Author's Note: I hope you enjoy this next chapter. I am trying to keep the plot moving, despite shifting between perspectives, but if it feels like it is dragging at all, please let me know. Thank you for reading!

Guards lead me to her room early in the morning. Secretly, I regret my decision to come here. The smell in the halls is stale and rancid, and the walls are crumbling. The screams are the worst. They reverberate through the stone and chill me to my core. In all my years commanding my military, in all the abuse I have taken as well as witnessed, I have never heard screams like these. They are mad, out of control, completely reckless and uncaring. They are a new kind of desperation I hope I never know. The only thing that keeps me here is the knowledge that this is the only way to get the answers I need. I am anxious to interact with her. This mysterious girl and her deadly skin have occupied my thoughts for a long time.

I cringe the moment I enter the room. If it is possible, the air is more stagnant here. There are two simple beds, one spread with a thin blanket and worn pillow for myself, and one containing the sleeping form I am here to observe.

It is odd to be here. Everything in this place contrasts harshly with the place I grew up. The base is organized, functions like a well-oiled machine, and, most importantly, is clean. Here cracks line the walls and evidence of animal habitation is evident. I observe all of this, and yet, oddly enough, I associate none of it with the girl. Her bed, the meager mattress that it is, is in better condition than most patient's. Her blanket is tucked around her bed like a properly made bed, and she cleans her clothing to the best of her ability at every opportunity. In the midst of disorder, she has made her living quarters respectfully habitable. She may look broken, but something in her persists, refusing the decline others have taken.

Unwittingly, this girl- I remind myself to refer to her by name- this Juliette, has made herself into an enigma. She has been the object of my fascination for quite a while. It began, and remains for the most part, as a way to help my mother. I was researching people like her to hopefully release her from the torture she experiences day in and day out. Then, out of the blue, it became something more. I was no longer driven to get out of bed by the idea that I was saving my mother, but by the thought that I could see Juliette.

She has this innate ability to remain absolutely still for hours on end. It was mesmerizing. Sometimes I see her lips move, they seem to be counting, over and over again. Only once did I ever hear her speak.

I made sure to maintain my emotional distance, however. I know far too well how easy it is to lose someone in this world, and how hard it is to let go. I had been content studying her from a distance, through security cameras and police report. Everything was going well until she began to worm her way into my work. I found myself muttering her name in meetings, losing my train of thought in favor of one about her while instructing my soldiers. This could not happen, would not do. My father insisted that I make something useful of her before he did it himself. I would not let him touch her.

Vaguely, I worry about what atrocities he is forcing upon my soldiers back on base or on my mother at my house. I cannot think of those things, though because they will just send me out of here, back into the lion's den with no way of curing my mother. I have to focus. I build the walls in my mind. Brick by brick, wall by wall, the room goes up. It covers the one I am seeing now, blocking out the grey walls and the horrifying smell.

My heart rate calms and I sit cross-legged on the mattress opposite Juliette. She is sleeping and likely will be for a while. The workers slipped a sedative into her food so they could sneak me in here. They are all too fearful of her to deal with her while she is awake. Horrible as it sounds, I am glad that her touch can kill. Many of my soldiers are desperate, foolish men pulled from the war torn world. Many have not seen women for years. Many would do horrible things to this poor girl just to forget their troubles, and that I cannot stand for. They cannot break my weapon before I have the chance to learn what I can.

I soon realize that I am not a patient person. I am driven, organized and committed to long-term results, but I have never been good at sitting and waiting. My body itches to move and accomplish something. Habit tells me I should be giving orders and signing my name to paperwork. Without all the craziness of my everyday life, I am lost. Pacing the cell would serve no purpose but to make me dizzy. Even my closet on base is larger than this. I think up other physical distractions like sit ups or push ups. These would be especially useful considering the training time I am losing, but I fear I will wake her. I am impatient, but I am not cruel. She deserves all the sleep she can get in here. It is the only escape.

The screaming continues.

Finally, when my muscles are stiff from waiting, the first rays of light trickle in through the window. The analytical part of my mind reminds me that Juliette tends to be an early riser. I'd like to say this is something we have in common, but more often than not it isn't that I wake up early, it is that I never go to sleep.

The girl rolls over in her sleep. My back straightens, my body prepares for the show I must put on, but she only settles back into the mattress again. The tips of the strands brush the floor. I want to move them, I despise the thought of them getting dirty, but touching an untouchable girl in her sleep is a dangerous move.

Her breathing becomes calm again, and I settle against the wall. My excitement is building. I wish I had waited longer before coming. The less time in this horrid place, the better. I wish I had thought more of the feeling of fresh air on my face. I wish I had respected my freedom a little more.

264 days. She has been locked up for 264 days.

God, I want to talk to her.

My focus returns to the sky outside. It is bright blue, yellow light spilling across the windowsill, though never could that window be a substitution for the real thing. The day is warm, luckily. The chill is sucked right out of the room, replaced by a comfortable, albeit stuffy, air.

All through the sunrise I tap my fingers, angling them so the pads of my fingertips hit the concrete instead of the nail. I rake my fingers through my hair, disrupting one of the strands. I immediately want to fix it, but I think of the believability it will add to my story. I need to her believe me. I need Juliette to cooperate. This is my only chance. The tension mounts.

Finally, the sun rises high enough. It was tracing a slow path across the floor all morning and has fallen across her eyes at last. My roommate begins to stir. She sighs, quietly, but loudly enough to alert me. Slowly, joints cracking, she pushes off the mattress and stretches her long limbs. Her shadow is willowy, her bedhead adding to the effect. The girl spends a moment in complete stillness, seeming almost to meditate, before springing into action. Juliette remakes her bed quickly and efficiently. My heart leaps at the thought that she will soon find me here.

Panic overtakes rational thought.

Should I say something? Should I clear my throat?

I contemplate laying down and pretending to be asleep, letting her decide how to greet me.

Just as I move to lay back, I am caught by the most captivating eyes I have ever seen. They are blue but green at their heart. The sea and the sky mingle in her irises. Deeper and wider than the ocean, they make me feel like I am floating. Her eyes carry an air of mystery, a message that welcomes but cautions. Everything about them is enchanting and they are both locked on me.

Juliette has frozen like prey in the eyes of the predator. Anxious as a deer, she remains in one spot, the only thing that moves are her eyes. Her mouth hangs open, revealing perfectly white teeth. She doesn't breathe. I know she is afraid, and I am sorry to provoke this feeling in her. I can do nothing I can do until she moves, breathes again. Like a wild animal, I must let her come to me.

It goes against my nature. I am the pursuer, I get things done quickly and efficiently, checking them off as if they are nothing. Had she been a prisoner brought to base, we would be halfway through an interrogation by now. But there is no one here but the two of us. The cameras have been shut off at my request. I try not to think about my father overriding that command, and remain completely still until she finally moves. Her eyes finally find mine, their last stop on her search of my body, then flicker away.

"Hello," I say, not sure I can trust my own voice. "What's your name, love?"