Ch.2: Milo


Ch.2: Milo

When consciousness returned to Nicholas, he was ready to fight. His eyes shot open and he sat upright at once, shoulders tense, breath heavy, heart hammering. Across him was a creamy beige wall. He quickly turned around to look for a door, ignoring the harrowing pain that pulsed through his entire body.

There was a door. There was also a young boy, sitting near Nicholas, gazing at him with one dark eye and one blind grey eye, a tattooed beauty spot underneath it. His breath was stuttered and unsteady, and he was shivering slightly.

Right. This was the boy Nicholas had seen bound to a table next to him.

Nicholas's instinctual need to fight and shout and lash out even if it was completely pointless quickly subsided at the sight. Whenever Nicholas did anything stupid and thoughtless, he liked to face the consequences on his own. But this kid was involved now, and he absolutely would not risk dragging him into trouble too.

So Nicholas only stared back for a moment. Then, tentatively, he reached his hand up and touched his right eye, as if seeing the boy's grey lens had reminded him of his own. It was pretty uncomfortable, like something was constantly poking his eye, but he'd take it over actually getting blinded.

Lowering his hand, Nicholas glanced over his shoulder and scooted back into the corner. In this position, everything in the room was in his sight-the boy, the door, and the small window. He felt slightly less uncomfortable now.

"I'm Milo," the boy said.

Nicholas nodded at Milo. He sighed. When his breath wavered, he realized he was shivering as well. The air was cold. The floor was frigid, too, and the icy sensation seeped into Nicholas's bones.

Grimacing at the dust, Nicholas pressed a palm to the floor and pushed himself up to stand. His leg throbbed and burned so violently he gasped and nearly dropped back down, but he quickly braced a hand on the wall to keep himself upright. Despite the pain, he could tell that his shin wasn't broken. Just sore and bruised. Which was still terrible, but he could deal with pain. He absolutely could not deal with broken bones right now, though.

"I'm sorry," Milo said, his voice small and scared. "That you're in this mess too."

"Are you the one who kidnapped me?" Nicholas asked, limping arduously towards the window; it was locked and barred. So escaping through it was impossible. Outside, the sky was cloudy, the winter wind howling in the background. The fog made it a little hard to discern the surroundings, but after squinting, Nicholas gathered that the place was surrounded by high fencing.

The absurdity of Nicholas's question had clearly startled Milo. After some hesitation, he answered, "No."

"Then don't be sorry," Nicholas said. "It's not your fault."

Milo raised a brow. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, as if deciding against an argument.

Nicholas went to the door and tapped on it lightly with a trembling finger; there was a quiet clinking noise on the other side. Nicholas barely heard it over the sound of his thundering heartbeats, but he realized that the door was chained shut. It seemed the captors weren't taking any chances.

"It's a hill."

Nicholas craned his neck to look at Milo, his brows furrowed questioningly.

"We're on a hill," Milo said, pointing at the window. "I was in another room before you came and the view was clearer there." His shoulders slouched as he curled in on himself a little. Worry crept into his voice. "...From what I saw, it's steep and scary."

Well, wasn't that just great?

Nicholas nodded gratefully at Milo for the information nonetheless. A few questions popped in his head, but he had already run out of energy to voice them. So he returned to his spot in the corner to rest a little, one knee to his chest, his other injured leg stretched out in front of him. He pulled the bottom of his pants up to check. He was wrapped in bandages all the way from his knee to his ankle.

The ache in his leg had tripled from his walk across the room. It took him a moment to notice that his breath had grown heavier with the strain. Then, with every quivering inhale and exhale, his burnt belly moved, and a whole new whirlwind of pain started.

"It's not broken," Milo assured, although he didn't sound remotely assured himself. It broke Nicholas's heart. "They didn't break my leg either. But it still hurts a lot. I can barely walk too."

Nicholas studied Milo's face for a moment. "How old are you?"

"Thirteen. Why?"

Nicholas was simply surprised by Milo's behavior. When he first saw him down in the basement, Nicholas assumed there was no way he'd be responsive or composed-and he wouldn't have blamed him for it. But as it turned out, Milo was keeping it together very well. Nicholas thought it was pretty respectable, especially for someone so young.

"Why?" Milo repeated.

Startled out of his thoughts, Nicholas looked back at Milo. What startled him was mostly the demand in Milo's voice. Nicholas shrugged. "You're so young. I'm surprised you're..."

"Not freaking out?"

Nicholas nodded.

Milo played with his fingers anxiously. "Albert taught me that freaking out is never good. It never helps. It only makes things worse, and I don't want things to get any worse right now."

And how am I supposed to know who this Albert is? Nicholas thought. Perhaps it would be too nosey to ask, so he just nodded.

"Albert taught you well," Nicholas said.

"I know." Milo hugged his legs to his chest, then tucked his face against his knees. "I..." A quiet, soft sniffle. "I miss him. And I miss Valentino. I want to see them again." His voice came out muffled, but unmistakably shaky, on the verge of crying. "And I just- I want to get out of here. I want to get out and forget this ever happened."

Nicholas stiffened. He held still as he watched, scared that if he moved, Milo would start crying, and Lord, Nicholas did not want him to start crying. A few seconds passed. In the end Milo raised his head and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand, his entire body still shaking.

"S-So cold."

Sighing, Nicholas took his jacket off; he was surprised the captors had bothered to return it after undressing him for the Scar Rite. Then he stretched his arm towards Milo, handing it over to him.

Milo's eyes were red-rimmed and his lashes were wet as he looked at the jacket, then at Nicholas, and there was a sort of surprised gratefulness in his soft expression. "Thanks," he said, then he pushed it back. "But you should keep it. You need it too."

"Don't worry about me. Just take it."

Nicholas roughly threw it on Milo's shoulders and sat back down with a quiet, pained hiss. He could tolerate some cold. But Milo was still just a kid. What if the hypothermia killed him?

Thankfully Milo sensed the finality in Nicholas's voice; he didn't argue any further. Nicholas knew that the jacket couldn't solve the problem, though. It provided only little warmth, and Milo was still shivering underneath it. Then he remembered that the captors had said that Nicholas was a better candidate for the ritual.

So then what were they planning to do with Milo? Kill him off? What even was the ritual?

And suddenly the cold was a silly problem. Nicholas pressed his palms to his face, breathing out shakily against them. Captivity was terrifying. Psycopaths were terrifying. And yet-and yet Nicholas found himself most worried about the fact that any decision he made would affect Milo, which meant responsibilty. He hated that. But whatever. Reality was as it was in front of him and he would deal with it. There had to be a solution for this whole situation. There was always a solution. Nicholas just needed to clear his fuzzy head and focus.

Light thudding sounded outside the door, and it gradually grew louder. Nicholas froze. Lifting his head again, he listened carefully for anything else, then he started getting up. Just then, Milo grabbed his sleeve and tugged back.

"Please don't do anything stupid," Milo said. "Trust me, it won't get you anywhere. They'll just-" He winced, squeezing his eyes shut as he held his ribs, as if moving so abruptly had triggered pain. "...h-hurt us. They'll just hurt us more."

Nicholas only blinked at him. Then he frowned. Milo was holding his ribs, but Nicholas didn't have any scar, burn, or wound in that spot. As replicas of the captors' son, both Nicholas and Milo should have the exact same injuries. Nicholas wondered about the source of Milo's pain, and he told himself he'd ask him about it later. Right now he had a more urgent matter at hand.

Nicholas returned his focus to the door. Chains rattled and clinked and clunked, and then the door was pushed open. Nicholas drew in a breath, preparing to fight if needed.

A piece of rope was tossed inside.

Milo shuffled back behind Nicholas. Nicholas stayed put, not letting the rope distract him. He kept his eyes on the door. Every muscle in him was tense.

"Milo," the female captor said. "Take that rope and tie Nicholas's wrists behind his back."

• • •

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