Tyge shakes his head, standing his ground. Tears well in his eyes, despite the strong front he’s putting forward. I don’t blame him. The Alpha of the ungoverned district is a terrifying enemy to make. There may be rumors of covered-up corruption within the High Quarter, but Andras is no stranger to handling conflict like this. And he does so loudly. He holds a reputation as leader of the lawless. He is the grease that keeps our system running, the meticulously placed hairpin trigger that is just enough of a threat to keep the ungoverned district in line, lest utter anarchy ensue.
“What is it exactly that he's done?” I ask. Tyge has been a friend of the family for years, and it pains me to see him in the position he’s in now. Whatever he’s done, there has to be a way to work it out. He wouldn’t be the first of us to pocket a few coins and face Andras’ ire.
“Angel’s Trumpet,” Andras answers at last. I do a double take, looking between a rigid Tyge and a glowering Andras.
“Fucking hells, Tyge,” I breathe out, the pit in my stomach turning into a stone. There truly is no coming backfrom this. I’d thought Andras had brought me here to punish Tyge, but the reality of the situation finally dawns on me. He’s brought me here to take a life.
“The traitor brought that godsforsaken drug into our streets," says Andras, rage broiling in his voice. "He's dealing to our people, poisoning us from the inside out.”
“No,” Tyge argues, trying to state his case. "Andras, you know me. Aamon—"
I wince. Nothing he says is going to help him now. Not where Andras is involved. Not when he’s brought the enemy’s weapon into our home. Angel’s Trumpet is the herb the High Quarter Watchers use on our kind—anyone showing signs of the Arcane—as a way to root the power out of them, to suppress it and force them into servitude to the gods.
But there are those who have found ways to alter the plant, to abuse it as a substance and peddle the highly addictive tonic in the lowest corners of our territory. I’m no saint, nor am I naive enough to believe it is the only drug circulating our streets. But this one threatens the very fabric of our community, suppressing the power of the collective whole in the eyes of the High Quarter and taking away the one thing we have over them.
We're already weak enough without this shit making its way into our streets. Andras allows a lot of things, but Angel’s Trumpet has always, and will forever be, his hard line.
Andras looks back at me over his shoulder. “You think you can handle this one on your own?”
I fix my eyes on him, hardening them to let him know the reproach I feel at his insinuation.
“Alright,” he says on an exhale. He pushes past me, laying a hand on my shoulder and leaning in once more before he takes his leave. “Make it fast, but make it hurt. And have Zeke set the body out in the lower levels. We need to send a message with this one.”
My stomach roils, hating what I’m about to do, but I nod, not meeting his gaze as he finally releases me and struts out of the garage with ease. As if he didn’t just damn one of his own to the seven hells.
I wait for the sound of the door latching behind him before I turn to Quinn. “Get the kerosene.”
“Please don’t do this,” Tyge whispers. His words are desperate, his eyes frantically searching mine for some sign of mercy.
“You brought this on yourself,” I say, running a hand through my hair. It's still damp with sweat from the fight. Andras hadn’t even given me the time to recover from the rings before summoning me here to do his dirty work. An intentional decision, no doubt. He was sending a message, testing me to prove my worth, my strength in his Order. And I have no choice but to follow through. “You knew better than to deal in this shit.”
“I know,” he gasps between stifled sobs. He fidgets against the restraints, getting antsier by the second. “I figured one run wouldn’t hurt." Quinn is digging through cabinets, looking for the jug of oil that will take the reaper out, and each loud clang of metal and rustling of tools has Tyge flinching. "I needed the extra money to settle some debts. I’m so sorry, Aamon. Have mercy on me. Release me into the WildLands. I won’t ever return.”
“If it was money you needed,” I hiss, stooping down and grabbing a fistful of his sullied shirt. “Then you should have come to us. Asked for help. We're a brotherhood."
“I know.” Tyge shakes his head, his body trembling with regret. “I should have just come to you straight away.” Tears well in the eyes of a once-essential asset for the Blood Order. “I promise it won’t happen again.”
I sigh, watching over Tyge’s shoulder as Quinn finally locates the kerosene and slips silently behind the reaper, waiting for my signal. “I know, Tyge. I know it won’t happen again.” I let him go as I step back, my eyes falling downcast just as Quinn starts dousing him in the oil. I slip the lighter out of my pocket, flicking it on against my thigh and dropping it at the feet of the reaper.
His screams fill the garage as his body goes up in flames.
It should be making me flinch, should be eating me alive, to carry out Andras’ judgement like this. But he’s the one who taught me where showing mercywill get you. So I numb myself, making myself immune to the horrors of this life I’ve only ever existed in.
This is my duty.
To protect the Blood Order.
To maintain peace in the ungoverned district.
To obey the Alpha.
Perhaps it had affected me at one point, but in this life, one cannot afford luxuries like a conscience.
Tyge lets out one last bloodcurdling scream. Sterling steps forward almost on instinct, but Zeke grabs him by the arm. I meet Sterling's eyes, the silver moonlit orbs filled with sympathy, and see the concern in his face—the question lingering there. I shake my head, telling him to stand down without ever uttering a word, and he listens.
The four of us stand in silence, with Tyge’s body between us, as we wait for the flames to go out.
Iapproach the High Quarter Temple just as the sun begins to crest the horizon and casts its early morning glow on the stone walls and high stretched columns before me. My bones ache from the lack of adequate sleep I got last night, but I smother the feeling and force myself to go up the steps to the Temple entrance. I know the expectations put on me and tardiness in my father’s eyes is as vile as anything.
