used to it that it’s just a typical day for me now. Either it’s her life that’s at the receiving end, or it’s all of ours—the gates of Hell open, waiting for us.

Indra helps me onto the bed next to her.

“Prepared?”

I nod.

Indra gets one other syringe ready. Unlike the cyro-one, which is completely colorless, this one is bright orange—for connection. Squirting some of the liquids out, she eases closer to me. I feel the fat needle penetrate my skin, giving way for the liquid to travel into my bloodstream. My heart pumps it with the blood flow, upwards into my brain.

Connected.

***

Pastime…

I wake up, find myself looking up at the ceiling. The ship rocks violently, jerking me off the bed.

“Shit!” I yell before I land on my rear end.

“Ow—great.”

I pull myself up, still hazed from the transfer into her mind. Her life is seriously an up-down rollercoaster. Even though we removed the actual prince from the picture, somehow, we couldn’t hardwire her memory to making the prince disappear completely, so we had to make me take his place.

Her memories are hard to decipher with the constant jump in. I’m just like a virus, invading her space, her mind. Only this time, there are no white blood cells to fight me off.

…

I glance at the centuries-old clock on the wall pointing at 4:17 A.M. Groaning, I stand, pull on a jacket, and head out. I knew I wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep. This so-called party was supposed to be going on until morning, but only a few people remain in the front so far. One bump into me, clearly drunk.

“Hello…hiccup…Votre Altesse. Hiccup…How…hiccup…are you?” Disgusted, I push him away.

Votre Altesse, if only I had that high of a status. I had to learn a whole new language just for this Project.

He stumbles, and his knees give out before he falls to the ground. He flashes the hash all over the ship’s wooden floor, and I jump away just in time, in disgust. I can’t believe I have to be around this pothead.

Focus on the job, pay small attention to detail.

“Anything could help us now. Anything.” My father’s words ring out in my head.

I roll my eyes as the drunk man collapses on the floor. I don’t care what happens to him. They don’t exist in my world, they mean nothing to me.

I help myself to a drink. It’s sour and bitter, causing me to cough.

Ugh.

I drop the drink in the trashcan and sigh deeply.

What a piece of shit. Well, while I’m out here, with absolutely nothing to do, might as well plan the next event of the so-called Suitor’s Campaign.

Booooring.

The next event is traveling to Miracle Island—which is apparently where the whole kingdom Iwera first was structured. It’s merely a visitor’s location for entertainment and learning the history of Iwera, which is one of the reasons where Indra didn’t hardwire her memory to change this.

Too distracted in my thoughts, I didn’t notice when Asher crept up behind me and gave me a big fright.

I gasp, jumping back, “You scared the hell out of me!”

He doesn’t say anything at first, and then he starts laughing.

“I was here the whole time.”

I scowl at him before asking, “You didn’t go back?”

“Nah,” he shrugs.

“Then how come I didn’t see you in the Project room?”

He shrugs again.

“How did you get here without the cyro-two serum?” I ask, confused. “Unless you smuggled some with you.”

Asher makes a face that I make an unconscious smug look to.

“I wonder why…” I brush my fingers to my jaw, imitating a thinking position. “Is it because of a certain someone?”

He shifts at that. Bingo.

“Dude, shut up.”

“Man, are you dedicated to the Project. You really can do something useful after all.”

Asher, hearing this, just stares at me, dumbfounded.

“Hello?” I wave in his face. “Earth to you Moore!”

He blinks a few times before saying, “Well, I know I can?”

What?

“Yes,” he continues. “I have been taking data of how she responds to certain things.”

I widen my eyes in surprise.

I’m genuinely impressed. I suspect he’s not telling me everything as if that wasn’t obvious already, but he’s back to his original dedication to the APT, and that’s what we all needed.

“You can be genuine, Moore. Just try not to be a jackass to her.”

He punches me in the stomach. It wasn’t a heavy blow, but it wasn’t light either.

“Oof!”

That’s all that comes out of my mouth before the years of training sets in. I react automatically. Grabbing his wrists and flip him over my head, so he falls to the floor with a thud. Surprisingly, he springs up and throws another punch in my direction.

Oh, he’s been training.

I dodge it easily and smirk.

“Somebody’s been training.”

Asher looks annoyed as he throws another punch near my head, and changes it last second to my stomach. I snatch his wrist before it could make impact, spins his body around, and slam him face-first on the floor of the ship.

“Ugh, get off me!”

When I don’t budge, he snaps, “I hate you. Why did I volunteer with you again?”

“Because I’m the best?” I ask, laughing.

“Absolutely not,” he grumbles.

He struggles, but pointless nonetheless. He tries to yank his arms free of my trained iron grip. He even tries to kick my back. But I, apply sudden pressure to the Quad Tendon and Hamstring muscle in which he winces visibly in pain.

“Fine! You win. This time.”

“This time? Is that a challenge, Moore?”

He mumbles another string of curses at me. Which I’m confident I have heard wrong because he seldomly curses.

I get off of him and watch him stand and bend his knees a few times, checking to see if they’re broken or not.

“I was sure you had pulled my muscle. Since when does physical training contain human body knowledge? Damn, you’re heavy.”

I gasp, pretending to be offended, then flex in his face, wiggling my eyebrows, “It’s called muscle, dumbass.”

He scoffs, “Whatever.”

“It’s not my fault that you don’t got these.” I point at my biceps. He scoffs again and walks away with a bored expression on his face.

That lying bastard, he’s walking perfectly fine.

If my suspicion isn’t wrong, he could’ve perfectly overpowered me. And it makes me jealous that it would’ve been easy for him to do so.

I know he’s not weak, I caught him multiple times working out in the compound. With me at six-foot-one, he could very well be at six-foot-three. But he doesn’t show off, like at all. In that redingote he’s got on, I can see some of the results. I laugh at his fading figure, then head back inside.

Passing by the host’s bedroom, I hear snoring. I chuckle to myself; I didn’t know she snored. Even though I only know her from her mind, she is such a self-composed woman. It’s hard to see her ever let off about herself.

But she’s so admirable, to anyone fortunate enough to know her in real life, she would’ve been such a high influence. She holds onto something bright in the future. She cares for others she doesn’t even know; her kindness and her ability to give are almost overwhelming. She has this spirit. The overwhelmingly bright energy that draws out her gentleness. She does not care what anybody else says but her own. I do envy her for her free self.

After knowing this since the APT, I almost felt guilty about what I’m doing. However, I have no future if I don’t do this. No one has a future if I don’t do what I’m told.

We’re all just experiments. After it’s done, all of our lives will be normal. Everything will rewind for her; she’ll have no memory of any of this, and we’ll live out the rest of our lives in peace, unknowing of one another.

I sigh, rubbing my head. I can’t help but wish for something that I don’t and couldn’t have. Something that I could never have unless the completion of the APT.

The argument in my head is like a shoulder demon and angel continually fighting with one another. Without the other, neither can survive; but with the other, both fight for dominance. We have two sides, but only we can choose which side to take.

But I only wish that I could be as carefree as her instead of living in a pool of lies. I didn’t want to, but I had to, for everyone that’s counting on me: me and that asshole. One with eyeballs would realize that he’s madly stuck in his own mind, with no way out because he chooses to stay. I just hope it isn’t some other emotion that has triggered him to stay. The plan doesn’t work without him, and we all need him to focus on this case.

I already walked past three more doors before I detect something unusual—but familiar.

A strange energy flow here. I frown, sidestepping to find myself back to Mila’s door.

Hmmm…

Something isn’t right.

I activate my ability, my eyes lighting, glowing a soft orange in the dark. I skim the corridors, hoping that I was mistaken that it’s in her room. I find nothing, and dread fills me. The aura is almost calling to me just behind her door. I frown, shaking my head, hoping with every part of me that it’s not Asher’s doing and I creak open the door.

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☆•Yiona•☆