Mindwalker by AJ Steiger Page A

along. I don’t move. I don’t make a sound, don’t even breathe.
    Still whistling, he walks toward me, until I’m drowned in his shadow.

When I finally take off my helmet, I’m numb, inside and out. There’s a sense that I’m surfacing from a long, dark dream. My throat prickles with thirst, and I swallow. A sour taste lingers in the back of my mouth.
    I glance at the clock. I’ve been in Steven’s mind for three hours.
    Slowly, I sit up. A twinge shoots through my muscles, and I wince, rubbing one stiff shoulder. I feel bruised. Beaten, like I’ve been thrown off a truck and left to die by the side of the road. It seems as if I should be bleeding everywhere. “I think that’s enough for tonight.” My voice sounds oddly flat and distant to my own ears.
    Steven pulls off his helmet and sets it aside. His face is drawn and pale. “Yeah.” Sweat gleams on his brow. He moistens his lips with the tip of his tongue and raises glassy, dazed eyes to mine. “You saw all that?”
    â€œYes.”
    Steven closes his eyes and rubs them with the heels of his hands.
    â€œAre you all right?” I ask, because I have to say
something.
    â€œPeachy,” Steven mutters.
    A lump swells in my throat. I choke it down. I will not let myself cry. “I’m sorry.”
    He shrugs. “Not your fault.”
    I want to reach out, to offer comfort somehow. But the space between us feels as wide as the ocean, as the distance between planets. There’s nothing to say. What he endured at the hands of Emmett Pike was worse than anything I could have imagined. Words are meaningless in the face of such pain.
    â€œHow many sessions did you say this’ll take?” he asks.
    I struggle to focus my mind. The room seems so cold. Is it just me? “Maybe four, maybe six. Not more than six.” I clutch my bracelet. “For older memories, the mapping stage takes longer.”
    He wipes his sweat-damp brow with his sleeve and slides out of the chair.
    I stand, too. My knees wobble, and I grip the chair’s arm for support. My whole body feels weak, unsteady, though the phantom aches and pains are starting to fade, at least. “Do you need anything?”
    He shakes his head.
    I think about Steven, huddled in the corner of that dark room. So alone. So scared.
    Before I can stop it, a tear slips from the corner of my eye. My hand flies to my cheek. It’s been a long time since I’ve cried after an immersion session. I usually have better control than that. Quickly, I knuckle away the tear, but it’s too late. He noticed.
    â€œLain …” His voice is soft, startled.
    My hands are shaking. I cross my arms over my chest, trying to hide it. “Don’t worry about me.”
    He stares at me, eyes wide. “You didn’t just see it. You
felt
it. All of it.”
    I look away, not wanting to confirm, unable to deny.
    â€œI didn’t know,” he whispers. “Lain, I … I didn’t know it was like that. I thought it would just be like watching a recording for you.”
    I shake my head. “If only.” I give him a small, wry smile, though it fades quickly. “There’s a reason most initiates don’t make it through their first year.”
    He looks like he might be sick. “I don’t want you to go through that. I
can’t
…”
    â€œSteven.” I school my features into a neutral mask. “I agreed to this. I knew what I was getting into, and I’m trained to deal with the emotional repercussions. If I can’t handle this, then I’ll never make it as a Mindwalker. I intend to finish what we’ve started.”
    The silence hovers between us. I can see the pain in his eyes. Pain for me. He’s the one who actually endured this nightmare, the one who’s had to live with it all these years, yet he’s worried about me. It makes me ache, and it’s all I can do to