(sorry for the wait. fair warning, this chapter is sort of intense, at least to me. nevertheless, I hope you enjoy. xx)

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

EVELYN TRAILS 1298 SILENTLY the rest of the walk. Once they reach the hovercar's exit, he places the handcuffs on her again for show. There's a crowd of people outside, varying between human staff and experiment soldiers. Each of them stop what they're doing to watch Evelyn be hauled along. She grits her teeth and keeps her eyes forward, her chin high. The least she can do is give them a good first impression.

The walk seems endless through the hastily-thrown-together campsite, and 1298's grip tightens on her the longer it takes. She glances over at him. His jaw isn't as defined as most experiments's, his eyes not quite as sharp, yet she doesn't doubt he can fight just as good as any of them. Appearances can defeat a person as well as a physical fight. She considers his features, tries to think of a name much more deserving than "1298."

He catches her eyes, his face flushing as he quickly looks away again. But Evelyn ignores his flustered state and says, "You wouldn't by chance remember your real name, would you?"

Taken aback, he turns back to her with wide eyes. "O-of course not. Why?"

She shrugs. "You need a name, obviously."

"It's 1298."

"No, it's not, and you don't want it to be either."

He falls quiet.

"Harry," she says tentatively, "is what I named 748." The label sends a fire of rage through her. She stifles it the best she can, clenching her jaw. She doesn't know why she told him. It felt necessary somehow.

Another moment of silence, then, "What would you name me?"

A small smile tugs at her lips as she looks him over again. "Hmm. I could see you as an Ethan... No, more like a Tristan. Or maybe..."

"Tristan," he says as if the word is foreign to him. It very well could be. He repeats it in a quieter tone, then smiles slowly. "Tristan."

Evelyn nods curtly. "Nice to meet you, Tristan."

And for some reason, that makes him laugh. A sound that he's probably never made before. "Nice to meet you, Evelyn."

***

Evelyn shakes out her hands as Tristan reluctantly leaves her alone in a dark room. There's a single overhead light glaring down at one spot on the tiled floor, but it isn't enough to show the room's entirety to her. Her heart races, her nerves jittery, but she holds herself together as best she can, readying herself for anything.

A child, Tristan had said. She'd thought of many different ways she would die, but... by a child's hand had never been one of them.

There's nothing but the sound of her light breathing, and that sets her even further on edge.

Her new suit clings to her body, and she's a bit grateful that it doesn't grow uncomfortable as she begins to sweat. Her hands tremble, but she clenches her fists around the two daggers she was given, her knuckles white. Cautiously, she takes a step towards the light. Nothing happens. She takes another wary step. Nothing changes.

However, halfway into her third step, the light flickers. She pauses, her toe barely against the floor as she narrows her eyes, scanning the darkness around her. The room could be huge for all she knows. There could be more than one assailant after her, hiding in the shadows. She keeps her ears strained, her eyes constantly searching. She readjusts her grip on the daggers, gingerly pressing her foot flat on the floor to finish her step.

The light shuts off.

Swearing under her breath, she doesn't dare move. Without having a wall to press her back against, she's completely vulnerable from all sides. She gets into a defensive stance, still listening, still searching blackness to no avail.

Then the light comes back on. And another. And another. Ten lights in all brighten the room completely. It's purely white from the ceiling to the walls to the floor. Nothing is in the room except for Evelyn and--

A child, indeed. Standing at the far end of the decently large room. Head down, body rigid. Evelyn clenches her jaw so tightly her teeth ache.

She sees a glare from the lights above in her peripheral vision. Hesitantly, she glances over. She can't even restrain herself from scoffing; a two-sided mirror. Of course that bastard is watching. Is he alone or are there others gaining sick amusement from the fight?

A "fight." As if she'd ever raise her blades against a child.

Her attention refocused on the kid, she suddenly has a flashback of the woods weeks ago. When Harry had gone off to seek a camp to send them to, and Evelyn had barely been able to defend herself against a random beast attack. Sasha--poor, fragile little Sasha--had shoved a dagger into the beast's neck to save her, crying all the while. She sobbed for hours. Evelyn still hates herself for allowing such a thing to happen.

The child, a boy, raises his head finally. Their eyes meet, black on blue. The air gets trapped in Evelyn's lungs, her chest tight. Eyes completely black--not just his irises like the experiment's have red, but even the whites around the boy's eyes no longer exist. It's not a boy standing in front of her--it is a soulless demon.

Tristan had been right; these are no longer children.

She shakes her head to get the vile thoughts out. Of course this is still a boy. He's just been lost in that psychopath's delight. He's still in there. Surely, he's still in there.

The boy smiles. It's such a wretched sight that it takes a great deal of willpower to keep Evelyn from looking away.

She swallows, a lump swelling in her throat.

The tension is ridiculously nerve-wracking. She waits for him to make the first move. She doesn't know what to expect, after all. How can she attack when she doesn't know what she's up against?

As if he read her thoughts, as if a flip had been switched, the boy begins to walk towards her. Her brain is practically screaming at her to walk the other way, but her feet stand firm, her shoulders squared.

She holds his stare. Nothing but a pool of never ending blackness stares back.

The thought hits her so hard, she stumbles.

This is not a boy.

His eyes narrow as he halts abruptly, holding up one palm. Then, as if a hurricane had swept through the room, Evelyn is thrown back. She flies to the other end of the room, her back hitting the wall. She gapes, her eyes nearly bulging from her head as she stares at his hand. How in the hell?

She keeps her clutch on her daggers despite her utter surprise, though her knees threaten to buckle beneath her. She can't wrap her head around it, can't even begin to fathom what he'd just done.

He begins striding towards her again, his hand still up, his palm still facing her. One of her daggers begins to wobble in her tight grip. She gawks, but holds firm, refusing to loosen her clutch even the slightest. The dagger, by some invisible force, might as well be wrenching itself out of her grasp. Her fingers begin to slip on the hilt the more the dagger thrashes, her palm slick with sweat.

"Please," she whispers hoarsely, meeting those depthless eyes again. "Please don't."

Don't make me fight you.

But he only grins in reply, the dagger still wobbling.

Closing her eyes to maintain her composure, she opens them to find the boy has closed more distance between them. She keeps struggling for the dagger, but her other hand is perfectly fine... She doesn't allow herself to contemplate the thought any further as she flicks her wrist, the dagger soaring through the air.

She must have caught the boy by surprise. The other dagger stops fighting just as he notices the flying dagger, but he doesn't have time to stop it. It embeds itself into his thigh--her intentional mark--a screech erupting from his throat that sounds anything but human.

Evelyn doesn't notice that she's crying until her vision becomes blurry. "Please," she whispers again.

The boy growls, more animalistic than human. His palm shoots out and the dagger yanks away from her hand, clanging against the tiles. Then the boy snatches the dagger from his thigh, not even ushering a whimper, and throws it with all his might at her head. She saw the attack coming, though she barely has time to duck away. The side of her neck begins to bleed, a mere scratch that could've been a deadly wound.

She whirls around, tugging the dagger out of the wall. She whips back around just in time to meet the boy face-to-face, her other dagger in his hand. Their blades clash, and she has to avert her eyes from his. She can't bear it. He's truly gone. There is nothing left in that poor boy other than the evil that was placed inside of him.

He uses his otherworldly ability to throw her against the wall again, but she's quick to rebound and shoves her boot into his small chest. He falls back, long enough for her to sweep her blade across his stomach. Purposefully, not a deep cut. She doesn't think she can do it. She starts to cry harder.

The boy slices the dagger through the air, but she ducks and knocks his legs out from beneath him. She presses a knee to his chest, pinning his hands above his head with one hand while the other holds the dagger to his throat.

"Please," she repeats the word like a prayer. "Give me one sign that you're still in there."

The boy does not falter as he smiles viciously, a maniac laugh leaving his lips. He begins to laugh so hard, his body shudders and he seems to forget the situation entirely.

This will be a mercy, she tells herself, though it doesn't make the task any easier to bear. Her hand trembles rapidly against his skin. Her tears fall onto his cheeks.

A mercy.

Evelyn inhales sharply, closes her eyes, and slides the blade across his neck.

The laughter fades, the room falls silent, and then Evelyn begins to weep. She does not open her eyes as she pushes herself away from the boy. She drops the dagger, the blade clattering on the ground. She can feel his blood, warm on her fingers. She can smell it thick in the air. She buries her face in her knees.

The last time she cried this hard was the morning Delia died.

There's a buzzing noise, like a sealed door opening. She doesn't look up. She knows if she does, she'll throw that blood-coated dagger right through that damned bastard's throat. Maybe she should look up. Maybe she should cut him in places she knows won't bleed out so quickly, so his death will be long and slow and--

"Evelyn." Her name is spoken to softly, she looks up.

Right into Tristan's face.

For a brief second, she wants to claw out his eyes and scream profanities at him until her voice gives out, but then she reminds herself that he is not responsible for this. That he, too, had been forced to endure such a terrible, dreadful thing.

She doesn't bother to stop her tears. In fact, she lets them flow faster, harder, causing her entire body to shake.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, but they both know those two words mean nothing. Even if they are used honestly, nothing changes just because they are said.

Of course that vile creature wouldn't come in here himself. He knew she'd end him the instant she saw him.

Tristan sits beside her and lets her cry into her knees. He stays silent, and he doesn't make a move to comfort her. Oddly enough, his presence alone is enough to start calming her down. Even when she stops crying, she makes no move to stand and neither does he.

So the two of them sit in a mournful silence for the lost boy laying forever still at their feet.