Will jumped in. “That the Vult—King Devore murdered the royal family. The children too. You’d know. You work for him.”
“I wasn’t there,” the soldier snapped.
Aran laughed again, blood trailing from his mouth.
“Spineless bastards,” he spat. “You get off beating drunk kids? Go ahead, big man—maybe your king will reward you with his sloppy—”
The soldier lunged and seized him by the throat, cutting him off.
Aran had clearly crossed a line. Or ten. His boots scraped uselessly across the dirt as the soldier hauled him backward toward the edge of the mountain. Selma sprinted after them.
"Please! Stop!" she cried, her voice cracking. ”He’s drunk! He didn’t mean it!”
The soldier didn’t even glance at her, just kept dragging Aran toward the drop. If he slipped, if the soldier shoved him one step too far, Aran would go crashing down.
I could see it.
Aran's body smashing against the rocks below. Blood painting the mountainside. I think Selma saw it too—what could’ve been. A flash of silver caught the firelight as she lunged, the blade slicing through like lightning. She pressed it to the soldier’s throat, her hands trembling so hard I thought she’d drop it.
“Hurt him,” she growled. “And I swear I’ll slit your fucking throat.”
The soldier looked down at her in disbelief, and I could see what he was thinking. Out of all of us, the little redhead was the one who tried to save Aran? I’d never liked Selma, but in that moment I worshipped her.
She was brave. Braver than the rest of us.
Then the soldier moved. Fast. Fingers clamped around her wrist, hard enough to make her gasp and the knife slip from her hand. He shoved her back. Then he scanned the clearing. And maybe, just maybe, he realized how fast this could spiral. That we outnumbered them. That we weren’t just drunk kids anymore. He exhaled hard through his nose, then yanked Aran back from the edge and hurled him down.
Arantumbled, landing with a brutal thud. He rolled once, twice, then lay there coughing, hands clawing at his throat.
“Pack. It. Up,” the scarred soldier barked. “Next time, we won’t ask nicely.”
The one who’d recognized me lingered, his eyes boring into mine. Then, without another word, they turned and vanished into the trees. Aran groaned, dragging himself upright with one arm, the other cradling his ribs as he spat blood into the dirt.
“Cowards,” he rasped, swaying on his feet.
Then Aran cupped his hands around his mouth, sucking in a huge breath like he was about to scream it across the whole mountain.
“Suck my—”
Selma was on him before he could finish, slamming her hand over his mouth.
“SHUT UP!” she shrieked, her voice slicing through the night. “You wanna get us all killed, dumb fuck?!”
She smacked him hard in the chest.
“I... I’m sorry,” he slurred, blood on his lips. “I really hate those fuckers.”
“We all do,” she snapped. “We’rejust smarter than you.”
Will let out a shaky breath, almost a laugh, but not quite. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Some of us know when to shut up.”
“They’re monsters, Will,” he rasped. “They didn’t even fucking deny it.”
That stuck to me. They didn’t deny it. Didn’t deny murdering innocent children. And if they had, that meant they had no moral compass at all. No line they wouldn’t cross. No one they wouldn’t hurt. They just followed orders, whatever they might be. Did whatever the highest bidder demanded. Aran was reckless, he was bleeding, and he was stupid as hel, but he was right.
Einar finally let go of my wrist when the soldiers left. And when I could finally breathe again, I saw him. Really saw him. The tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes kept flicking toward the trees.
“Where were you?” I asked.
