22. Chapter 22
Brix
Adull crack echoes along my jawline. His fist glances off bone, and I ride the impact, letting my head roll with the blow.
The bloodthirsty roar of the crowd echoes over the slight ringing in my ears from the hit. Bodies desperate for a good show packed tight around the ring of rusted metal and rope, deep underground.
I wipe away the sweat dripping into my eyes, just to leave a trail of dirt and blood stuck to my skin.
“Finish it!” someone shouts.
I take a deep breath, then step back towards him. His breathing is wrong.
Using my heightened senses, I pick it apart. It’s wet and rattled. The pumping of his heart too fast.
A slight shift in his stance draws my attention; he’s favoring his left knee. He’s done.
He swings again.
I could end this easily. Instead, I take it on the shoulder as pain flares, sharp this time, and I welcome it. Let it burn and sink deep.
For a second, I’m no longer in the ring.
My vision flicks to Arwen in the courtyard, leaning against the fountain, smiling at me. Blue eyes bright, chin tipped up as she fires a vicious comeback that makes us all laugh.
Then it shifts. Her eyes panicked. No longer bright. Wet cheeks.
She’s scared.
“Brix, please—”
I drive my fist into the guy’s ribs and he folds with a choked sound. I follow through, another hit, then another, until someone grabs my arm and yanks me back.
“Enough,” the handler snaps. The crowd boos, wanting more blood.
I shake him off, breathing hard, and look down at what I’ve done. He’s not moving much. Thankfully, his chest is rising, though.
Closing my eyes, I swallow the guilt down. He agreed to be here. It’s what the crowd wants. What they can’t find in the authorized Wrath Arenas.
The underground lets the fights go too far. Allows illegal moves.
Even death.
And these people? They crave it all.
Money exchanges hands as I step out of the ring, rolling my shoulder despite its protests. My knuckles are split open, blood drying in thin lines down my wrist. I flex my fingers once, twice. They still work.
Someone presses a wad of bills into my palm.
“Good fight tonight,” they say.
Instead of counting it as I should, I just shove it into my pocket. I’ll add it to the rest later, not that it will ever add up to enough.
Grabbing my shirt off the ground, I drag it over my head to cover the blood and sweat. I push through the crowd and up the tunnels, through the hands clapping my back and the voices calling my name.
My head’s already somewhere else.
Arwen.
The way she looked at me that day. Like I stabbed her heart and broke her spirit. The memory never goes far.
I make it outside when my phone buzzes and Holly’s name flashes.
She hasn’t reached out at all this summer. My chest tightens as I swipe it open.
“Brix—” her voice comes fast, breathless. “Don’t freak out, okay? She’s—she’s okay. Arwen’s okay.”
Everything in me goes still. “What? Have you found her? How do you know?”
“She’s alive,” Holly cuts in over my questions. “I just got a call from Tabby and Cleo. They’re both with her. In Gluttony. She’s safe now. "
“What does safe now mean? What happened? Was she in the Wastes?” I rasp out.
“She’s been through… a lot,” Holly says. “I don’t have all the details yet; they couldn’t speak long. But she found Maddox in Feastwell. She’s alive, Brix. I swear.”
“Thank the universe,” I say. “And Maddox? The bond rumors must be true then. Good. That’s… good.”
Maddox… the mention of him makes something sharp twist low in my chest. I push it down hard.
I stare at the ground, at the thin line of blood dripping off my knuckle and darkening the packed desert dirt.
“They said she asked about you,” Holly adds hesitantly.
“Umm… What’d you tell her?”
“That you’re worried. That you’ve been trying to reach her... that you’d want to know she’s okay.”
I swallow as the silence stretches.
It hits me again. Popping into my mind like it always does. Her face as she begged me for help, overlay with my sister’s voice admitting she’s scared.
“You okay?” Holly asks.
“Uh yeah. Sorry.”
She doesn’t respond right away.
“I’ll call again when I can,” Holly says. “This is a good thing, Brix. A chance to make amends.”
“Yeah,” I agree, but Ryker’s threats still hang in the back of my mind when the line clicks dead.
She’s alive and safe. Breathing out in relief, I look up at the stars in the clear sky. All I want to do is run to her right this second and wrap my arms around her. Protect her from ever being afraid again.
My hand curls into a fist, causing the fresh splits on my knuckles to reopen, pain flaring sharp and immediate.
Good.
I shove the phone into my pocket and start moving. Someone else deserves to know that she’s okay.
***
Sadie opens the door of her family's small dirt hut, and her hand flies to her mouth in horror.
Yeah… I probably should have stopped to shower.
“Brix?” Her eyes widen, taking in the injuries and dirt. “What happened—”
“She’s alive.”
The words come out fast, cutting her off.
Sadie freezes. “Arwen?” She whispers.
“Yes, she’s alive. Our friends from the academy are with her in Gluttony. She’s okay.”
Tears fill her eyes, and she lets out a broken sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Oh my universe.”
She steps forward and pulls me into a hug before I can react.
“She’s alive,” Sadie repeats against my shoulder, voice shaking.
“Yeah,” I say, staring past her into the dim interior of the house. “I feel like I can breathe again.”
Sadie pulls back, wiping at her eyes. “What happened? Did they say—”
“Not much,” I cut in. “Just that she’s been through something. She’s in Gluttony.”
Her brows knit together, but she nods. When she looks back at me, the relief on her face turns to concern.
“You’re hurt.”
“I’m fine. It’s nothing.” I shift my shoulder, ignoring the way it jolts pain down my back. “Just a fight.”
Her eyes narrow. “You mean an illegal one?”
I don’t answer that and instead walk over to the and fill a clay cup with water.
She exhales, following me inside. “You can’t keep doing this.”
“I can,” I say, frustrated. “I have to.”
“For what?” she demands. “You look like you can barely stand. Brix, what about the academy?”
I drag a hand down my face. “Sadie—”
“No,” she says, soft but no less firm. “You don’t get to brush this off. You’ve been like this since you got back. Pushing yourself into illegal fights, volunteering for dangerous jobs. It’s self-destruction.”
My jaw tightens. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s not a big deal, just something I need to do.”
Her gaze doesn’t waver. “Tell me what I’m missing. Why is this worth risking your spot at the academy?”
“I’ll be more careful.” I mutter. Lying isn’t my favorite, but no need to stress Sadie out when she’s already been tearing her hair out over Arwen.
She studies me for a long second, then nods, like she doesn’t agree but knows pushing harder won’t get her anywhere.
“When you talk to her,” she says instead, voice softer, “tell her I love her. Okay? Tell her I’m so proud of her. That she’s—” her voice wavers again “—that she’s not alone. I’ll always be here for her to come back to.”
My throat tightens.
“Of course,” I say.
Sadie’s a good person. And I’m a shit friend.
I give her a quick hug goodbye and leave to head home. I don’t even make it two streets over when the lights of a Van hit me, harsh and blinding.
Voices bark out of the dark. “Hands where we can see them!”
My body locks on instinct as I stumble to stop, lifting my hands up slowly, palms out.
“What’s going on?” I say. “I’m not—”
Before I can finish, rough hands are already on me. Metal biting into my wrists. My hurt shoulder from the fight screams as they wrench my arms back.
“Move,” one of them snaps.
“I didn’t—” I start, then clamp my mouth shut.
It doesn’t matter what I say. If they have proof of my participation in the illegal fights… or any of the other work I’m doing…
I’m finished.
My stomach drops. The Academy…. They’ll kick me out. Maybe worse.
They shove me forward and into the back of the van before taking off at a high speed.
I watch as dirt paths and low clay huts pass by. Curious faces in the windows at the intruding light. We don’t get many cars around here.
The harsh, uneven terrain makes for a bumpy ride as I’m thrown around in the back of the van.
Ten minutes in and the ride smooths out. Looking out the window, there are tall concrete privacy walls.
This is the wealthy part of town. Where people can afford high, thick barriers to protect their space.
We slow down at one of the entry gates. The guards posted don’t even look twice at the group hauling me in.
As the iron gates part and we drive down the pavement, the red dirt of the ground turns into green grass.
Trees. Grass. Water pooling in clear basins that reflect the headlights. It’s like we stepped into another world.
“Why are you bringing me here” I mutter, still awe-struck by the harsh contrast of what we just drove out of.
No one answers me.
They drive up smooth concrete to a wide stucco house. Larger than ten of our neighborhood huts put together.
The men pull me out of the car roughly and shove open the front door.
“Inside,” they command.
“Why am I—”
“Someone wants to meet you,” the guard says, like that explains anything.
My stomach twists as they march me through cool corridors, past polished floors and walls that don’t crumble if you brush against them. I notice my boots leaving faint tracks of dirt behind and feel a little guilty until I remember they brought me here against my will.
We stop in front of a set of intricate wooden doors.
As soon as they open, I drop to my knees and bow my head.
Igor Drow, Councilor of Wrath, sits across the room from me, broad and unmoving. Dark skin covers his massive frame. What is he even doing all the way out here?
“Sir,” I say.
“Relax, Young Brixton,” Igor says, voice a deep rumble. “You’re not in trouble. Stand up.”
I do as he says, but my body stays tense. The guard who escorted me in removes the cuffs from my hands.
He studies me for a moment, gaze sharp but not unkind. “Rough night?”
“Just training,” I say.
One corner of his mouth lifts. “Is that what we’re calling illegal fights these days?”
I wipe my sweaty hands on my pants as my heart rate soars, but I keep my mouth shut.
He leans back, resting his forearms on the arms of his chair. “I’ve heard good things about your time at the academy.”
My stomach tightens. “I’m doing my best, sir. I hope I am making Wrath proud.”
“So I’ve heard.” His eyes flick over me again, taking in the blood and the bruises. “Ambitious. Driven. I think you’re doing just fine.”
I keep my gaze on the floor. “Thank you, sir.”
“And loyal, I’ve heard,” he adds. “That’s a rare trait.”
I try to hide my panic. What could the Councilor of Wrath possibly want from me? He lets the silence stretch as my anxiety compounds, threatening to break through my skin.
“Tell me,” Councilor Drow continues, tone easy, “how is the academy these days?”
I answer, explaining general things like the training and structure.
He listens. Nods occasionally.
“And Arwen Davies?”
Ice floods my veins as every instinct screams danger.
“She’s… she’s not at the academy anymore,” I intone.
“I’m aware, being part of the Council and all. I was at her trial.”
“What was your relationship with her?” He continues.
“I guess you could consider us friends,” I say. He already seems to know everything about me. So there’s no point in lying.
“Just friends?”
My cheeks heat. “Yes, sir.”
He watches me for another minute, then nods once like he’s come to some sort of conclusion.
“I’ll be plain, Brixton,” he says, tone shifting just enough to make my stomach drop. “I know about the dire situation with your family. Your concerns.”
My pulse spikes.
“I know your sisters struggle at school,” he continues. “About your mother’s potential deployment. Your sisters don’t seem too interested in their combat training courses. Some might say they have an aversion to violence.”
My nails cut into my palms again. Why is he watching my family?
“I know they may be at risk should they end up in the housing system,” he says. “And that you’re doing everything you can to prevent that.”
Dylan’s empty bunk flashes behind my eyes as my throat goes dry. “Yes, sir.”
“I admire that,” he says. “We do our best to keep the housing system safe for children, but with a lack of bodies and resources… things happen. It’s a shame.”
I look down as I try to keep my rage in check. Nothing good will come of me putting my fist through the Councilor’s face. Not for me. Not for my family.
“I can help you, you know,” Igor continues. “Ensure your family gets taken care of. No deadline hanging over your head.”
My breath stutters, and I look up at his face.
“You wouldn’t need to fight in dank caves,” he adds. “Or worry about whether you’ve made enough this month.”
That sounds like a dream, but it makes me uneasy.
“What do you want?” I ask before I can stop myself.
He smiles.
“Very little,” he says, sitting back in his chair. “You’ll be returning to the academy soon enough. When you do, I simply want you to keep me informed.”
“Informed? What does that mean?” I ask.
“On Arwen Davies specifically,” he clarifies. “Her power. Her opinions. Her… relationships. Allies.”
He wants me to spy.
“That’s it,” Igor says. “Simple.”
“I don’t—” I start, then stop. The vision hits me: my sisters, small and fearful, huddled together in a room that’s too cold. Betraying Arwen? I don’t think I could do it. The thought alone makes me sick.
But what am I supposed to say?
You don’t tell someone like Igor Drow, no.
“I’d be ensuring your family’s safety,” Igor says softly. “In exchange for information that will come naturally to you.”
Naturally. Like this isn’t betrayal.
There are no right answers. Just different ways to lose.
I swallow hard, staring at the floor.
And don’t speak.