There was also a general ache and a nauseous feeling, but he had the sense that it all could have been much worse. He tried to sit up, but then immediately regretted the action and fell back on the bed with a loud groan. Bed? He opened his eyes and took in his surroundings. He was in a small, dimly lit little house. It reminded him of country houses back home, especially with the stove in the middle of the room. The room smelled like winter, potatoes, and a faint hint of tea. Where was he? Had he been figured out? Captured? But no, if someone had figured out his artifice he would not have been lying in a bed, and he certainly would not have been in someone's home. Movement caught his eye as a shadow by the fireplace turned toward him, then stood up. Sasha's eyes widened as the light fell across a face that left him breathless. The boy was handsome, the sort of flame that drew moths and convinced them they were happy to die just for a chance to touch. Something in his chest twisted, ached, left him longing for … something … and then the shadowy memory slipped away from him once more.
