Chapter 26 August
AUGUST
The screams went on for hours. August had expected them to stop eventually, but they continued to echo through the night and into morning.
After a while, the broken sounds seemed to blend in with the encampment’s natural symphony.
A few Demiens glanced toward the tent, the briefest hint of concern on their faces, but nobody bothered to stop and investigate.
Hell, some even looked amused, snickering in delight as they passed the tent.
August had tried everything to distract himself from the sound of Wren’s cries.
He attended the morning battle simulation.
He taught another set of history classes.
He tried, with every last shred of restraint he had left, to play the part of the ruthless, unfeeling general.
But his facade was slipping with every echo of Wren’s hoarse screams. His willpower cracking.
He wasn’t sure how much longer he could endure this suffering.
How much longer he was capable of hearing her scream and not doing something about it.
Not to mention that their window of opportunity had almost closed.
In a few hours, the initial festivities for the Equinox Gathering would begin.
If August couldn’t find a way to get Wren out of that damn tent by nightfall…
then it would all fall apart. August would be forced to cast the Reaper’s Kiss.
And Wren’s destiny would be solidified—she would be bound to become the catalyst of destruction, once and for all.
Their fates carved into stone.
Forced to meet their ruinous ends.
August was standing outside the tent now, hands clasped behind his back, fingernails biting into the flesh of his palms. Guilt gnawed at his bones.
Deep down, he knew it wasn’t his fault, that Edith would have tortured Wren with her death even if he hadn’t come.
But it still felt wrong to simply stand back and listen—to seemingly do nothing.
“How is she?” asked a voice behind him.
When August turned to face the source of the voice—Quinn Woodrow—he swallowed back any lingering guilt, contorting his features into that impenetrable mask he made sure to wear around the encampment.
A withering scowl. Gray eyes void of emotion.
Nothing but stone-cold indifference. Though, truthfully, if he was honest with himself, that facade was becoming easier and easier to slip back into with every drop of shadow magic he used.
“How do you think?” asked August, voice rough.
Quinn’s eyes lingered on the entrance to the tent. She seemed…torn. Her teeth worried at her bottom lip, fingers drumming against her thighs. It was odd, to see so much palpable emotion written upon a Demien’s face. Even those within Silver Unit did their best to mask their stubborn emotions.
“And there hasn’t—” Quinn cut herself off, shifting from one foot to the other. “She hasn’t…”
“No,” August supplied sternly, understanding Quinn’s unspoken question. “She hasn’t transformed into the catalyst yet.”
At that moment, another scream echoed from within the tent. The sound felt like a thousand rusted nails scraping against August’s skin—a torment beyond anything he had ever endured. When he glanced at Quinn, he was surprised to find the same terror he felt reflected upon her face.
“But maybe…” Her voice trailed off.
“What?”
“Maybe we could find a way to convince Edith to stop.”
And that was all it took for August to snap. He reached out, gripping Quinn by the wrist, and dragged her to the side of the tent, away from any prying eyes. Before she could even open her mouth to protest, August was pinning her against the tentpole, holding her in place with his forearm.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he hissed. The shadows running through his veins hummed in satisfaction, relishing his anger, but he ignored their call, willing them to stay put.
“What”—Quinn tried to yank herself free, but August held firm—“are you talking about?”
August leaned in closer.
“Your emotions are showing, Private Woodrow.” August did his best to seem menacing, his voice a seething whisper. He needed her to be afraid—fear was the only thing that could save her now. “Are you trying to get yourself branded for treason? Marked as defected?”
“I’m not…” Quinn scoffed, though August didn’t miss the slight flicker of panic passing over her eyes. “That isn’t what this is about.”
“You’re doubting the Soulless One.” His words were an accusation. “I can see it written all over your face.”
Quinn balked.
“That’s not—”
“A word of advice,” August whispered through gritted teeth, yanking Quinn forward by her wrist. Her face contorted into a scowl, but to her credit—she didn’t flinch.
She didn’t cower under his gaze. “Demiens aren’t supposed to care.
You’re supposed to carve out your humanity and succumb to the shadows.
No emotions. No remorse. No feeling.” He tilted his head, tutting.
“And you’re definitely not supposed to become friends with the prophesized catalyst.”
“She’s not my friend,” Quinn shot back.
August scanned her face. The realization hit him a moment later.
“But you still care.”
“And you don’t?”
August blinked, taken aback. “Excuse me?”
Quinn glanced over her shoulder, lowering her voice.
“You might have everyone else fooled—hell, you might even have Edith fooled—but not me,” she whispered, eyes searing into his with surprising courage.
“I was there when you two were in Blackwood. I saw how you were together. How you looked at her. That kind of twisted codependence doesn’t just vanish—”
“I would think very carefully about what you say next.” August inhaled a deep breath and a slithering shadow sprouted from his palm, wrapping around Quinn’s wrist. One more shadow, August thought.
One more inch closer to the darkness. Inside him, something stirred…
fury and rage and something far more rotten.
Something he didn’t dare acknowledge. “Because it almost sounds like you’re accusing me of treason. ”
“No.” Quinn shook her head. “I’m not. But”—she leaned closer—“I am saying I would understand.”
August flinched. He scanned her face, searching for some flicker of dishonesty, but all he saw was a bone-chilling sincerity etched upon her face. Can I trust her? The question echoed in August’s mind. It would be a risk, revealing the truth of his motives, trusting anyone but himself.
“You should be more careful,” he suggested in a hoarse whisper. “You’re supposed to cast the Reaper’s Kiss tonight at Equinox. These kinds of thoughts…these kinds of doubts…they could lead to your ruin.”
Quinn’s face paled. When she spoke, her voice wavered. “Are you threatening me?”
August stepped closer. “I’m warning you.”
Quinn assessed him. She was clearly just as torn as August was—battling her better instincts, confronted with the question of whether or not she could trust him. But she must have read something in August’s expression, because she stepped closer, and all at once, her walls came crumbling down.
“We want to help her,” she blurted out.
August glanced over his shoulder, paranoia coursing through him, but nobody seemed to be around. Not that that mattered. Anybody could be listening. Watching. He was constantly being monitored and followed by other Onyx Unit Demiens, shadows tailing him that he couldn’t shake off.
“Quinn—” August whispered her name through gritted teeth, but she interrupted, eyes welling with heartbreaking desperation.
“No,” she muttered, shaking her head. “I can’t.
I can’t keep pretending.” Her chest rose and fell with panicked breaths as she continued, the words tumbling out of her, as if she was trying to speak before she could convince herself otherwise.
“Artie and I have been trying to plan an escape for her since the beginning. The timing has just been off. We figured if we gave her access to roam the encampment more freely, she’d take it upon herself to investigate—”
“Wait.” August cut her off. “The lock of hair. That was you?”
“Artie, technically. He snipped it from some sleeping Emerald Unit recruit.”
August groaned, rubbing his face with his hands in exasperation. “You shouldn’t be telling me this.”
“Why?” Quinn snapped. “If you were truly not on our side, you would have thrown me into isolation by now. But I’m still here. Standing. And you’re still here. Listening. So why don’t we just cut the shit and figure out how to get her the hell out of here.”
August dropped his hands from his face. “Why?”
Quinn blinked in surprise. “What?”
“Why would you want to help Wren escape?” August repeated. “What’s in it for you?”
Quinn flinched, taken aback. She looked him up and down, brows cinched together.
“You really think you’re the only one?” she asked, voice trembling.
“The only Demien in here who regrets what they’ve done?
” Shame and hurt twisted her words, the sound of it sending a shiver down August’s spine.
“If Wren stays, she will become the catalyst. And once she’s awoken…
then that’s it. Blackwood will be in ruins.
Hundreds of innocent souls destroyed. Not to mention we have no idea what will happen to the afterlife with that level of corruption. It could all come undone.”
“But…you chose this.” August spoke the words slowly. “You made the decision to join the Order.”
Quinn’s bottom lip quivered. A flicker of defeat washed over her expression.
“I know,” she whispered, voice cracking.
“I was so angry. So fucking angry.” She shook her head, mumbling something that August couldn’t quite hear, her gaze drifting to the ground.
She took a breath, as if composing herself, and continued.
“I couldn’t stomach the thought that my eternity had been chosen for me.
That if I didn’t prove myself to some stupid institution, then I’d be forced to reap lost souls for the rest of eternity.
Lose all my memories? Lose the person I once was? ”
August empathized with her—more than she would ever understand. “That’s all I have left,” Quinn went on. “My memories. My past. I wasn’t ready to let that go. But…now I realize that I made a mistake. Coming here…it doesn’t fix anything.”
This was August’s last opportunity to back out.
To solidify the wall between them. He could pretend to be the unfeeling general again.
He could stride away from Quinn and continue to work on his own, risking the possibility that he might not have what it would take to get Wren out of the encampment without help.
Or…he could take a chance—a stupid, reckless chance—and trust Quinn.
August inhaled a sharp breath. He met Quinn’s stare.
And then he knew.
He had no choice.
“What do we do?”
Relief washed over Quinn’s expression the moment the words left August’s lips.
“Artie can remove the security cuff,” she said.
August couldn’t contain the shock that bled over his face.
“But our window of opportunity afterward is going to be small. Almost nonexistent. The moment he deactivates it, the internal alarm is going to go off and warn Edith. Which means the second that security cuff is removed, we have to get Wren as far away from the encampment as humanly possible. Find somewhere safe to hide her.”
Somewhere safe.
August knew exactly where. It was the only place left.
“I know somewhere,” he whispered back. “It’s all the way on the other side of purgatory. Far west, past Blackwood’s central location. And truthfully, I’m not sure they’ll be thrilled to see me…but we can try.”
Quinn bit her bottom lip in concentration.
“We’ll have to relocate her,” she muttered, a faraway look in her eyes, as if she was calculating something. Her face fell. “But you can’t relocate normally in the outskirts of purgatory…not like you can here or at Blackwood. You’d have to use shadow magic. A lot of it.”
August shook his head. “I can take care of it.”
“No.” Quinn’s expression hardened. “You’re not listening to me.” She let out a sigh. “To relocate someone that far away…it could change you. Not to the extent that casting the Reaper’s Kiss would, but…” She let out a weighted sigh. “You could succumb to the shadows. It’s a risk.”
August didn’t even hesitate. Screw his soul. Screw his eternity.
He’d damn himself—destroy himself—if it meant saving Wren.
“It’s a risk I’m willing to take,” he replied.
Quinn stared at him for an extended beat. Would she try to convince him otherwise? But she must have seen the determination in his eyes, felt the unwavering resolve burning through him, and decided against it.
“We’ll need a distraction,” she said simply.
August nodded. “Leave that to me.”
They made the decision to meet in a few hours, right before the start of the Equinox Gathering. Quinn would make sure Arthur was ready to remove the security cuff, and August would make sure he had an ironclad distraction.
They’d have to time it perfectly.
But as they whispered their goodbyes and August turned away from Quinn, desperate to put as much distance as possible between him and the sound of Wren’s screams, Quinn’s voice echoed behind him.
“August.” He glanced over his shoulder. Quinn was looking at him with unbridled curiosity, something oddly close to admiration in her eyes. When she spoke next, her voice was soft. “You’re really willing to destroy yourself to save her?”
August’s breath caught in his throat. He knew what his answer was.
For Wren?
Anything.
“I’ll destroy myself,” he echoed out loud. His shadows burned inside him. “And anybody who stands in my way.”