He was the only thing left that proved the world I remembered had ever existed. And somehow, even after what I’d shown him, he’d stayed.
Later, when the driver quieted, Will asked, “Do you have family? Anyone you want to find?”
I hesitated. “An uncle,” I said. “Don’t know where he lives.”
But I did.
I just didn’t want to see him again. He drank too much. Got handsy when no one was looking. My father kicked him out with a bloodied lip and a warning. We never spoke of it again. Some things are better left buried.
Will shifted, resting his chin on his hand. “I’ve got an aunt,” he said after a pause. “She’s nearby. Kind. I think she’d let us stay.”
I nodded but didn’t reply. Just hoped he was right.
The cart rattled over a rut and jolted beneath us. Will gripped the side rail and said, “We get what we need. Then we leave.”
“Leave?” I looked at him, brow furrowing.
He gave a short nod. Still didn’t meet my gaze. “Leave Vestance.”
A bitter laugh slipped out before I could stop it. “We can’t just leave. We can’t just let them—”
“We tried, Kera.” His jaw clenched as he turned to me, like the words had been simmering there for days. “We did fight. Look what happened.”
I stared at him, the heat rising behind my eyes, my throat tightening. My fingers curled into fists in my lap.
“Vestance is a sinking ship.” He exhaled hard, ran a hand through his hair. “I get it. I want to kill them too. Every last one of them. But what are we supposed to do? Hunt them down one by one? Just us? Barehanded, against men with rifles?”
I didn’t answer.
I couldn’t.
Because he wasn’t wrong.
Will glanced sideways at me. “Then we’d just be dead too,” he said, quieter now. “And there’d be no one left to remember them. No one left to tell their story. No one left to avenge them.”
He wasn’t wrong.
Gods, I hated that he wasn’t wrong.
But knowing the truth didn’t dull the rage. It only made it heavier.
I wanted blood. I wanted fire. I wanted justice.
Leaving meant surrendering. Letting them win. It meant losing my home, my family, my whole life. It would be erasing us from history. I hated how easy it would be for the world to forget.
The cart creaked to a stop by the side of the road, gravel crunching beneath the wheels as Will leaned forward and asked the driver to let us off. I murmured a soft thank you and climbed down, my boots landing harder than I meant them to. The driver tipped his cap, gave a quiet nod, then flicked the reins.
I stood still, staring at the town ahead.
Askberg.
It looked so painfully ordinary. The kind of place where kids still rode wooden carts down cobblestone streets and neighbors paused to chat over garden fences. Where someone’s mutt dozed on a stoop, tongue lolling in the sun. Somewhere behind an open window, I heard dishes clinking together. Life. Ordinary life.
And all I could think washow dare it keep going.
I had watched the world bleed.
I had heard it scream.
