80. Cyrus
CYRUS
The time is here.
I swept over the pathway like a storm, churning with a decade of pent up fury. Tonight, everything would be released.
I want her to feel all of the pain that she’s put me through. I want her to admit her sins. And then, I’ll make her pay.
I didn’t see how else this could end — how I would know any peace until she knew what she’d done, stopped looking at me with those innocent, brilliant blue eyes.
Now that I’d had her in my reach, I couldn’t live knowing that she was out in the world somewhere. And I couldn’t survive having the salt of her rubbed into my wounds every day.
It’s the only way.
I’ll take my revenge and then she’ll be gone. Forever.
At least that’s what I told myself to quiet the twisting guilt deep in my gut. She’d earned her fate. The others would forgive me. They had to — we were all each other had.
Or at least we had been, before she stumbled in and ruined it all again.
Unease wove its way into my nerves, weighing down my every movement. Shaking my head, I let out a roar that echoed off the mountains in the distance: a desperate attempt to exorcise whatever mystic hold the bitch had over me.
There was no room for interpretation. The cards had promised me my vengeance — the prophecy hinged on it. Three of swords: heartbreak, betrayal, grief. I had lived through so much, but no tragedy had invoked those feelings more than Tess Montgomery.
The brand on my skull was a promise: one I couldn’t afford to forget now.
She’s mine. She has to be mine.
I deaded off any part of my conscience that disagreed and burned it with fire.
Guilt is for humans. Tonight, I’m a hunter.
Tightening my grip on my machete, I trudged onward toward Rapid Rush. With each step, I could feel my psyche reaching out, begging some higher power to let tonight be my night.
I wasn’t sure what I thought was out there: certainly not the false god that Heirs of Promise had proselytized. But the cards had never led me astray, and it was impossible to imagine that there wasn’t some unseen hand shuffling the deck.
And just as the thought crossed my mind, I saw it — a roughly swept trail of dirt that branched off the path to the Rapids and veered toward the Old Frontier.
Of course that’s where she’d hide. Trying to finish this game back where we started it.
I almost laughed, but solemn understanding choked out the sound. I hadn’t pulled the Old Frontier. None of us had.
The rules were clear: for six hours, she was off limits.
But wasn’t I just asking for a sign?
The thought felt like sacrilege. These rules were a sacred promise, the thin veil that separated what we did from the laws of wild animals.
Animals did not swear oaths, did not seek justice, did not believe in any higher power than the violence of their own making.
But humans? We evolved past that, constantly striving to create order from the chaos of the world. Or we were supposed to.
Nash, Blade, and I had tried to. We’d discovered this system, a way to embrace the most animal and human parts of ourselves at once. But as I stared down the dragpath that veered into the old world, I feared that the contract had always been tentative.
How utterly human to give myself this excuse?
Before my better judgment could override my instincts, I turned off the set path and disappeared into the shadows. My revenge would be best served when she was alone: when the rules hadn’t lifted yet and no one else could swoop in to save her.
The three of hearts: betrayal.
Maybe I was a traitor. Or maybe the universe was speaking to me. My heavy heart couldn’t tell the difference anymore.
As I charged down the old cobblestone, I clutched my machete tight. Only one thing was certain: I was going to claim what was mine.