Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
KAY
George is purring like he’s trying to rattle the floorboards loose.
The sound buzzes through my bones, heavy and low, and I keep petting him like that’ll do something to quiet the hollow in my chest. It doesn’t.
He flops against my leg, warm and real and here, and it’s honestly the only reason I haven’t gone full meltdown.
Caziel isn’t here. No knock on the door.
No note. No sharp-angled silhouette in the doorway with that unreadable expression and the weight of a thousand years in his eyes.
Just silence. And yeah, I’m spiraling a little.
Maybe more than a little. After everything—after I laid myself bare like an idiot—he disappeared. And I don’t know what that means.
Did I scare him off? Did I imagine the way he looked at me? Do I matter less than I thought? No. I shake my head. He probably has Ember Heir business to attend to.
George snorts and flips onto his back, belly up and smug. “Traitor,” I murmur, scratching under his chin. He licks my hand like he forgives me for whatever cosmic betrayal I’ve committed today.
The room feels too still. The quiet presses in, and then the door slams open.
I yelp, nearly falling off the bed. George bolts upright, fur puffed, his eyes narrowed like he’s deciding whether to destroy or tolerate whoever just dared enter his kingdom.
“SWEET FLAME, KAY!” Sarai screeches. “I thought it ate you!”
I blink. “What?”
“That—” She points, hand shaking, “thing! It was here alone, and you were gone and I thought—I thought it devoured you whole!”
There’s a beat of stunned silence before I realize she’s pointing at George.
Who licks his paw with the smug serenity of a creature who absolutely would eat me, if he ever felt like it.
I start laughing. I can’t stop. It’s not pretty or dignified.
It’s half-hysterical and too sharp and it pulls something loose in my chest.
“You thought my cat ate me?”
Sarai’s eyes are huge and for the first time I notice the mitts covering her hands as if they’d protect her from being clawed.
“That’s not a cat, Kay! That’s a baby Ember Maw! Look at its eyes! It’s not even trying to hide the evil!”
“Whoa—what are you doing?” I blurt, freezing mid-step as Sarai’s hand darts to the blade I know she keeps tucked under her skirt. Her eyes are fixed on George. My cat. My sweet, smug, absolutely unbothered George, who was currently winding between my ankles like he owns the realm.
“That thing,” Sarai hisses, “where did it come from?”
“He’s mine.” My heart jumps, half indignation, half panic. “Caz brought him here for me. You thought he was an Ember something?”
“Ember Maw. Hellcat,” she says, as if that clarifies anything.
“Beasts of flame and fury. Born in the molten heart of this realm.” Her voice drops, reverent and edged.
“They’re highly territorial. Aggressive.
They kill indiscriminately—not to feed, but to remind everything else what power looks like. ”
I glance down at George. He blinks up at me, slow and bored, as if the only thing he plans to kill is my patience and the rich, red curtains. “Right. Terrifying.”
“You haven’t no idea of which you speak.” Sarai’s expression doesn’t soften. “Even the Sovereigns tread lightly where Ember Maws roam. Their fire is older than the Flame itself.”
“And you thought he was one of those?” I swallow. The air feels thicker suddenly, hotter.
“For a heartbeat. No one in Crimson has ever seen their young.” Her gaze lingers on my cat. “Let’s hope the Realm doesn’t make the same mistake.”
We’re both staring at George when his head shakes with a violent sneeze. Sparks—tiny, harmless, gold—flickered in the air and die before hitting the floor. That’s new. Sarai’s eyes widen and I pretend not to see.
“Okay,” I manage through laughter, “first of all, he’s twelve. He’s just old and angry and full of hate, but that’s normal for him. Second, this is George.”
“George,” she repeats, like that somehow makes it worse.
George, traitor that he is, stretches out on the bed and lets out a theatrical mrowr, like he’s been gravely insulted.
“I can’t believe you thought he was an…Ember cat?
Hellcat?” I say, wiping tears from the corners of my eyes.
“What, you think he dragged me under the bed and fluffed me to death?” Actually, there have been nights I’ve woken up gasping for air, all because George decided my face would make a good pillow. I keep that to myself.
“I didn’t know!” Sarai exclaims, hands still hovering like she might need to fight him off. “He grumbled at me, Kay.”
“He grumbles at everyone. That’s his love language.”
She hesitates a moment longer, then steps into the room like the floor might betray her. “You’re… okay?”
I nod. The laugh’s fading already, and I feel the weight settle back into my ribs. “Yeah,” I say softly. “Just me and The Beast.”
“Beast?”
“Caz calls him that now. I think they reached some kind of mutual respect arrangement.”
George glares at the ceiling like it personally offended him. Sarai watches him warily.
“He’s just so hairy and sharp.”
“That’s an understatement.” I snort.
She laughs, a soft, reluctant sound. “So, you’re really okay?”
“As okay as I can be. Caz is… not around.” I shrug as if I’m totally unbothered, but it’s a lie. Sarai glances away, and my stomach drops.
“You thought I was with him.”
She nods. “After earlier… I figured he would’ve stayed.”
Me too.
“Guess it’s just me and George,” I say, rubbing behind his ears. He leans into it, humming like a smug little engine. “My emotional support hellbeast.”
“He was probably summoned.” She smiles, then sobers again. “They’ve started preparing the courtyard.”
I go still. My stomach knots.
“For tomorrow?”
She nods. “I came to see if you needed anything. But maybe you already have everything.”
I really don’t, but I nod anyway. I can fake it. Pretend I have everything handled. Like I’m not fraying at the seams. Sarai studies me for a second longer, too perceptive for her own good, but she doesn’t push.
“Tell me what to expect?” I swallow back the urge to apologize for the demand.
“No one tells me anything. I don’t know if it’s by design to keep me lost, or on accident because they don’t know I have no idea what’s happening, but…
” I lick my bottom lip. “Please. Will I see the other contenders again? Will I have to answer questions? Fight? Is it a pageant? An interview? An execution?”
“Oh, nothing like that,” Sarai laughs lightly but she carefully avoids my eyes. “This is more ceremony than anything else. The contenders are presented to the Flame.”
“I already did that.” I point out. Sarai shakes her head, shimmering strands of hair whipping across her face and neck. “No I did, remember? Not marked but not unkindled?”
“Those were the Flamebound. The scholars of the Flame, of Infernalis. They were trying to determine what you are and how you made it to Crimson.”
I narrowly avoid rolling my eyes. “And just the other day I had to deal with Coriolanus Snow 2.0 but I still have no mark.” I hold my eyes arm. “See?”
“Be careful,” she whispers and slips through the door.
The moment she’s gone, the weight I’ve been holding in my chest uncoils all at once.
I sit on the edge of the bed and press my hands to my thighs, grounding myself with the pressure.
George butts his head against my knee like he knows I’m unraveling.
His fur is warm. Soft. Familiar. The only thing here that feels like mine.
I didn’t ask for this. Any of it. Not Crimson.
Not the flame. Not the pressure building like a fuse just waiting to be lit.
I sure as hell didn’t ask to become some kind of symbol, but maybe I should’ve known.
My whole life, I’ve watched systems meant to protect people leave them behind.
I’ve seen families break apart under the weight of what’s “supposed” to help.
I’ve seen the cruelty people justify with rules, borders, old gods, new governments.
I used to think that ugliness was uniquely human.
Like maybe the rest of the universe had evolved past it.
Of course that was wishful thinking. Rot bleeds outward.
Power hungry systems are the same no matter what plane they sit on.
The faces just change. The rules, the names, the magic—they’re all different shades of the same poison, and I didn’t even think to look for it when I landed here.
I just thought I’d stumbled into something otherworldly. Something better.
Now I know better. And knowing better comes with responsibility.
I have nothing tying me down. I’ve probably already lost whatever job I had to return to.
No parents waiting at the door. Just George, a cat I love like my whole damn heart, who will outlive me in a hundred different ways if I’m not careful.
And besides, he’s here now. I press my forehead to his side and breathe in the dusty, slightly sulfurous scent of him.
Crimson air baked into his fur. He purrs, steady and soft.
“Guess we’re both stuck here, huh?” I murmur.
His only response is to sprawl farther across the bed like a king claiming land.
I laugh under my breath. And then I swallow it down because if I’m stuck here, and I have to walk into that trial tomorrow—unbranded, unprepared, unknown—then I need to stop pretending I’m powerless.
I may not be marked. I may not be chosen.
But that doesn’t mean I have nothing to offer.
Sometimes the smallest grit in the gears is what brings a whole machine to a halt.
No one’s asked me to rise, but maybe… just maybe… Crimson is ready for someone like me to try.