Zawla (The Hallans #1) Read Online Bethany-Kris

Categories Genre: Alien, Fantasy/Sci-fi, Insta-Love Tags Authors: Series: The Hallans Series by Bethany-Kris
Advertisement1

Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
<<<<78910111929>89
Advertisement2


I hear earpieces beep around the room at different intervals, calling the humans away one by one until only two are left to shut off the lights of the laboratory, leaving me in darkness swathing the space around me in shadows that I struggle to see through. I don’t even bother to watch them exit behind the sliding panel that will take them back upstairs.

The silence of the lab echoes.

I am truly, and finally, alone.

I only wait a beat or two longer before stretching my legs in the cage by pacing the ten or so strides it takes me to get from one side to the other. At least, I can appreciate the size and girth of my prison, even if the welds into the casing around the floor makes me curious to see if I could tear it apart by putting a bit of pressure—

Don’t get yourself in trouble, Bo.

I can practically hear my father warning me to be mindful of my trouble-finding nature the same way he would when I was a boy that promised to be back before the day ended.

He never did like that much.

At home, a day stretched on and on …

How long is a day here?

My quiet musings and private thoughts keep me company as I finally open the survival bag to dig for a couple of items that will get me through a bit of time even if it isn’t much. I find my way into the far corner of the cage, knees bent and widened with the bag placed to the cold, stone-like floor between my legs. I eye the space around me a while longer as I palm the items.

One, a sharp, small carving knife.

Perfect for food.

In my other awaits a bulbous bottomed fruit that stores particularly well in long travel thanks to the thick, yellow skin, and also happens to be my favorite from Hallalah. Slicing wedges from my treat, I use the tip of the knife to spear into the fruit before popping it inside my mouth. Nothing about the laboratory is different in the darkness, but without so many pairs of eyes watching me, it’s easier to freely survey the space.

Or what I can see of it.

I highly doubt sleep will find me, and I know my thoughts are correct when I finish my snack, but the last thing on my mind is rest. Instead, I pack away the carving knife and stand to pace the length of the cage again, just a step away from the bars lining my only exit from the floor to the ceiling overhead.

I’m still looking that way when a quiet gasp just a room away has me spinning around inside the cage to face a sight I least expect standing just beyond the wall of glass.

It’s no longer the library and all its books that interest me.

My attention is solely on the female standing within it.

THREE

“Dinner is served, General Lockett,” a servant tells my father as he enters the dining room.

No, dinner is cold now, I say in my mind, but I don’t dare to utter the words as I watch him take his seat across from me.

Well, across sounds like a lie when it truly means there are eight chairs between my end of the table and his. Yet, my father insists on us eating like this, even when no one else joins us. But I can at least be grateful for that tonight, I guess. That we’re dining alone instead of his superiors sharing our meals. They always make me feel so uncomfortable, with their lingering stares and measured words.

Nonetheless, guests or not, I have been made to sit here, waiting for my father. It didn’t matter that the smells of the meal before me were wafting into my nose or that I watched the steam slowly disappear until I was sure my food would be lukewarm at best. No one eats until my father does. Not even the servants.

“Please,” my father says, while gesturing at my plate.

I give him a tight smile and pierce a piece of chicken with my fork. The moment I put the cold piece into my mouth, I know that I will not enjoy this meal, but as he always does, my father will watch me to ensure I eat every bite.

“Do not waste what The New Order has provided,” he would state.

The New Order. Nothing but tyrannical men who gained their power when this planet was desperate for any type of restoration. Wars rendered Earth nearly uninhabitable, but The New Order, oh, they’d brought it back to its former glory. And then they began to shape the world the way they felt it always should have been. Men in power, ruling over all. Women in their homes, subservient and meek. Everything issued by the government, if one could call it that, clothing delivered once a month, and seven days of pre-portioned meals once a week, according to the size of one’s family.


Advertisement3

<<<<78910111929>89

Advertisement4