Witchhunt • Prequel ✓

orphic remedies.

[ONE WEEK AFTER]

The dull pain that had defined his life for the past few months had vanished almost completely, leaving Jonah in a haze of warmth. It was only when he tried to open his eyes that a sharp burn ran from his eyes to his skull. He groaned and lifted his arm to rub his face -- only to be stopped by a pressure around his wrist.

His pulse spiked and his eyes shot open all the way. He was in a building. An actual building with a cottage cheese ceiling and segmented sunshine through windows. He blinked and looked down. He was strapped to a hospital bed. An ache stretched across his skin whenever he moved.

Jonah swallowed -- surprisingly not painfully -- and craned his neck to see the rest of the room. It was definitely a hospital. The lights were down, of course, but it was sunny enough that it didn't really make a difference.

"Hello?" He croaked out, wincing. 

A thud sounded out from just outside the room, swiftly followed by the squeak of boots against tile. 

Adam appeared at the doorway, his hair sticking up at odd angles and dark bags under his eyes. He looked thinner than Jonah remembered, his dark clothes hanging from his formerly muscular frame. He had one hand on his rifle and the other on the doorframe. Adam stared, panting for several seconds.

"Jo?"

Jonah blinked. He'd never heard Adam so uncertain. He nodded slowly, putting his head back against the pillow. "Yeah. Uh -- what happened?"

Adam looked over his shoulder, then stepped into the room before stopping several feet away from the bed. "Are you -- do you remember me? Do you remember who I am?"

"Yeah."

"My full name. And who I am." Jonah's eyes shot down to Adam's rifle. The muzzle was angled towards the foot of his bed, and Adam had both hands on it now. Jonah hesitated for a moment.

"Adam Jing. You're my best friend," Jonah licked his lips, "have been for years."

"How many years?"

"I don't know -- since first grade? Uh -- twenty years? Ish?"

Adam pursed his lips, eyes darting back toward the hall. He nodded. He kept nodding to himself, squeezing his eyes shut. 

"Jesus Adam, what's going on? Why am I tied down?"

He stared at Jonah with wide eyes. Then he slid the safety of his rifle back on -- why had it been off? -- and rushed over. He fumbled with the straps for a few moments before releasing Jonah's chest, moving on to his wrists. "They're going to kill you."

"What?" Jonah couldn't bring himself to be shocked. The information just thudded softly into his chest.

Adam squeezed his eyes shut again, hands shaking as he unbuckled Jonah's ankle. "The witches. They've convinced everyone that Abby broke some sort of rule -- some magic rule -- and that they need to kill you to make it right."

Panic rising, Jonah sat up. His head felt like it was full of water, brain liquefied and sloshing back and forth. He groaned and put his head into his hand. That was a mistake. As soon as his elbow bent, his entire arm erupted into flames. He gasped and his sleeve dropped slightly, a sliver of something silver flashing on his skin.

"Don't look." Adam shoved Jonah's face into the crook of his neck, forcing him away from his own hands. He picked Jonah up like a baby and started walking.

His breath warmed Jonah's ear uncomfortably. "Be quiet."

Jonah could hardly see anything in the hall, especially over Adam's shoulder. Adam's hummingbird heartbeat sent his own mind into overdrive. Questions bubbled up behind his teeth, wondering what had happened, what was going to happen, where Abby was, why everything hurt so much. Every time they came close to any voices, Adam darted into a room, crouching in shadows.