Chapter 23
For several seconds, no one moves.
The swaying bridge has gone silent around us, every competitor staring at the place where the man from my accounting classes disappeared into the dark, endless ravine, plummeting to his death below. The wind continues to tear across the Old Watchtower as though nothing happened.
Silas looks at me. “Now do you understand my warning about the safety rope?”
I nod, swallowing against the horror rising in my throat.
Van arrives at the bridge with the tattooed man and deliberately drives his shoulder into mine as he moves to pass me, pushing me so hard my boot slips off the edge.
My harness jerks and the ravine opens beneath me for one terrifying second before Silas grabs me around the waist and yanks me firm against his chest. Both arms lock around me, anchoring me securely against the solid length of his body as he pulls me back from the edge.
His gaze snaps to mine, his dark eyes flaring with a flicker of raw panic he quickly buries. For one breath, he simply holds me there, one arm banded across my stomach, the other wrapped around my back, his mouth close to my ear. Then he releases me and steps between Van and me.
“Touch my partner again, Hawthorne,” Silas says, his voice edged with quiet menace, “and I’ll make sure you regret it.”
Van turns, smiling. “Is that a threat?”
“It’s a promise.”
Van’s smile vanishes. Something passes between them, old and lethal, and Van seems to shrink beneath Silas’s stare.
“Why are you protecting her?” he asks, sounding almost aggrieved. “She’s gutter blood, Silas. We all know that. She doesn’t belong here.”
“Be very careful who you accuse of not belonging,” Silas says.
“My uncle purged your parents for their disobedience. He chose to spare you.” He lets the reminder sit between them for a beat.
His fingers flex at his sides, as though resisting the urge to put them around Van’s throat.
“Don’t give me a reason to finish what he started.
I doubt the Veil would mourn another dead Hawthorne. ”
Goosebumps rise along my arms at the sheer violence radiating off Silas.
He takes one step toward Van, and I’m reminded just how frightening he can be when he really wants to—tall and broad, every line of his muscular body coiled and ready, barely restraining the aggression beneath the surface.
He could take Van apart with very little effort.
It makes me realize just how much he’s been holding back with me this whole time.
Every threat he’s ever made to me now pales in comparison.
Suddenly, I understand why everyone is afraid of him—even people like Van.
Van’s face goes ashen, his mouth tightening as though he wants to say more but knows better.
Instead, he grabs a harness and jerks it on, his partner quickly following suit.
They clip onto the safety line and hurry across without another word.
The bridge sways dangerously beneath their combined weight.
“Idiots,” Georgina mutters as she and Rowan make their way cautiously onto the bridge next.
A bell rings somewhere in the distance, faint and far off.
The sound draws my attention toward the ravine below, where I count six iron bells strung along its length.
They’re bolted to posts driven into the rock face at uneven intervals, each one hanging just above the tree line.
I’d assumed they were only markers—something to help contestants track the course in the dark.
But then a second bell rings, closer.
Then a third.
The gust slams into the bridge a second later.
Van drops to one knee as the planks pitch beneath him, while his partner is thrown sideways, catching the outer rope to stop himself from going over.
Behind them, Georgina loses her footing and crashes into Rowan, who grabs her as the bridge bucks beneath them.
Each movement amplifies the next until the planks roll beneath them in long, ugly waves.
Even after the gust finally passes, no one dares move for nearly a minute, shaken and clinging to the ropes long after the bridge settles.
I go still.
The bells…
It wasn’t random. The bells rang in sequence just before the gust hit, the trees bending along the ravine in the same progression. The wind traveling in a straight line, tripping each bell as it passed.
“It’s a pattern,” I whisper to Silas. “The bells are a warning system. They ring in the order the wind hits them. By the time the third one rings, we’ve got maybe two, three seconds before it reaches the bridge.”
“You’re certain?”
“Pretty certain.”
“Excellent.” He looks toward the bridge ahead. “We move when the wind drops then.”
“And if I’m wrong about the bells?”
His mouth gives the slightest twitch. “Then I’ll revise my opinion of your intelligence posthumously.”
We step onto the bridge, and it shifts instantly beneath us. Every instinct tells me to stiffen, but Silas reaches back and takes my hand. “You’re okay,” he says, warmth racing along my skin at the feel of his fingers lacing with mine. “I’ve got you.”
We move three planks at a time. The first bell rings. Then the second and third.
“Stop,” I say.
We crouch and brace for the wind. Seconds later, the gust strikes hard enough to tear breath from my lungs. The bridge swings left and Silas moves with it, pulling me into the same rhythm. His hand shifts from my fingers to my wrist, securing me in place.
When the wind slows, we move again. My heart drops when I see the next section of the bridge. Two planks are missing entirely, leaving nothing but open air between the remaining boards.
Silas studies the gap. “I’ll go first.”
“I’m lighter. I should go,” I say, hoping I sound braver than I feel.
“You’re also shorter.”
“I have long legs.”
His gaze drops, traveling slowly down the length of my body before returning to my face. Something wicked glints in his eyes. “Yes,” he says. “I’ve noticed.”
Before I can decide what to make of that, he’s already climbing over the side rope. He lowers himself onto one of the supporting cables and moves across the gap with controlled precision. As soon as he gets to the other side, he braces and holds out his hand. “Come on,” he says, beckoning to me.
I climb onto the cable. Below me, there is only mist and darkness. My body locks, momentarily frozen in place.
“Don’t look down,” Silas says.
“I’m trying not to.”
“Glare at me instead. You rather seem to enjoy doing that.”
I lift my eyes to his and find him smiling. Not the polished, cruel version I’m used to. This one is warm, almost shy, and so unexpectedly beautiful that my heart temporarily forgets its rhythm.
I move one foot along the cable, then the other, while Silas talks to me. I think he’s trying to relax me the only way he knows how—by annoying me.
“You know, for someone who claims not to fear heights, you are making this very dramatic.”
“I’m balancing over a ravine with practically tornado-force winds every few minutes,” I say. “What do you expect?”
“Fair point,” he says. “If I’m being honest, you’re not nearly as bad at this as I expected.”
I nearly stumble over the plank. “Whoa—was that a compliment?”
“Stay focused,” he says. “Do not become distracted by my considerable charm.”
“Don’t worry. There’s no danger of that.”
My hand finally reaches his, and he closes his fingers around mine, pulling me across. His other hand settles at my hip to steady me, and little bolts of electricity climb up my arm from everywhere he’s touching me. It’s so distracting, I almost forget we’re dangling dozens of feet above a ravine.
After another cycle of ringing bells and wind, I trust the pattern enough to move faster across the bridge. While the other competitors ahead inch forward and brace at every shift of the planks, Silas and I race between gusts, dropping low only when the bells warn us one is coming.
“You do know all of you are insane, right?” I ask, my voice sounding annoyingly breathless. “You’re all risking your lives for the right to preside over a secret society? Why? I don’t get it.”
“Leadership isn’t the only reason claimants enter.”
The answer is so unexpected that I nearly miss my footing.
“Watch the bridge,” Silas orders, tightening his grip on my hand.
“Why else would they enter?”
He looks ahead. The shadows hide part of his face, but I see his shoulders stiffen. “They say the winner receives one boon.”
“A boon?”
“One impossible wish granted by the Veil.”
I wait for him to smile, show some sign he’s kidding, but there’s nothing.
The Veil has money, influence, judges, politicians, police officers, and enough control over Salem’s Fall to make dead students disappear into invented lives.
With that alone, they could grant almost any wish, no matter how difficult. But Silas does not say difficult.
He says impossible.
“You mean… like a magical wish?” I scoff. “There’s no such thing.”
“It could be anything, I suppose,” he says. “Love. Revenge. Money. Health.”
The bells ring then, and we sway together in the wind as the ropes strain and the planks buck beneath us. I should be thinking about my balance, but I can’t stop thinking about what he just said.
“So you just ask for whatever you want and the Veil makes it happen?”
“Not exactly,” he says. “They say the boon is bound to whoever earns it. You don’t ask. The Veil knows and grants you whatever you want most in the world.”
“I’m not saying I buy all this, but I’ll play along,” I say. “If you win, what do you think you’ll get?”
Silas’s gaze catches on mine for a long beat before he finally looks away. “I have no idea.”
“Oh, right. You don’t want for anything, is that it?” I laugh, certain he’s mocking me. “Then why are you here risking your life again?”
“Because my uncle doesn’t consider participation in The Rites optional.”