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“YOU PROMISED YOU’D LET ME SEE HIM!” Edward roared, and slammed his right fist into the desk, hard enough to dent.
It was only when a shot of pain rocketed through his hand that he forgot it was no longer metal, and the heavy wood of the desk was undamaged.
The commander just raised his eyebrows. “I promised nothing, boy,” he drawled, “I said if you turned in a decent report, I might let you see your brother.”
Edward ground his teeth and resisted the urge to kick that smug, mocking sneer off the commander’s pallid face. “IS THIRTEEN PAGES NOT DECENT FOR YOU?!”
“Your handwriting is atrocious.” Edward could hear him bite back a cackle as he said it.
He saw red. Before he even registered what he was doing, he flung himself over the desk and socked the commander in the jaw, in the nose, in the throat, again and again and again until his fist was covered in blood.
His blood pounded in his ears, hot and furious. A vicious, primal chant of make him suffer, make him suffer, MAKE HIM SUFFER pounded against his head.
He didn’t stop even when the man fired a shot that sailed right into the ceiling, he didn’t stop when the door crashed open, he didn’t stop until several pairs of hands wrapped around him and pinned him to the ground, kicking and screaming, until he exhausted himself and went limp.
The commander barked something in Drachman, and one of the men holding Edward down, the one with the blue sash and curly hair, tensed, his hazel eyes growing wide.
Edward began to struggle anew.
One man, with strawberry-blonde hair and a red sash, grabbed his head to keep him from turning it.
The other laid a hand on Edward’s forehead. He struggled harder. “Let me go! Let me go! LET ME GO!”
And then the man clenched his hand, and the breath in Edward’s lungs froze.
He kicked and writhed and tried to scream, but no sound came out.
Just as he was about to pass out, the man let go, and he dragged in a desperate breath.
Then the man clamped down again. Edward kicked and struggled with all his strength, but all that did was make him go light-headed faster.
He didn’t know how long it went on, hours or minutes, but he welcomed the embrace of unconsciousness.
—
When he woke up, he was lying outside an abandoned warehouse. The Drachmans were nowhere in sight, and night was falling. He had to have been there for hours.
Edward picked himself up and headed out of the warehouse district, and didn’t let himself cry until he was back at the barracks.