The door opens and the light springs forth like a solar flare, lashing at my eyes. I raise a hand against the glare, blinking, blinded. It's the first light I've seen in weeks.

A shadow hovers in the doorway, dark and tall. "You're free to go, Satorace," he says.

"What?" I rasp. I clear my throat, try again. "What?"

"I said you can leave. Charges have been dropped."

My eyes sting. My mind blurs. I grimace.

"Well? Don't just stand there! Major Cordese needs this space cleared for incoming prisoners."

"Major who?"

The man swears and moves into the cell. He grabs my arm roughly and starts dragging me out. "They told me you'd suffered memory loss but I didn't expect you to be stupid. Major Cordese? In charge of prison sector? Honestly."

Outside the cell, the full force of the light hits me, hot against my skin. I blink and stare down the long swathe of white hallway, disoriented. "I'm free to go? Just like that?"

The man nods. "Just like that." He's dressed in the regulation military uniform: dark green slacks and shirt, a tactical jacket, combat boots. The United Space Organisation logo – a rocket shooting upwards over a ringed planet, the letters USO in front – is patched proudly over his left breast. A black belt around his hips bears an assortment of gear, including a baton, a gun, and a pair of keys that jingle with every movement. My eyes fixate on the keys, just as I'd fixated on the sound of them while I'd been locked up. They were a symbol of freedom I held on to, grasped desperately, but now they're meaningless.

It's been three weeks since they locked me up, three weeks since the Hermes returned to Earth after our unauthorised trip through a space-time rip and into a parallel universe. Three weeks since I saw Merc or Cal or Atara, my crew aboard the Hermes, my friends, and in some instances, my enemies. But it feels like it's been much longer. In my cell, hours stretched slow and long like pulled gum, and every day felt like a week. The only way I was able to keep track of time at all was by counting meals, the unsatisfying, paltry things that they were.

"Can you get a move on, please? You're crowding up my corridor."

The guard reaches for the cell door, slamming it shut and locking it with the keys on his belt.

"Where am I supposed to go?"

"How should I know? I'm a guard, not your mother. The boss tells me to let you out, I let you out. The rest is on you."

"Lieutenant Morgan." The voice booms at us from the far end of the starched corridor. At first the figure is just a black blot on white walls, but as he moves closer, I make out the primness of his military suit, the shine of his shoes, the stern brow on his forehead. He's clean shaven and icy-eyed and taller than even my guard. The insignia pin on his breast tells me he's a major.

Lieutenant Morgan swallows. "Yes, sir."

"What are you doing with this prisoner?"

"Releasing her, sir."

"Care to explain why?"

The lieutenant looks at me and back at the major, uncertain, a sweat breaking out at his temples. "I was ordered to." And then, more hesitantly, he adds, "Forgive me, sir, did you not order this prisoner to be released?"

For the first time, the major turns his gaze on me. "Name," he says.

"Satorace," I say, tilting my chin up. "Lilith Satorace."

His expression doesn't change, but he stares at me long and hard. "Lieutenant Morgan," he says, without breaking eye contact, "you're dismissed. I'll take it from here."

My guard nods and leaves, maybe a little too quickly. The major takes my upper arm and turns me in the opposite direction. "This way," he commands, and something in his tone stops me from arguing. I let him lead me down the bright hall and into a stairwell, where I at last tug my arm free.

He pauses, almost surprised by my resistance, but quickly pulls himself back together. "Forgive me, you look different to your picture."

"Yes, three weeks in a cell will do that to a person."

He doesn't respond to my jab. "I'm Major Cordese." He offers me a hand I don't take and sighs. "Follow me."

I watch him start up the stairs before reluctantly following. "We haven't met before, have we?" I ask. "You don't know me."

"Oh, I know you."

"You know about me."

He glances sideways. "I only came to prominence after you left, so no, we've never met before. Your sudden departure messed up a lot of things around here. I think you'll find this place is much changed since you saw it last."

Since I saw it last. My memories from before are vague, fluttery things, as prone to slipping from my grasp when I need them as they are to rising up when I don't want them to. In the weeks since the Hermes returned to Earth, bad memories have tormented my every night's sleep, and in the day, the things I ought to remember – names, faces, important events – have frequently failed to heed my call.

Some things, though – some things I will never forget.

"My crew?"

Major Cordese takes a moment to respond. "They're alive."

I raise an eyebrow. "That's encouraging."

He doesn't say anything further as he leads me down hallways, up stairs, and through locked doors, which he opens by swiping his wrist over a small black panel. Eventually, though, we come to a carpeted corridor on the third story, and Major Cordese slows his pace.

I frown at him. "Where are you taking me?"

"Someone wants to meet with you."

"Who?" I demand.

We stop at another locked door, this one translucent, so that I can see blurry shapes on the other side. Major Cordese knocks. "It's Cordese. I have Satorace here for you."

A moment's silence, then a familiar voice. "Send her in."

My eyes go wide. "Is that–?"

Major Cordese swipes his wrist and opens the door, but pauses in front of it. "Keep your cool, alright?" I stare at him, my expression purposefully blank.

He shakes his head. "I'll see you around, Lilith."

Once he's gone, I throw the door the rest of the way open and barge inside. The same carpet from the corridor has been used in here as well. The room is small, with two grey cabinets by the door and a glass desk on the left. On the right, the wall has been replaced with a window, allowing for a view over what appears to be the food court.

But directly ahead, the owner of that familiar voice stands with his back turned, dressed in an immaculate military uniform, his scarecrow-like figure partially obscuring a wall covered in mathematical working and formulas.

He turns to face me.

It's Cal.

— — —

Hi everyone! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of Mortals!

Just a friendly reminder that Mortals Chapter 2 is available now on Inkitt. You can read it for free by clicking this link: https://inkitt.app.link/RA_shayebay (I've posted it in the in-line comment).

If you haven't already, make sure to download the Inkitt app, follow my profile and add Mortals to your reading list. You can like it, leave a comment on the chapter, or write a review for the book so far. I'd super appreciate it!

Inkitt is a free platform which will never ask you to pay to read. It's also ad-free, and extremely reader-friendly on both the app and the desktop site. I'll be posting chapters of Mortals there a week ahead of anywhere else, so it's the place to be if you want early access to brand new content.

In general, I'll be posting new Mortals content bi-weekly. Chapter drops will be on Tuesdays, and sub-chapters (all the parts labelled DECRYPTEDFILE) will be released on Saturdays, so mark your calendars peeps. If there's to be a delay with a chapter, I'll advise in advance, but let's hope for a smooth run from here until the end.

Until next time, Shaye x