128. Scarlett
Scarlett
T he road stretched quiet between us, narrowing as we drove, trees leaning closer, thicker, older. The kind of forest that remembered things. The kind that watched.
Two trucks. Trace drove the first, Zeke up front with him. Rhett, Kane, and Sloane in the back. I rode in the second with Alden—he didn’t ask, I just climbed in.
The farther we got from anything normal, the quieter the world became.
Forest swallowed the world.
The trees grew closer, taller, older. Their bark scarred in places—strange symbols etched into the trunks, half-hidden under moss. A few I recognized from the Codex. Others made my skin crawl.
A chill rolled down my spine.
“I don’t like this,” I said quietly.
Alden glanced over. “Me either.”
The road dipped.
“Zeke said the Red Veil was sighted here two nights ago,” Alden added. “But no bodies. No footprints.”
“No sound,” I murmured.
And there wasn’t.
No birds. No wind.
Even the trees were quiet.
Trace’s truck slowed up ahead. Zeke stepped out first, motioning for us to do the same.
I jumped down, boots crunching against wet gravel.
“Something’s wrong,” Zeke said. “Too quiet.”
“We’re being watched,” Trace added.
Kane scanned the tree line, sliding off the safety on his rifle. “Feels like the woods are holding their breath.”
CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.
Gunfire.
“Down!” Zeke shouted.
The truck beside us screamed with sparks. Metal twisted. Glass shattered.
Trace grabbed me by the waist, pulling me behind him. I hit the ground just as a bullet tore through where my shoulder had been.
Everything exploded.
Rounds lit up the trees. Red Veil soldiers swarmed from the underbrush—black tactical gear streaked with crimson, masks covering half their faces.
Not shadows.
Killers.
They dropped from the branches like ghosts—scarves of crimson, curved blades, eyes wild.
Rhett pulled Sloane into cover. Kane fired back, fast and clean. Zeke swept left, gun drawn, already calling orders.
“Hold your fire,” came a voice like honey laced with venom.
Brielle.
She stepped out first, graceful as sin, her red scarf tied loose around her throat, lips curled in amusement. “No need to take it personally,” she called out, eyes locking on me. “Lena just really wants you dead.”
Footsteps behind her.
Lena stepped through the haze like a storm barely held back. No hood. No mask. Just fury.
Her braid was tight. Her grip on the knife too casual—like she'd been waiting for this.
Heat flared behind my eyes.
“I gave everything to the Order,” she spat. “And they picked the girl who didn’t even know who she was.”
“You chose this,” I said. “You picked power over loyalty.”
“I picked survival,” she snapped. “You’re the threat. You always were.”
“No,” I said, rising to my feet. “You made this choice.”
“I was supposed to be the heir,” Lena spat. “Not you. I bled for them. I killed for them. You were playing house while I buried bodies.”
“You buried yourself,” I said. “You buried your soul the second you picked them.”
Trace was still pinned near the first truck. Alden was farther back, cutting through Red Veil flank.
Lena moved fast, our blades clashed—sharp steel and sharper words. Every step was history. Every slash was a memory turned bitter.
“You think they love you?” Lena hissed, slicing close to my jaw. “They pity you. You’re a cursed little girl with a legacy she doesn’t understand.”
I ducked, kicked, missed.
“You always hated being second,” I snapped.
“Because I never fucking was,” she growled.
We slammed together again—arms, knives, fury.
My blade caught her thigh. Her elbow caught my cheek.
“I trusted you,” I said, breath ragged.
She grinned, blood on her teeth. “That was your first mistake.”
“Enough,” Brielle called out, stepping forward but keeping her distance. “Let her bleed. If she’s the heir, she’ll survive.”
Lena’s blade flashed.
And this time, she didn’t miss.
Pain shot white-hot as the knife plunged into my side. I gasped, the forest tilting, the world narrowing to blood and breath.
“Scarlett!”
Trace’s voice ripped through the trees—raw, breaking.
Alden was already charging, eyes feral, gun raised. Zeke barked orders, flanking left. Kane and Rhett were farther back, trying to pin down the others as Red Veil fighters closed in.
But none of them could reach me in time.
The blast hit before they got close.
A roar of heat and pressure ripped through the ridge—earth and fire swallowing everything. My body flew—slammed into something unyielding. Bone met ground. Breath vanished. Sound cut out.