Chapter 12 Rhett
Time has a way of accelerating when you know it’s running out.
Colt and Jules are bracketing the pool table, shots lined up between them, but it’s Bam who’s in charge of the atmosphere.
He’s perched on the leather arm of the couch, not moving except for the flick of his eyes.
He does that, sometimes, goes perfectly still and turns the room into a habitat where you know you’re being watched.
I keep my back to the balcony, glass in hand, and survey the pack.
Julian is talking, as usual. “The Mafia have it right, you know. Their bloodlines, their structure—everybody gets a job, even if it’s just to polish shoes.
Here, all anyone does is talk about how much power they have, but when the Night Hunt comes, they realize that the only ones with power are the Hunters because we decide the next bloodlines. ”
He lines up a shot, sinks the seven. “Heard Abelard is betting on Isolde making it to sunrise and choosing death.”
Colton’s mouth flickers. “Or maybe they’re just scared she will make it.
The Greenwood’s aren’t exactly prime breeding stock, but it’s all they could do to shut her up given the whole Casey thing.
Casey was chosen because of her intelligence.
She was in MENSA, but Isolde was just a snoopy slut. Mixed blood, pure drama.”
My lips tighten with the urge of decking my friend in the face, but he’s not entirely wrong. Issy is smart, but she’s cunning too. Deadly mix when it comes to being nosy around the Academy. The Hunt will tame her, make her one of us.
Keep her quiet.
Colt barks a laugh. “Or maybe they just want to see one of us fuck up again.” He swings around, cues at nothing. “Bet they have money riding on it.”
I swirl my whiskey, let the bite of it burn all the way down. “The Board doesn’t gamble. They fix.”
Colton fixes me with a look. “You ready?”
I glance at the clock. Seventy-five minutes until I’m on the field. “I’ve never been unready.”
Colt throws his cue down and bats his eyes. “Not the real question, darling. The last time they paired a Greenwood with a Grey, it was ended in an investigation. It almost ended with a goddamn firing squad for fucks sake. So forgive me if I’m invested in what your plans are.”
He pours a double and sits on the arm next to Bam. “Tell me, Rhett: when you catch her, do you plan to kill her or keep her?”
I sigh and roll my eyes.
Bam breaks it with a snort. “He’s gonna keep her, that’s what he’ll do. Board’s counting on it. They’re all hoping he fails, though.”
I tap the rim of my glass. “They want me to fail so they can fill Cai’s seat with someone else.”
Colton nods. “Means they’re scared of you.”
Means they’re scared of what I’ll do if I win, is what he’s not saying.
Julian lounges, legs splayed. “The real show is what comes after. Last year they said you’d never Hunt again. Now they’re practically crowning you already.”
Bam grins, all teeth. “They just want to see if he’ll kill this one, too.”
I don’t flinch. I earned every rumor they circulate about me.
The room falls quiet. The only noise is the clink of glass and the faint echo of the girls’ laughter from the hall, filtered and distant. The whole world feels like it’s holding its breath.
I drain the whiskey, let it fill the hollow inside. Then I set the glass down, just so, and check my phone.
One missed call. No message. The number is international.
The others see the shift in my face. Bam’s voice drops, “That Cai?”
I nod.
Julian perks up. “Put him on. I want to hear his voice. I miss his bullshit.”
I thumb the callback and hit speaker. After two rings, he answers.
“Rhett.” His voice is older, happier.
“Caius. Nice to hear from you, brother. It’s my turn tonight.”
A pause. Then, “So I hear. The Greenwood girl.”
Julian leans in, all anticipation. “The one with the dead sister. She’s fun. Not quite as fun as O, but she will put up a good fight.”
Caius snorts. “Is that my Greek chorus?”
“They’re here,” I say. “We’re all here.”
Colton waves at the phone like an idiot.
Bam grunts, “Hey, Montgomery. Still alive?”
“Barely.” Caius’s humor is dry. “But let’s talk about you. The Board’s running out of fire trying to get to us, so they’re going to be frothing at the mouth tonight.”
I cut to it. “What do you want?”
He doesn’t answer directly. “When do you start?”
“Sixty minutes.” I check the clock again.
Another pause. “Don’t fail, Rhett. I’m counting on you to finish what I started.”
Julian chimes in, “You mean steal your girl and run to some compound like a coward?”
A laugh, brief and clipped. “No, Jules. I mean burn the fucking Academy down. They don’t deserve us. You know that better than anyone.”
Bam takes the phone from the table and growls into it. “You sound mad, Montgomery.”
“I am mad. But I’m also free.” His tone turns grave. “Listen. There’s news. O’s pregnant.”
Colton’s mouth drops. Julian actually sits up straight. I blink.
“What?”
Caius presses on. “O’s pregnant. We’re in hiding here for another month, then we’ll move. Out to Pineridge. You tell anyone, I’ll gut you personally.”
I take a moment to absorb. “Congratulations, I guess.”
“She’s happy.” There’s a weight in the words I’ve never heard from him.
“Girl or boy?” Bam asks.
“Doesn’t matter.” Caius’s voice softens. “Neither of us ever want to raise a killer.”
Julian finds his smile. “What if the kid wants to Hunt, though?”
“Then the kid can come back and kill you all,” Caius says, dead serious.
There’s a silence, almost reverent.
He comes back to business. “How’s your girl?”
I think of Isolde, all rage and bone and haunted eyes. “She’s not ready. But she thinks she is.”
“Don’t underestimate her,” Caius warns. “They never look tough until the blood is on their hands. If you want to win, you’ll have to claim her the old-fashioned way.”
“I’m aware.”
“Afterwards,” Caius says, “what are you going to do?”
Julian and Colton both lean in, waiting.
I flex my hand around the phone, knuckles going white. “I’ll stay at Westpoint.”
Caius exhales, slow and long. “Take my chair, then. And when they ask you for the firstborn, remember—”
I finish for him. “I’ll kill them before they touch what’s mine.”
Bam laughs, but there’s something feral in it.
Caius says, “Don’t let them take your bloodline, Rhett. They only respect what they fear. Remember that.”
“I will,” I say.
We’re silent again, just boys turned men, on a call, each of us too proud to admit we care.
Caius breaks it first. “Good luck, Grey.”
“Don’t need it. I’ll call again, soon.”
He hangs up. I put the phone down and stare at it, feeling the weight of everything I never say.
Julian stands, stretches, and pours another round. “Well, that was depressing. Shall we toast to your imminent success?”
I take my glass. “To the future.”
Colton lifts his. “To the Night Hunt.”
Bam drains his in one. “To the blood.”
We finish the bottle. No one mentions the fact that this is the last time we’ll drink together as equals.
After the Hunt, after I claim my girl, I will rise to a position of power, for better or worse.
The clock ticks down.
I stand, roll my neck. Every muscle is tense, every nerve on fire.
Julian throws an arm around my shoulder, then thinks better of it and lets go. “You ready?”
“I was born ready.”
Colton smirks. “Prove it.”
I leave the lounge. My private quarters are down the hall, second door on the left. The key fits perfectly, turns with a soft snick.
Inside, it’s a study in contrast: black walls, black desk, blacked-out window, but the bookshelves are white, the bed white, the armchair white.
I strip off my shirt, toss it in the hamper. The new one is black, tailored to fit like skin. The pants are the same. I slide gloves on.
The last thing is the mask. Venetian, half-face. Masks aren’t mandatory, but I feel it’s fitting. I run my thumb over the edge, feel the ridges, the places where the paint has chipped. I wore this to the masquerade, the night Isolde realized she couldn’t hide from me even in a room full of masks.
I tie it on, check the mirror.
What looks back is less a man than a shadow. The eyes are gone, replaced by flat, reflective holes.
I think of Casey again, of the way her eyes changed in the last second before she fell. She knew. She knew that was how our story was meant to end.
To make way for the future.
My future.
Isolde’s too.
Isolde is smarter than Casey. Meaner, too. She won’t run unless she wants to be caught. She’ll fight.
I want her to fight.
The gloves are tight, but I like it. I flex my hands, make fists, release.
In the mirror, I see the smallest crack—a flicker of regret, the old guilt gnawing through my resolve. I force it down. There’s no room for that tonight. Not if I want to win.
For a second, I let myself imagine the alternative. Caius’s route: run, take the girl, disappear into the world and let the Board burn from the inside out. It’s tempting, the idea of freedom.
But I’m not Caius. I don’t run.
I rule.
I finish the look, black tie knotted to perfection, jacket slung over my shoulders.
The last thing I do before leaving is check the photo on my nightstand. It’s from our first year, before everything got so ugly. Five Feral Boys, all teeth and bravado, shoulder to shoulder on the steps of the old chapel. I stare at it for a minute. Then I turn it down.
Heading out, the rest of them follow and the door closes behind us.
We’re ready. Let the games begin.
The passage to the field is a long walk, unless you take the abandoned underground amphitheater route.
It winds, like a trap, through a corridor built centuries ago, designed to muffle sound and amplify fear.
The walls are stone, wet with condensation, veins of frost creeping in delicate fractures.
The steps curve down, then up, then down again, as if the architects wanted to confuse you before you reached the theater.
The outside is dilapidated, just piles of rock, but this passage withstood the test of time.
Colton moves in step with me, two paces behind and to the left. Bam thunders up the rear, every step vibrating the floor, while Julian floats in the middle, whistling some random tune.
At each bend in the corridor, a torch is mounted to the wall, burning low. The smoke trails up, clinging to the ceiling. On some sections, the stone is carved with names and dates, a ledger of the Hunted and their fate.
A sharp left, and the corridor opens up.
Ahead is the opening. The floor here is rough, scored by hundreds of boots and the shuffle of terrified feet.
This is where the Board used to stand and pronounce the rules, back when the Hunt was more of a Gladiator ritual than a true primal event. Now it’s a relic, a forgotten memory.
We stop. Colton stares at the field, then back at me. “She’ll be in white, right?”
“Yep,” I say.
He nods. “You ever think about wearing white instead?”
“Not my color.”
Julian smiles from behind. “I think it would suit you, actually, given your entire room is white. Maybe with a crown of thorns?”
Bam grunts, “He’d wear the blood better than Jesus.”
“Black doesn’t show stains.”
We keep walking.
Boulders and stones lie haphazardly across frosted grass as we go, moving towards where the main event will take place. The field beyond is dusted with light snow. At the far side, a low platform has been set up, draped in black velvet, two chairs facing the arena, elevated above the rabble.
The crowd is here, just as I expected. Mafia in tailored suits, Eastern Euro types with scars and tattoos, two dozen of the old-money funders in navy cashmere and double-breasted wool.
The Board sits together, all in black, hoods up and faces half-hidden.
Abelard and Valence stand in front of the boulder that serves as our alter, backs to the wind, motionless.
They’re all looking at me.
I lead the Boys down the path towards them. No one claps. No one even whispers. All you can hear is the wind and the faint crackle of torchlight.
We take our seats on the lower tier, a half-circle around the ritual zone. On the boulder is a white cloth and two daggers—one for the Hunter, one for the Hunted. It’s a redundancy, but the Board loves its symmetry.
Slight variation from Caius’ ritual, where they decided that for the sake of cleanliness and hygiene, each of us gets our own to cut our palms with and bind ourselves together.
Not that I get the fucking point, we’ve swapped bodily fluids so whatever the fuck she’s got, I got it too.
I don’t care, in any case. I’m watching the other entrance, the path where Isolde will be coming from. It’s empty. For now.
Abelard turns to the crowd. His voice, even in a whisper, carries. “Tonight we honor tradition. Tonight we test the worth of our future. Should the Hunter succeed, he claims both the prize and his place. Should he fail—”
Valence cuts in, “—the consequences are self-evident.”
A low chuckle from the Board. Everyone loves a little theater.
Bam leans over, voice low. “You see her?”
I shake my head.
Colton cracks his knuckles, restless. “Hmmm. Interesting.”
Julian licks his lips, tapping his toes on the ground. “Wonder if she will run or fight. Bets on fighting. Maybe she will hit you with a stick.”
“Shut the fuck up.” I snarl. “Idiot.”
Abelard drones on, but I’m not listening, I’m waiting.
Watching.
Soon, my little wildcat will walk down that path and the games will begin.