Chapter 28
TWENTY-EIGHT
athena
Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK!
No amount of adrenaline in the WORLD would be enough to stop the roar of pain that spread through my arm. The knife had cut deep.
“Who’s out there?!” I yelled, voice hoarse. There was no use in staying quiet. Whoever had thrown that knife already knew I was here. “Show yourself!”
I was met with silence. Annoying, bone-churning silence.
I picked up the knife, blood dripping from my hand, and cradled my injured arm to my chest. At last I had a weapon, now, right?
My vision spun. I was too hungry, too exhausted.
Too unprepared for a fight like this.
But I didn’t have a choice.
“Who the fuck is out there?!” I yelled again.
Still nothing…until—
Two footsteps. Quick. Light.
I spun out of the doorway, looking in the direction the knife had come from.
“Come on!” I screamed. Exhaustion and adrenaline mixed inside me, causing my body to tremble. “Don’t be a fucking COWARD!”
My words shook, my voice broken.
Fuck, everything was breaking.
I was hanging on by a thread.
I scanned the ruins around me, noting a crow perched on the ledge to my left and the dead leaves swirling along the cracked pavement. But otherwise—nothing.
I scanned the area where I’d seen the shadow earlier.
Nothing.
The person who’d thrown the knife was apparently going to continue hiding like the weakling they were.
The setting sun cast a red glow in the distance and the buildings’ shadows stretched along the pathway ahead.
I picked up the hem of my dress with my bleeding arm, then ran as fast as I could.
I ran until I couldn’t feel my now bleeding feet.
Until I could pretend the tears in my eyes were from the tightness in my chest.
Until I stopped thinking anything at all.
I spent many winter nights back home with no heat. My sisters and I would push our mattresses together and combine our blankets, sharing every last scrap of heat we could muster.
Kylar always made fun of us. He said we were dramatic, that it wasn’t that cold.
He’d brought a snowball inside and shoved it down the back of Jasmine’s sweater once, making her cry.
He got frostbite that winter, after spending too much time outside in his worn-out boots. It cost him his little toe.
After that, he shut up about our mega-bed on cold nights. Though he never joined us when we invited him.
My chest ached at the memory. I’d give anything to go back to that—to have a family again. Someone to cuddle up to.
Tonight wasn’t nearly as cold, but as I curled my arms around my body and pulled my filthy dress over my legs, I felt just as bitter.
Darkness here was different. I’d made my way to what I assumed was the edge of the city. Most of the towering buildings were behind me, and the jungle growing over the concrete beneath my feet had grown thicker.
I shoved my way inside a small building, startling the rats. I sighed. If the rats inhabited this place, then it was likely free of people. Perfect.
Just me and the rats. I used a stick to shove the rat feces and god knows what else from the far corner of the small home, then rested my back against the wall.
I didn’t want to rest. And I didn’t have time to rest. Finding Sinner was my priority. And running from whoever had thrown that damn knife. Then I’d get out of this maze.
But for now, my body needed a break. So I let my eyes flutter closed. The wound on my arm had at least stopped dripping blood. A silver lining if I’d ever seen one.
I didn’t want to stop. I didn’t want to take a break.
But I was on the verge of collapsing. I couldn’t protect myself out there if I kept running on empty. So I’d rest for an hour.
That was all I needed.
Laughter woke me.
Ow. I stretched my stiff neck from side to side, wiggling my numb toes and fingers.
The laughter echoed again, proving to me that I wasn’t dreaming. It was a high-pitched sound. A girl or a woman. And it was loud, like she didn’t give a shit who heard her.
And she wasn’t alone.
At least two other voices echoed through the city nearby—another female and a male.
I crept to my feet and picked up the knife. My hand was blistered from gripping it so tightly yesterday, and those sores opened again as I twisted the handle.
“Are you sure she went this way?” a female voice asked.
“I’m positive,” the other female, one I recognized, replied.
Florence.
Chest tightening, I crept toward the broken window near the front of the building, being sure to remain hidden in the shadows. The moon glowed in the sky above and reflected off the broken glass and pavement.
I pressed myself against the wall, but my bare foot slipped against a broken piece of glass and I nearly tumbled. I bit my lip to keep from crying out.
I knew Florence’s voice—which meant the man was Riot.
But who was the third member of their group?
And were they looking for me?
“I’m tired,” Florence whined. “And she’s probably close to bleeding out by now. The knife hit, didn’t it?”
My breath froze in my lungs. I’d known Florence was a conniving bitch, but this? To deliberately hunt me down?
That was just evil.
“Exactly,” the second female voice said.
This time I recognized it as well. Though I’d only heard a more timid version of it. Willow. “That’s why we need to find her now. She’s weak.”
She’d asked me to claim with her only a week or two ago, yet now she wanted me dead?
I shouldn’t have been surprised.
But that small betrayal hurt more than it should’ve.
I adjusted the knife, crouching, readying to attack. The group moved closer. Closer.
How the hell did they know I was here? Were they tracking me?
“God,” Florence muttered. “I hate having to do all the damn dirty work myself. Let’s just wait until the others kill her off.”
Their feet scuffed the debris in the street, then stopped.
When they didn’t start walking again, I gripped the broken windowsill and peered over the ledge.
Florence’s hair was unmistakable, a beacon in the moonlight. Riot’s massive figure loomed over her—the two were never far from each other. He was her silent bodyguard. Her constant form of backup.
With that attitude, she needed it.
Willow, though?
Willow surprised me.
She stormed through the street with poise, chin raised and knife drawn as she glowered at Florence.
“Imagine what I’ve been through,” she sneered. “You get to trot around and play house with your massive, idiot claimed.” She waved the knife, and Florence flinched, stepping back an inch. “You don’t think I’m tired, too?”
Florence held her hands out and took a step back. “I think we could all use a break,” she hedged. “That four isn’t going anywhere. She’s all alone, and she can hardly control her magic.”
Willow sighed. “Fine. We’ll find a place to rest, but the second the sun rises, we follow the trail. Still sharp on it?”
She pointed her knife at Riot. He simply nodded. “Her trail is fresh. It’s not going anywhere.”
My trail was fresh? What did that mean?
And did they really want me dead so badly that they would put aside the objective of the damn war games and use their energy to hunt me down?
It made no damn sense. I could help them.
Hell, for all they knew, I could take out an entire army at once. Had they seen nothing on the ship? Did my power mean nothing to them?
My throat burned with emotion. I tried to blink the tears away, but they were too overwhelming. Florence hated me. That wasn’t a secret.
But on that ship, I’d almost thought she was rooting for me.
Guess I was wrong.
“Check that building,” Willow ordered.
I peered out the window again, and my stomach dropped.
Shit, she was pointing directly to where I was standing.
Florence rolled her eyes. “Fine.” She kicked a few rocks on her way to my door.
Panic ignited within me. This home only had one door and no second floor. There wasn't even a back window I could leap through to escape.
I was frozen in fear, terror holding my bones hostage. I gripped the knife tighter, aimed it toward the door, and backed up—the broken glass beneath me slicing my feet until my back hit the wall.
I didn’t even want to think about the rat feces and the infections I’d end up with if I survived.
I could do nothing but wait.
My power roared in my bones, but I couldn’t wield it. Not after what I’d done to Leon. Not even as Florence approached the door.
Magic mixed with dread.
She pushed the door open just feet from where I stood and scanned the room—eyes widening when they flickered over to me.
She held my stare.
Two painful seconds passed.
I was going to die here. Rat shit and everything.
Silently, I waited for her to scream. To alert the others. To pull out her own knife.
But she simply kicked at a rat scurrying out the door and retreated.
“Too many damn rats,” she complained. “I’m not getting eaten by those disgusting things while I sleep. Let’s try that building.” Her footsteps grew quieter as she trotted down the road.
Willow groaned. “You’re a spoiled brat, Florence! There’s a reason nobody fucking likes you!”
Riot said nothing as he followed.
I stayed frozen like that for a minute.
Two.
Five.
Until the world went silent again. No footsteps. No obnoxious laughter.
Only when the rats scurried back out from their hiding places did I let myself relax.
What the hell was that?
Florence had thrown that damn knife at me, yet she outright pretended not to see me here?
Something wasn’t right. But I was too damn tired to piece it all together.
What I did know was that I wasn’t safe here.
She might have spared me this time, but I couldn’t wait around. She could change her mind at any time.
So, bleeding, shit-covered feet and all, I crept back out onto the street. Then I turned down a tiny, cramped alleyway instead of following the main road after the others, and kept moving.