My own mother?

No.

Sydney couldn't deny how much she favored the woman—she had never seen anyone that looked like her before. Among orphans, that was common, but here, in this room with this woman, she was experiencing it for the first time, and yet, any satisfaction she may have felt was non-existent. Not when the woman was responsible for the death of dozens of people, including the only family she had known.

"You are not my mother," Sydney seethed, her gaze hardened and lips in a tight frown.

The slight fall of Diana's face didn't go unnoticed by her daughter, but Sydney had no attachment to the queen of the mercenaries. In fact, she found herself wishing she'd never met her.

"I will always be your mother, Sydney."

"Not to me," she argued as calmly as possible. "I've never had a mother, and I sure as hell don't need one now."

"But, I—" seeing the stone cold look on Sydney's face, Diana let her sentence die out, taking a few steps back. "I see...You must be overwhelmed with everything that's happened. I'm sure exhaustion is settling in."

Turning away from the eastern girl, Diana sighed. "We should pick this talk back up in the morning."

"Yeah," Sydney mumbled half-heartedly.

But, I'll be long gone by then.

With her dark blue eyes trained on the woman's rigid back, Sydney began reaching into her back pocket, trying to figure out what Casey had given her. Her thumb managed to brush against the cool metal surface just as Diana turned around. Halting her motions, Sydney acted as if nothing was happening, choosing to return Diana's studious gaze with a blank one, lacking all emotion.

A storm looked to be raging in her dark brown eyes now, but not one of anger. It was different, more like one of pain. Of torment.

The sound of clicking filled the silent room, drawing Sydney's stare down to the woman's hand, that was now pressing on a button at the edge of her desk. Within seconds, the door opened and a dozen guards entered, alert and armed. In the front of the group stood the two men that dragged her there, forcing her to confront the childhood demon she didn't know possessed her. Her mother—rather, the woman that should have been such.

"Take her to the guest chambers. Any room will do," Diana instructed, her voice back to the sharp cold tone she used earlier.

After a slight bow, Holden and Phillip gripped Sydney's arms and, more gentle than before, began hauling her out the door.

"Oh, and Sydney?"

Diana's call caused the men to freeze in their tracks, giving their matriarch time to speak whatever still lingered on her mind. Sydney, however, was itching to put as much distance between them as possible.

"Yes?" she answered begrudgingly.

"You will never quite know how much I've longed for this day." When only silence echoed in the stony room, Diana continued. "We have much to discuss, tomorrow. I look forward to it."

No response was given on Syndey's part. Not one glance, nod, or hum was uttered. To her, the only thing she could focus on was the fact that she was being taken somewhere else, and she had to know how to retrace her steps if she was to escape and get to Brooke. However, no matter how much she tried to ignore it, the ever-tightening knot in her stomach proved meeting the woman that birthed her was taking its toll.

"You may go now."

With thier leader's go ahead, the men carried Sydney down multiple halls, up many steps, and under a dozen stone archways until finally entering a large, barely furnished room. With the ash-colored walls and dead space, the place was likened to a cave, with the exception of well built furniture and subtle gold accents scattered about. It was more decorated than Diana's office, which confused Sydney to a certain degree, but she shook any curiosity off, knowing she had no time or intention to get answers.

Turning to face the men that brought her here, she questioned, "Aren't you going to untie me?"

"That wasn't part of our orders."

With eyes ablaze in furious disbelief, Sydney watched as both men casually stepped out of the room, leaving her with three words as they parted. Three words that caused her DNA to fray as they lingered in the air.

"Welcome home, princess."

Her body was a mix of the hottest wildfire and the coldest blizzard at the mere thought of being associated with the queen of the mercenaries. Rushing up to the dark wooden door, Sydney kicked at it, already able to sense the men just on the other side of it, no doubt standing guard to make sure she couldn't leave.

"I'm not your princess!" she yelled, banging her body against the solid wood in protest. "Don't you ever call me that, again!"

I'm a soldier. Not a princess.

After a few minutes passed spent releasing the anger and indignation warring within her, Sydney backed away from the door, her breathing heavy and wild. She could feel her emotions raging, but she'd trained herself on how to keep them under her control. Very few things were able to break the dam she carefully built to hold them back.

One of them being the death of Liz.

Another was the death of the life she once knew.

But the truth about her mother? That new development still had yet to be categorized in Sydney's mind. It certainly was able to disrupt her countenance in ways not many things could, but it hadn't triggered any tears to fall. Deep down, she believed the woman that gave birth to her wasn't worth the salt water.

With her breathing now calm, Sydney stepped back until the back of her thighs hit the bed on the right side of the room. Sitting down, her butt barely touched the duvet before she shot straight up, eyes wide.

I can't believe I almost forgot.

Stretching her fingers out and into her back pocket, Sydney worked hard to pull whatever contraption Casey had stuffed in there before she was torn away from him. Having her hands bound made the simple task ten times harder, but eventually she felt the release of the item as it fell to the bed. Immediately turning around, a small whimper left her pale pink lips at the sight in front of her.

"Oh, Casey."

And there they were, the cursed things she always fought to keep locked up. Tears. One by one they slowly stained her freckled cheeks as she fell to her knees, eye level with the object. She saw the name before anything else, so expertly carved into the worn handle.

Fletcher Graham

Biting her bottom lip in an attempt not to sob, Sydney hugged her knees to her chest as she strained to move her bound wrists under her body so they'd rest in front of her, rather than behind. The moment her hands were in place, she gripped the pocket knife, running her thumb along the engravement. Along Casey's father's name.

Why did you give this to me?

So many questions flooded Sydney's mind, but one specifically stood out amongst the rest. Why would Casey give her his late father's knife? She remembered vividly what happened the last time she touched one of his things. Casey didn't talk to her for days, and probably would have gone longer had she not confronted him the way she did. This knife had to be one of the last things he still had that belonged to the man that raised him, and he had given it to her the moment he realized she was in trouble.

Right now, she could try to cut the rope that bound her, but judging by the slight dull of the blade and the thickness of the rope, she knew she would get nowhere. She'd have to wait for the perfect moment, and keep the knife a secret. The mercenaries thought she was unarmed. Failing to check her body for weapons was their mistake and her blessing. One she would not question.

Thank you, Casey.

Laying down with her back facing the door, Sydney continued tracing the perfectly imperfect grooves of the carving until the monotony of it all slowly lulled her body to a droopy state. The stress she'd been under, both mentally, emotionally, and physically, suddenly bombarded her being until she finally succumbed under the exhaustion. The last thing she saw before falling asleep was the subtle glint of the old metal resting in the palm of her hand.

This was a rare thing, her being able to regain the energy she constantly exerted, but in the heart of her enemy's camp, it was only a matter of time before she woke up. Her soldier-like instincts wouldn't allow her to stay vulnerable for long periods of time, which was why, barely two hours later, her big blue eyes shot open, triggered by the faintest of sounds.

Sensing another presence in the room with her, Sydney kept her body as still as possible, only moving to slyly tuck Fletcher's knife under the pillow her head rested on. She did so in just the knick of time, because a second later, the last person she wanted to see was hovering over her, invading her space.

"You're awake," Diana said.

"I am, and sadly you were not a figment of my cruel imagination," Sydney replied, her tone dull and uninterested.

Disregarding her comment, Diana spoke firm and authoritatively. "I just wanted to see how you were settling in. I didn't intend to wake you."

"Well, you did."

Releasing a nervous laugh, one that surprised Sydney, Diana asked, "Perhaps we could talk now, then? Instead of waiting for the morning?"

Turning over and sitting up, Sydney squinted her eyes slightly, eyeing up the woman that allegedly birthed her. Besides their appearance, there was nothing linking the two, and Sydney couldn't help but wonder what more there was to Diana Moraa. However, with Brooke and countless other woman still in danger, she was willing to sacrifice answers to her life questions for the sake of their lives.

But first, she had to find a way around the queen herself.

When the pale set of hands belonging to her mother gripped Sydney's wrists, instincts kicked in, and the eastern girl swiftly countered the move, breaking free of Diana's hold and rolling over to the the other side of the bed, landing on her feet.

"Calm down, Sydney," Diana insisted, raising both her hands. "I didn't come here to fight."

"No? Oh yeah, you came to watch me sleep, and now you want to talk. Why? Want to find out who else I care for so you can kill them? Ruin the life I was building for myself? Take yet another thing away from me?" Each question come out sharper and more accusatory than the last.

"For once, I want to give you something, instead of take. I want to talk," Diana pleaded. "Please."

Whether it was out of curiosity or a lack of options, Sydney stubbornly nodded her head in agreement. The sooner they got this over with, the quicker she could make her escape.

Author's Note:

Hi, everyone! I know it's been quite a long time since I've updated, but you all have been so understanding and patient, that I figured I'd release this chapter now. I've got quite a few done, and may even post them in the near future. Fingers crossed! 😃

If you have any thoughts on this chapter, I'd love to hear them!

-Mac