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Chapter 11

All those months. All those images and horrors. None of it had been real. And he hadn’t been able to tell the difference.

Nathan shook his head, knees pulled up into his chest as he stared at the TV in the back living room of the Gatehouse like an angsty teenager. He hadn’t even turned the damn thing on. He couldn’t think of anything worth watching. But if he kept on like this, he wouldn’t ever get over what had happened.

It was just so ingrained in his head, every visual, every sound. Malak had certainly planned things out well if he wanted to break Nathan and then send him back as a useless slug incapable of feeling or doing anything constructive. Even Wally sensed the darkness that Malak had so easily—too easily—stirred up inside of Nathan.

How could he have given in…?

“Hey…you, uhh…absorbed in your program there?”

Iain.

Nathan looked over his shoulder and tried to smile. “Next up is watching paint dry. I’m sure it’ll be just as riveting.”