Chapter 10 #2
“You need to shut the hell up and not die.” I groan. “Don’t you get it? They put you here as part of the first trial to try and mess with my head. I need to get out of here to win this, but if you don’t shut up, you’ll attract unwanted attention and we’ll both be dead.”
Noah freezes.
For a full minute, he says nothing. Just stands there, like he’s trying to calculate exactly how deep in the shit we are. Then, he runs a hand over his face and steps closer.
“Fine. At least let me lead, then.”
I nod, pointing him the direction—or what I think is the direction. “That way.”
Noah doesn’t say anything, just starts moving. I follow closely, watching his back in silence, eyes scanning every detail.
Is this real, or am I hallucinating?
He walks like Noah, talks like Noah, reacts exactly like Noah.
He even knows what happened before I vanished with Kieran.
This is not a trap.
This is my brother.
Right?
“So,” Noah murmurs after a while, his voice calm at last. “You look … okay. They didn’t hurt you?”
“No,” I reply. “Believe it or not, they’ve treated me well here. The Fae love to party. So far there’s been three. And I even have a job between trials.”
“What, all that in two days?”
“For me, it’s two weeks. I told you—time moves differently here.”
Noah stops mid-step, turning to frown at me. “You’re telling me you’ve been here for two weeks?”
“Yes, and I’m still alive.”
My brother exhales, long and hard. “This is … unbelievable.”
“So is you being here,” I say softly, meeting his eyes.
Noah doesn’t reply. I can tell just how much he’s still in shock, trying to make sense of all this.
If this isn’t my brother—I don’t know what the hell he is.
We keep walking in silence, letting the cool wind and the passing time settle over us like dust, reminding us both of the cruel fact that we’re really here, and there’s not much we can do about it.
I swear to the stars, if we make it out and Kieran doesn’t send Noah home, I’ll scream at him until the Court cracks.
I don’t see the other contestants. No sign of Lucas or Tessa. Not even Jordan.
What if someone they love got dumped here, too?
What even is the point of this?
There are no monsters, no sharp-toothed beasts lurking in the dark. If anything, having Noah here might even help me get out faster—two people are always better than one.
So, what’s the catch?
There has to be something.
We stop for a break after an hour. Noah settles on a rock, while I hike up a hill to get a better view.
Still no one.
Only trees, dense and vibrant in autumnal crimson.
It’s a good sign, I guess.
But when I turn around—Noah isn’t there.
I sprint back to the rock, heart in my throat, praying he just wandered off to check something. But there’s nothing. No sound. No footprints.
Just fog and trees.
Shit.
“Noah!” I call out, panic tightening my chest. “Noah, this is not funny!”
I circle the area, hoping to find something—anything. How can he be gone? He was just right here!
“Cass …”
Wait.
I freeze. That wasn’t the wind, was it?
“Noah?”
“Cass, I’m down here. Shit …”
Down?
I walk towards the noise, eyes scanning the ground, watching every step.
Then I see it.
A hole—wide, jagged, and perfectly camouflaged. A massive trap carved into the earth—and Noah is at the bottom, hand holding one ankle.
“Gods, are you all right?”
“Yeah, but I think I twisted my ankle.”
I exhale, relief flooding over me. It’s not great, but at least it’s better than him being mauled by some creature. “Hold on. I’m going to get you out of there.”
I spin around, eyes sweeping the thick brush. There has to be something I can use as rope. A vine, a low-hanging branch, anything.
It’d be ugly if I fall in, too. Then we can forget about leaving here alive.
“You need to leave him,” a voice whispers behind me—too familiar, too calm. It sends a chill straight down my spine.
I know that voice.
No.
It can’t be.
“Cassie, do you hear me? You need to leave him. That’s not your brother.”
I stop breathing.
Every fibre of my being screams “don’t turn around.” This is another trap. It can’t be him.
It’s impossible.
But I make the mistake of turning.
The colour drains from my body like I’m seeing a ghost—because I am.
Declan.
In the flesh.
Standing right in front of me.
“You—you’re not real,” I whisper, choking on the very air I’m breathing. My head spins. “How … how can you be here? You’re dead …”
I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment, but when I open them, he’s still there.
“I am, and so will you be,” he warns, his jaw ticking. “Don’t save him. If you do, he’ll pull you in, too. He’s a shapeshifter.”
What—
Oh, Gods.
I glance at the trap barely ten metres away, then back at the man in front of me.
He looks the same. His eyes. His face. I’ve seen him wearing that shirt a hundred times.
But—
How is Declan real … and Noah isn’t?
“I—I don’t understand.”
My whole body trembles. My knees buckle, and I hit the ground hard. The cold seeps through my skin like poison, curling around my ankles and creeping up my body, perfectly wrapping me until I can’t move. I hear Noah calling from the pit behind me—if that is even Noah.
But what the hell is Declan?
“You’re not real,” I whisper again, dragging in a shaky breath. “You can’t be real.”
“This is the Court of the Fallen, Cassandra,” Declan murmurs. “The Fae manipulate things. It doesn’t matter how I’m here. You just need to wake up and believe me … that isn’t your brother.”
“But how can I be sure? What if it’s you who’s trying to trick me? What if you’re the shapeshifter?” I snap, rising to my feet.
For months, I wished for this—for him. For just one more minute with Declan. One more chance to see his face, to hear his voice. I used to close my eyes, praying that it was all a dream and when I opened them, Declan would still be beside me.
And now that’s right in front of me … I’m terrified.
Terrified to touch him.
To believe him.
I want to run to him. To throw myself at him and tell him how sorry I am about that night.
Tell him I miss him so much it’s rotted a hole in my chest.
That I haven’t stopped replaying the terrible things I said.
The guilt is crushing my insides, slowly and painfully.
But I don’t move.
Because he’s gone.
And this … this can’t be real.
None of this is real.
Wait. The clue—
Dearest Cassandra,
What’s keeping you up at night?
Careful, for it might come back and haunt you.
Love,
The Trial Committee
Come back and haunt you.
Careful …
None of this is real.
This is what the Fae want—for us to get tangled up in our messy past, for grief and confusion and guilt to drag us under.
To watch us unravel until we slit our own throats with memory.
They’re all shapeshifters.
I step closer to Declan. He doesn’t move. The man truly looks exactly like him, but his scent is off. Off enough to twist my stomach.
Still, I raise a hand, hesitant, brushing my thumb against his cheek.
Declan closes his eyes to the touch. He feels real, warm even.
His breath clouds the air.
It’s the only proof I need before I drive the dagger straight through his heart.
The man—shapeshifter—jerks back, eyes wide with horror, lips parted in a silent scream, gasping for air that won’t fill his lungs.
And then he drops, limp and twitching, back to whatever hell spawned him.
Dead people aren’t warm and don’t breathe, you sick fuck.
I almost believed him.
Almost.
I pant, silver blood dripping from the tip of my dagger. My hand shakes, but there’s no time to feel sympathy for something that would have killed me if I hadn’t struck first.
Noah’s been quiet.
Too quiet.
I look up from the shapeshifter.
And there Noah is—standing beside the hole, perfectly upright. No limp. No scratches. No twisted ankle.
He bares his teeth at me, eyes flicking to his fallen mate, still bleeding out in the dirt.
And I fucking run.