5. Ellie

As the guards marched me down the sterile, metallic corridors, my mind couldn't help but wander back to Ceara.

It was strange, really.

This alien beast who'd scared me witless not so long ago had morphed into a kind, gentle soul in my eyes.

His eyes, those rich amber orbs that held galaxies within them, haunted me.

They'd looked at me not as an object, not as a captive, but as… an equal.

There had been tenderness there, a softness that belied his beastly exterior.

It was as if those eyes had seen past the terrified human girl and seen Ellie, a woman with dreams and hopes, fears and vulnerabilities.

I shivered, the coldness of the corridor seeping into my bones.

Yet, my heart warmed at the thought of him.

He was a sight to behold, rough and unrefined, yet undeniably handsome.

His features were striking — the sharp angles of his face, his tall stature, the defined muscles that moved with a predator's grace.

It was a dangerous, raw kind of beauty, but it was captivating all the same.

And then there was his touch.

My cheeks flushed at the memory.

His hand had been surprisingly gentle against my skin, his rough fingers trailing a path of electricity that left my body tingling long after he'd let go.

His touch, as much as it was unexpected, felt right, felt familiar.

The smell of him was unique, an earthy musk combined with the faint scent of something sweet, something alien.

It was a comforting smell, something I found myself leaning into, craving.

It made me feel safe, grounded.

I still couldn't wrap my head around it all.

How had I gone from fearing this beast to… this?

How had I come to appreciate his rough-hewn looks, crave his touch, yearn for his presence?

It was surreal, yet it was happening.

There was no denying the flutter in my chest every time he looked at me, the way my skin burned under his touch.

But now, as the guards led me away from him, a sense of foreboding set in.

Where were they taking me?

What were they planning to do?

The Supervisor's office wasn't exactly a place I wanted to visit.

I could only hope that Ceara was okay, that he wasn't enduring the torment of the experiments.

I hoped that he was holding onto our shared moments, just as I was.

Because in this strange alien world, those moments were our anchors, a piece of solace amidst the chaos.

As I stepped into the Supervisor's office, my heart hammered in my chest, my mind clouded with fear and uncertainty.

Yet, through it all, the image of Ceara's soft eyes and the memory of his tender touch guided me forward.

Whatever was to come, I knew I had something — someone — to fight for.

* * *

The Supervisor'soffice was bathed in the artificial glow of overhead lights, casting long, imposing shadows over the minimalist, steel furnishings.

His gaze felt like ice as he stared at me from behind his sleek desk.

The Supervisor, an imposing figure with a distinct aura of authority, seemed irate. "You've made no progress, Ellie," he snapped, the bitterness in his voice palpable.

I straightened my spine, meeting his cold stare head-on. "As fast as I heal him, he's injured again from your experiments. How is he supposed to recover fully if you won't give him time?"

The words fell from my lips, my voice stronger than I'd expected.

The Supervisor's face registered surprise at my mention of the experiments. "And what, pray tell, did Ceara tell you about them?" he asked, leaning back in his chair, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

I shrugged, feigning indifference. "Nothing," I answered truthfully. "Ceara didn't divulge anything about the nature of the experiments; I had merely drawn my conclusions based on his injuries."

A flicker of interest passed over the Supervisor's face.

He stood, moving around the desk to stand a few feet from me.

His scent, metallic and slightly acidic, invaded my senses, making me wrinkle my nose in distaste.

"Well," he began, crossing his arms over his chest, "it appears you have misunderstood my requirements, Ellie."

I frowned, the sudden shift in his tone throwing me off guard. "What do you mean?" I asked, my heart pounding in my chest. "You put me in his cell to heal him. That's what I'm doing."

The Supervisor looked at me, his gaze dark and unreadable. "Ceara doesn't just need to heal physically. He's broken on the inside as well. He needs to be fixed emotionally."

My breath hitched at his words.

Emotional healing?

How was I supposed to facilitate that?

I wasn't a psychologist!

The concept sounded far more daunting than mending physical wounds.

I didn't know the first thing about emotional healing — especially not for an alien species!

And yet, thinking back on Ceara's quiet moments, his distant gaze, I could see a hint of the brokenness the Supervisor was talking about.

In our shared moments, I had seen a vulnerable side of him, a side that hinted at past traumas and deep-seated pain.

I remembered his tender touch, the way his eyes bore into mine, as if searching for some solace.

Could I really help him overcome his emotional pain?

The Supervisor's words echoed in my mind, pulling me out of my thoughts.

Fixing Ceara emotionally — the task seemed monumental, yet undeniably important.

In the chilling sterility of the Supervisor's office, my mind swam with a barrage of emotions.

Fear, anxiety, and an undeniable hint of intrigue battled for dominance as I processed his words.

Heal Ceara emotionally.

The task felt like a mountain to climb, but the hidden implications of his words hit me harder than any physical mountain ever could.

The Supervisor's eyes, cold and calculating, danced with unspoken meaning.

Intimacy.

He was suggesting emotional healing through intimacy.

The thought caused a visceral reaction in me, my stomach lurching as the blood drained from my face.

"I don't…" I trailed off, unable to articulate the myriad of thoughts swirling in my head.

Could I really do this?

Be intimate with Ceara?

With Ceara who was strange, unpredictable, and yet… surprisingly gentle in his own way?

With Ceara who had shown me a vulnerability that contradicted his tough exterior?

The Supervisor's voice broke through my turmoil. "You have a choice, Ellie. Heal Ceara, or I can return you to the Prize Pool."

The threat hung in the air like a chilling mist, suffocating me with its weight.

The Prize Pool — a place where female captives were reduced to commodities, Claimed by Champions of the fighting pit.

I'd narrowly escaped it once, I couldn't go back there again.

Desperation clung to my skin like a thin sheen of sweat, the sour taste of fear filling my mouth.

There had to be a way out of this situation.

A bargain.

If I had to traverse this intimidating path of emotional healing, I deserved something in return.

Taking a steadying breath, I leveled my gaze at the Supervisor. "If I do this… if I help heal Ceara emotionally," I began, my voice firmer than I felt, "I want something in return."

The Supervisor raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "And what might that be?" he asked, a hint of amusement in his tone.

"I want to leave Ikmal as soon as possible. On a private shuttle, straight back to Earth."

My heart pounded in my chest as I stated my terms.

The thought of returning to Earth, to my normal life, was like a beacon of hope amidst the turmoil.

He studied me for a moment, his eyes narrowed in thought.

The silence in the room was deafening, the only sound the steady hum of the ship's machinery.

The wait was torture.

After what felt like an eternity, the Supervisor nodded. "Very well," he agreed, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips, "If you can heal him so he can perform his task, I'll ensure you are on the first shuttle back to Earth."

Relief washed over me, sweet and cleansing.

It felt like a small victory in an otherwise overwhelming situation.

Still, the Supervisor's office suddenly felt claustrophobic, the harsh fluorescent lighting illuminating the metallic surfaces that surrounded us, casting long, foreboding shadows.

My heart pounded in my chest like a caged bird eager to be free, matching the frenzied thoughts racing through my mind.

I stared at the Supervisor, my gaze steady despite the apprehension bubbling beneath my surface.

If I was to navigate through this labyrinth of emotional healing, I needed control over the situation.

The guards couldn't just whisk Ceara away whenever they pleased.

I needed time, stability.

I cleared my throat, breaking the lingering silence that hung between us like a dense fog. "I need control," I began, my voice echoing slightly in the vast room. "Your guards…. they can't just take Ceara away when I'm trying to heal him. I need more time with him."

The Supervisor regarded me with an expression that was hard to decipher.

It was as if he was trying to peer into the depths of my mind, to gauge the sincerity of my words.

The sensation was unsettling.

He leaned back in his chair, studying me for what felt like an eternity.

The hum of the prison's machinery was the only sound that filled the room, the repetitive drone mirroring the persistent drum of my heartbeat.

"Very well," he finally said, the words seeming to hang in the air before they reached my ears.

The relief that washed over me was instant, like a cool breeze after a scorching day.

But it was quickly replaced by a twisting sensation in the pit of my stomach, a gnawing feeling of trepidation.

What was I getting myself into?

The thought of getting closer to Ceara, of forging a connection that went beyond mere acquaintance, was a daunting prospect.

His world, his experiences were far removed from my own.

Could I really bridge that gap?

As the Supervisor dismissed me with a curt nod, I found my feet carrying me back to the cell.

My mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, anxiety and determination warring for dominance.

I was light years away from home, tasked with a mission that seemed insurmountable.