Chapter 35 Cayden
Cayden
A guttural scream tore through The Pit, twisting my guts, then cut off with a grunt.
I looked over Xan’s head at Rowan. The big elemental’s face pinched, and his chest rose and fell with agitation. I looked back at the side of Xan’s face.
How well did I know the Architect? I’d never asked myself, until now.
Xan loved high concepts, something I appreciated more than I’d admit, but he struggled to stay on topic.
Even his most atrocious side stories somehow always came back to where the conversation started.
Without fail, he’d follow with a question, shifting focus to someone else, like he needed to apologize for the tangent but didn’t know how.
Not once had this Xan returned to his original topic or pulled us into a new one. At first, I assumed he was splitting his attention between us and Ezra. However, by the time we sat in our box, it was very clear this was someone else.
‘This isn’t Xan,’ I said, calmer than I felt.
Rowan exhaled. ‘Finally. I thought I was losing my mind.’
“How do you think Quinn’s handling all this?” Not-Xan asked, his voice laced with what almost sounded like genuine worry.
“Like hell,” I said.‘Play along. This must be Alex. I’ll be back,’ I ordered Rowan.
“Like bloody hell,” Rowan doubled down on what I said. “Quinn doesn’t judge. She’s been through enough, before us, with us, and now this?”
While Rowan unloaded probably everything both of us wanted to say and more onto the man pretending to be Xan, I slipped away.
There was only one other mentalist that I knew of here, and unless Teivel was hiding his pet mentalist, their box was somewhere at the top. The repairs on the cauldrons continued. The talking in the boxes grew in volume. Some budding entrepreneur started hawking snacks.
As I walked, I drew my runes for strength, stealth, and speed. Each one sank into my muscles. No one noticed me as I peeked from one heavy beige curtain to another, looking for coal-black or mud-red hair.
The lights changed, and the crowd gasped.
Maybe the Westwaters had finally brought out some pre-show entertainment.
I peeked behind another curtain, and the colors I was looking for met my gaze.
Teivel stood at the front of his booth with one arm raised in a fist pump.
A McDonald woman sat with her back ramrod straight.
Between them, an old man had half fallen out of his chair.
His head lolled against the back of the balcony seating.
In the low light, all I could make out was his white and cerulean-blue streaked hair.
The glint of a slave’s collar shone above the seatback.
I’d never seen Alex before, but the general description and age looked right.
“The perfect test of free will,” a raspy voice declared.
The roar of the crowd swallowed the sound of doors banging open. I couldn’t see what was going on, but it didn’t sound good.
“You don’t have to do this,” Quinn’s amplified voice filled my ears.
My vision bled red. I was stuck here with Xan while Quinn stood alone. Rage seared me raw. Fucking Architect.
I didn’t know anything except that my friend needed help, and the people in front of me were the reason for it, all of them.
My blood begged for slaughter, but instead of leaping, I drew my runes.