Chapter 31
THIRTY-ONE
athena
Either I’d hit the point of exhaustion where I was losing my fucking mind, or I smelled smoke.
Like…real smoke. Fire smoke.
I peered around the corner I’d tucked myself into so I could give my bleeding feet a break. Everything looked the fucking same. I could have been walking in circles and I wouldn’t have known. I was surrounded by concrete, overgrowth, crumbling rocks, and broken glass.
Street after street after street. It was all the same.
I still had no freaking clue where I was going. What I was looking for. What the end goal was.
But I had to keep going.
And thank the twisted god above—the sun was rising. I could have cried.
That had to be the longest, most torturous night of my life. Even burying my dead family members had been more enjoyable than that.
Maybe it was too early for the sick, twisted humor, but once again, I was losing my mind. So I allowed myself a delusional joke or two.
Wincing, I stood and wobbled back onto the street. I’d stepped on a nail a few miles back, and I was pretty sure the puncture wound was getting infected already.
God, if only Katherine were here to heal my feet. I’d kiss her on the lips for that.
My chest did a strange flip at the thought of her. She was out there somewhere. Alive. With Benedict. With Mags, hopefully.
And hopefully not being a raging bitch to everyone.
What were they doing now? Cooking a hot breakfast? Laughing together? Maybe they were taking a morning walk to pick strawberries out of their garden. Maybe they were sleeping in—relaxing and soaking in life without concern.
I hoped so. I hoped they’d gotten far, far away from the grasp of the Ministry.
And I hoped Katherine had changed her mind about them.
My heart ached. I hated Katherine for who she’d become—but at the same time, I longed for her. My last living family member.
She knew the truth about me, and she was disgusted by it. She was terrified of it. That was the real reason she’d joined the Ministry. She didn’t want me to hurt anyone else.
I just wished she could see how much damage the Ministry was doing.
I limped over another rock.
Maybe she was right before. Maybe the world would be a better place if I ended this. Ended my own suffering.
There would be no risk that I’d kill another person.
If I’d done it already, Leon would still be alive.
My entire family would still be alive.
The gash in my arm throbbed, but I didn’t care to cover the wound. Didn’t care to bother with any of my wounds, actually. What was the point?
I probably wouldn’t survive these games anyway. And even if I did, maybe it would be for the best.
The smell of smoke intensified. Where the hell was it coming from?
I looked down street after street as the morning sun and the smoke cast an orange glow over the world.
Four streets later, I found the glowing embers. But it didn’t stop there. Fire poured into the street—it grew into walls, burning and burning and spreading quicker than seemed possible.
Someone here was fighting with fire.
I ducked out of sight and ran in the direction I’d just come from. If they didn’t see me, they had no reason to send the fire my way.
Whoever they was.
Though it could have been a natural fire, right?
The sound of crackling fire followed me, along with the tiniest, faintest sounds of screaming.
My heart plummeted. Who was screaming?
I ran faster, putting every ounce of energy I had into getting away.
The fire was faster, though.
A wall of red-and-orange light flashed to my left. The heat singed my skin, but I kept running, panting, gasping for air.
I could outrun it.
Surely, the fire couldn’t spread through the entire damn city. It would have to stop at some point.
Was this a war tactic? Some sort of test?
Who the hell would try to roast the competition?
I jumped over a half-crumbled hunk of concrete, and as I landed, my leg gave out. I crashed to the ground on all fours, the skin off my knees and palms and a scream wrenching its way out of me.
My already-filthy dress tore, the fabric tripping me up as I scrambled back up.
With no time to panic, I brushed myself up and took off again.
Black smoke puffed into the air behind me, but ahead was still clear. I could make it out of here.
I would make it out of here.
I chanted that line as I ran.
But too soon, I slowed.
My legs were too weak, too injured. The bottoms of my feet were swollen and screaming in pain. I stumbled every couple of yards, slowing further while the flames at my back grew.
The blaze grew far too quickly. It wasn’t natural.
No—someone was controlling it, pushing it down the abandoned streets.
The screams in the distance returned, though they were barely audible over my labored breathing.
One step. One foot after another. That’s all I could focus on right now.
Everything hurt.
And I was so damn tired.
My foot came down on a crack in the concrete, and my ankle twisted. The joint snapped, and I screamed out as I fell, utterly defeated. Utterly fucking tired.
The fire continued behind me.
If I didn’t get up, I was done for.
I took a long, deep breath and mustered the last of my energy. I did not come this far to stop here. I did not fight through everything in this fucking life to end it now.
Not before I found happiness. Not before I had a chance at peace.
I gripped my twisted ankle with both hands. The pain shot up my leg, and my vision went spotty. Shit. I could hardly move it. There was no way I could keep running—the fire was moving too fast, anyway.
But I could use my magic. It was why the Ministry created these damn war games in the first place, right?
A sensation deep within me stirred at the thought. I didn’t want to use it. I’d never in my life wanted to use my magic.
But this was my only chance at survival.
I closed my eyes and leaned into my body—leaned into the pain. There was an entity beneath that agony and numbness.
A part of me that had been there, hidden, my entire life. Protecting me. Shielding me.
I leaned into that, pulled on it, basked in it.
Come on, I thought. If you only do one fucking thing right with your power, let it be this.
Inhaling, I imagined my magic pouring out like tendrils. Imagined the invisible hands searching the streets for the person who controlled the fire, imagined those hands squeezing that power at the source, cutting off the flames.
I pushed and pushed and pushed. I didn’t hold back. Didn’t care about the consequences—not now. Not when death was so close.
This was an act of desperation. Of survival.
I squeezed my eyes harder. I gave it everything I had. Every last fight. Every last ounce of energy.
End this fire. I didn’t know who I was directing this power at—only that the mystic in control had to be stopped.
The flames grew closer, the heat nearly unbearable. I silently begged for mercy and wished death and destruction on the source of the blaze, everything went still.
The fire stopped burning.
My brain stopped rummaging.
Even my feet—for one millisecond—stopped screaming in agony.
Everything. Went. Quiet.