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A partial shrug was as good of an answer he got in her shuffle toward the door. When the hinges popped open, an eerie silence greeted them—a signal that it’d been at least an hour, taking them into the night shift. But he didn’t see any guards on their way into the corridor. No lights poured out from under the doors they passed as Cy started to backtrack a little toward the entrance to the intersection where Grey had been dragged into the opposite direction.
“Fuck,” she grumbled as they crept forward, hitting a T split.
Noel’s heart hammered in his chest. “They said they’d needed him for curing something, right? So, he’s got to be guarded?—”
“He might be guarded. You heard the guy, if he can’t do the job?—”
He gritted his teeth. “They’d kill him if he couldn’t,” he hissed. “But Grey can heal.”
She eyed him wearily, her doubt starting to creep into his own mind that maybe they’d disposed of him already and hadn’t bothered to give them the news just yet.
No. He refused to entertain the thought and pushed past her to a wider passage—one lined with crates and a flickering light. Something grabbed the back of his jacket and yanked him backward, just enough for him to spin around and see Cy peeking around one of the stacks of bins.
She pointed through the crack to the deeper storage recess beyond it, where a man hunched over one of the storage containers, its lid discarded on the floor. Torn paper and cheesecloth littered the empty space, tangled with crumbs and chunks of nuts, granola, dried meats and fruit. A rat slithered through the garbage and picked up the pieces left behind while the guy discarded another shred of paper and shoved a ration in his mouth, gagging.
Cy glanced back at him, her face distorted in confused horror as she mouthed, what the actual fuck?
He tugged on her sleeve, and they crept through to the next section. Blood ran hot in his ears, pumping harder and faster at that first sign of abnormality. Something was wrong. Something was really fucking wrong. Noel swallowed back the urge to call for Grey in hopes of getting a response to find him faster and blindly turned another corner in hopes of finding a sign they were headed in the right direction.
40
GREY
Warmth grazed Grey’s face in the middle of the meadow, the sun’s rays pooling along his canvas cloth curling around his makeshift easel resting on his knees. Every stroke of his brush nudged him closer to the end. Closer to freedom. Closer to a peaceful trek home, though he tried not to dwell on whether returning to his aunt and uncle sat right with him.
Noel dropped down into the grass next to him, those green eyes following every flick of his wrist until they slowly followed his arm to trace his face. Grey fought back the flush creeping onto his cheeks. When he drew his hand back to dab a little more paint onto his brush, the distant figure, previously hidden by his arm, gave him pause.
He’d expected a woman: a vague image of his mother as a small memorial.
Instead, Noel sat there, a blue-winged butterfly resting on his finger and a soft grin on his face while he peered back at the creature. A quiet chuckle at Grey’s side made him grip his paintbrush even tighter.
“I don’t think the fair folk are going to like seeing me in the painting,” he whispered, his fingers brushing Grey’s hair away from his blind eye. “But I’m flattered.”
His neck felt hot as he turned his head to find Noel practically nose-to-nose with him. Incredibly close—a comfort he’d been craving since he reciprocated that hug. Lips brushed his, and Grey’s eyes closed. Sparks bloomed in his chest and his toes curled when Noel cupped the back of his neck.
A small part of him broke, deep down, stripping away to the core of all his pain: that fear of getting too close to anyone because they’d be ripped away yet again. So it hurt worse when Noel pulled back—that sweet moment far too short for Grey’s liking, even though their foreheads rested against each other.
“I knew you’d come around, little finch.”
Grey’s eyes flew open, and his stomach dropped. Black and blue stared back at him, piercing his soul as he tore away. His supplies tumbled to the ground, crashing into a small glass of paint-tinged water that spilled onto the canvas, drenching Noel’s—no, Reign’s painted figure.
Reign clicked their tongue and rose to their feet, brushing off their long jacket while Grey stumbled back. “I’m not sure why you insist on causing a fuss when all you need to do is surrender.” They adjusted their gloves and prowled closer. Each step forward turned into another unsteady step back for Grey. “No more Hunt. No more worries. Just you and me.”
They reached toward him, and Grey swatted their hand away. “I’m not stupid,” Grey forced out, surprised his voice didn’t waver with how bad he shook. “I’ll last for as long as you’re amused with me, and then I’ll finally be discarded. That’s how the fair folk work. Twisted entertainment for you, torture for?—”
A raspy chuckle cut him off, making Grey’s blood run cold.
“Torture? That’s what you believe I’ll do to you?” They lunged forward, seizing Grey by his hoodie’s collar. Grey gasped as he slammed into them, recoiling at the gloved hand sliding away from his jaw to force him to look up at them before it moved to his unseeing eye. If Grey didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought that a glimmer of remorse bled into Reign’s gaze. “I think the foul, filthy creatures scurrying around your plane have already done quite enough of that, hm?”
Grey swallowed, trying to adjust his grip on Reign’s wrist while his legs turned to jelly. “You’re going to hunt me,” he said evenly. “And then you’re going to declare me the winner, right? Just so you can fuck with me a little more and twist my feelings around before sending me back for your Grand Capital pets to euthanize me.”
A sly, almost teasing smirk slid onto their face. “Oh, Grey,” they cooed. “My dear little finch, you’ll really believe all these lies they whisper, won’t you?”
“Because they’re no?—”
Reign’s sharp yank of Grey’s collar made him suck in a breath.
“They. Are.” The deadly edge overtook the usual bemused teasing, like a flipped switch similar to the one Noel had triggered by plunging a knife into their back. “If that foolish, greedy little thing hadn’t noticed you so quickly, I wouldn’t have been so close to freeing you from this mess before it’s even begun. Stop running, little finch. Let me show you what they’re keeping from you.”
