Chapter 13
thirteen
It’s too soon. And it’s risky. But mainly…
It’s so very fucking wrong.
One finger delves into my pocket to monitor the assignment that’s burning a hole in it. My fingers close around the scroll, its parchment stiff with dried blood and salt. The president’s seal faintly smells of steaming wax. No house number symbol embedded anywhere…
Why me?
My pulse kicks like a warring drum in my throat. Even though I’m alone, my spine tingles with the sensation of observation.
Immediately, I think back to the cloaked figure entering the crypt. The way he casually pointed out the predator circling the Theta cottages. Is he the president’s spy? If they found out about my plans, I’m beyond royally fucked. I’m a dead man.
Olivia is safe in her room. I’ve checked. Numerous times from my phone. Not only safe, but rested after catching up on sleep last night. I think my drugging helped her in more ways than she realizes…
Maybe this assignment isn’t a task. Maybe it’s a test. Or it’s the society’s way of saying: obey, and you live.
I know what I should do. Tell Dad. Calum Von Dovish would sweep in with more surveillance, build a counter-ops plan so intricate it’d take down an empire, and gather enough blackmail to choke a kingdom. He’d fix it. That’s what I should do…
If I tell Mom, she’s going rogue and assassinating someone by herself. And then Dad would fucking kill me.
Which is why I’m not going to tell Dad. Not yet. Not until I’m sure.
Because if I tell him, there’s no way my mom wouldn’t find out. I can’t hide anything from either of them.
From my carry kit, I flick on a low-beam flashlight and glance again at the name inked on the slip of paper. The assignment is brief. No flowery justifications. No bloated rhetoric about society’s grand design. Just a name…likely one who saw too much. Someone they want erased.
As if the sorority girl slaughter on Terror Tuesday wasn’t enough of a bloodbath.
My jaw clenches as I read the words again:
Level 213,
Your assignment is to clean up a loose end. Before the third moon sets after the Terror, the blood must be shed and disposed of. You were chosen, operative, due to the stealth and sacrifices needed to bestow good favor on your future.
Failure is not an option.
Fear is for the guilty.
For Vengracurus, for Bonakanos. For revenge.
Fidelitas Vindicta.
It’s bullshit. This didn’t come from a Delta alumnus. It came directly from the university president, faking a Delta seal to make it look official. There’s no ‘2’ embossed on it. No verification or apparent alumni approval. He’s bypassing protocol, hijacking our oath like he owns it.
And this isn’t about loyal recompense.
It’s about control.
He’s acting without the board. Without the houses. Without rules. Like he’s trying to crown a monarch from a throne that doesn’t belong to him.
The question is…why? Drunk on power? It fits with history.
I stuff the scroll into my back pocket, crouching low, near the outer edge of Theta grounds. The long driveway stretches empty and fog-laced ahead. It’s fucking cold. Misty. And my hoodie’s already soaked through at the shoulders.
Hands tight from the chill, I tug out my phone and send one last text—just in case I’m wrong.
Me
Did you know about my assignment?
Apollo
You got an assignment? You know the rules, you’re supposed to check that with me. Why did they give it to you directly?
Me
Found it in my fucking room, Griffin.
Apollo
Your ROOM? YOUR room? The vault? Damn. No, don’t know anything about it.
My phone lights up with a call. With a glance around, I make sure I’m alone. I always am.
“Yeah?”
“How did they get in?” he asks.
My fingers dig under my mask to scratch the back of my head. “I have no idea. It’s got the president’s seal on it, though. And his bloody signature. Looks legit.”
A heavy sigh whooshes through the speaker. “Fuck, man. A new maintenance guy was hanging around. I’ll beef up security for the house and check into it. What’s the assignment?”
“Take care of a loose end from Tuesday, apparently.” But my jaw clicks as I consider it. Even saying it feels wrong. The name in ink isn’t just an observer. If this kid’s thinking too hard about what happened Tuesday…if he’s asking questions…he’s either a problem, or a consequence.
“Need help?”
“It was marked for solo work.”
There’s a long pause, and I already know his next question before he asks it. Slowly, deliberately. “Why you? Why Valen Von Dovish?”
That’s the question haunting me, too. Not that I wouldn’t get a kill assignment, but that work typically goes to freshmen and initiates. But for me, specifically, I usually get all the hacking work, intel jobs. Clandestine-type activities.
As headlights crest the far hill, my gut churns. “The answer is what I’m worried about.”
“Shit. Check in with me—”
“I gotta go. This is him.” I end the call and duck low, shadowing the black Benz as it crunches over cobblestone toward the Theta hangar garage. Its taillights glow like coals, trailing fog into the crisp night air.
Crawling closer to the side of the manor, I press my body against the cold, weeping stones. Ivy clings to the walls like torturous veins. I tug my gloves into place, check my knife, and wait for him to exit. My breath is tight in my chest.
It’s not that I want the assignment. It’s that I’ve learned not to want anything at all. Not in this world. But the fact that they are ordering this kid to be wasted bothers me. And the possible reason behind it.
Why him?
Why me?
Maybe he and I have a lot more in common than I think.
Malik exits the car with his phone held up to his ear as he strolls toward the house, chatting away with someone in a frantic tone. “Yes! On an altar! Tied up like she was some horrible sacrifice!”
He has the smarts to dart his head around in the dark, checking if anyone heard.
His voice drops low. “I shouldn’t’ve gone in that room.
But after what they did…I had to know.” A ragged breath escapes his chest. “And now I do.” His silence says more than he can.
But he continues. “That’s what I’m scared of, man.
I know who did it. I know what I saw. They’ll come for me. I get that. But—”
His sob gets choked in his throat. One of his thumbs trails across his dark cheek to swipe at a tear. And for one sick second, I recognize Olivia in him—trembling, bleeding, alone with too much truth. Maybe that’s what makes this assignment so hard. Killing him will be too close to killing her.
I should walk away. Part of me watches Malik like a puzzle with only one solution—silence.
But I’m already weighing the blade.
As I had suspected, the man saw too much. And now he has to pay the price for being smart and aware. This is the torture the society puts us through… I can’t stop them today. Not by myself.
Hurriedly, he steps inside the front door of the manor, and the rest of his conversation is lost. The moment I had for reconsideration shatters.
A loud slam makes me spin and hold my breath. Fucking Carl-what’s-his-name steps out of a Jaguar and strolls toward the back gate with a blonde Omega under his arm. He’s nuzzling her neck, whispering something low and smug as she giggles a reply.
“If you want to change for the hot tub, you can use my room. I’ll show you where it is.”
Her hips sway heavily. “Sure, okay.”
Without the lovebirds noticing, I follow a few feet behind.
As they push through the gate, I slide in right after, letting it clink shut behind me.
Carl doesn’t even notice as he opens the side door carelessly, cocky, and cracked enough so that I slide a gloved finger in to prevent it from shutting.
Their voices echo in the small stairwell while I hide in the shadows.
If this place is anything like ours, Malik, a junior, is probably located on the third floor. Inhaling deeply, I take the steps two at a time. On the landing, I pause and listen.
There. Malik’s voice again.
Carefully, I pry open the heavy wooden door, rolling my eyes at the ostentatious surroundings of red velvet carpet, brocade wallpaper, and overly ornate furniture.
He strolls toward the end of the passageway, away from me, without noticing anything amiss. With one eye through the gap, I monitor as he enters the last room at the end on the left. Perfect. The ones on the corners should have balconies. Clean entry and exit.
The sconces are dim, casting dancing shadows, and golden mirrors line the path, only escalating my paranoia to new heights. Passing one, I catch a glimpse of myself and startle. I look like a fucking killer. All blacked out, even my face behind the cloth that hides it. Hides me.
Vanq Wysh Veil doesn’t exist.
Until now.
A shrink would probably say this is my way of dealing with moral ambiguity. Split my persona. Pretend these hands don’t belong to me. Sacrificing bodies for the greater good and putting on a mask to cover up what I can’t face inside myself.
But only those privileged enough to truly know me…get to see the real me.
Fuck everyone else.
When I reach his bedroom and turn the knob, I’m almost embarrassed for him that it’s unlocked. He’s in an adjoining bathroom, taking a piss. And while he’s there, I flick off the overhead light, then press my back against the wall next to the open doorway, so I can grab him when he emerges.
It’s as if my heartbeat thuds through my ribs to the surface behind me.
I can almost hear the pictures nailed to it rattle with every rush of blood through the chambers in my soul.
All the things I’ve done. Every man I gutted—by order or by choice.
Every girl I failed to save. The vehemence I bury just to survive presses against that wall with me.
Soul… Do I even have one left? After everything?
Maybe once I complete my final task, I will. My dying wish will be that Olivia could love me even though I can hardly love myself. Would I poison her with that curse? It will be the only way to set her free.