Page 50 of Godless Saints

Zara walked with me to the edge of the salle. Before we stepped fully into view, she turned, rose on her toes, and kissed my cheek.

I let her.

Because I needed it. Because the arrangement was cracked but not dead yet. Because Cillian wasn’t here and the absence was already obnoxious.

Vivienne smiled from a few feet away like she knew exactly what the performance cost.

Zara pulled back, eyes sharp. “Break a leg.” Then she walked away to sit with Vivienne in the stands.

Sawyer was already there, restless, eyes tracking my every move like he was one wrong breath away from throwing punches.

The salle was packed. High windows threw cold light across the long strip. Aster students watching because I belonged to them. Vesper heirs watching because one of theirs was fencing the Moon heir. Phones out, discreet but recording. The Gallery was already circling, hungry for the next clip.

Cillian wasn’t there. Relief hit first. Then disappointment. Some broken part of me had still hoped he’d show. I scanned the room quickly. No sign of him.

My opponent was a Vesper heir I’d fenced once before, years ago, back in high school, before Harvard. Fast. Impeccable footwork. Tall. Curly brown hair. Freckles. He smiled like the whole match was already decided in his favor.

He hadn’t beaten me then. He wouldn’t beat me today.

We saluted. Mask on. En garde.

He came in fast on the first exchange. I parried late. The rhythm felt off in my shoulders, in my head. Every time I tried to settle into the familiar precision, Declan’s hands flashed behind my eyes. My father’s expectations. All of it crowding the space where focus should have lived.

We reset.

“No Thorn bodyguard today?”

I didn’t answer.

“Your girlfriend looks loyal. Brave of her.”

I advanced. He retreated. I feinted. He caught it.

“Careful, Moon. Everyone’s watching you today.”

I didn’t rise to it. I needed to win this match. Proof that I was still the version of myself everyone expected.

I won the next exchange cleanly. The point landed. For half a second the old rhythm clicked back into place. We reset. I attacked. He parried. His riposte came fast. The blade caught me across the collarbone.

Sharp. Sudden. Wrong.

Pain flared white-hot. I jerked back. “Ow—what the fuck?” Blood bloomed fast over the white jacket. Red on white. Impossible to hide. The fabric darkened in a spreading line.

The Vesper heir froze for a split second, blade still extended. Even he looked surprised. The referee stepped in immediately, hand up.

“Halt!”

I pressed my gloved hand to the cut. Blood seeped between my fingers. The salle had gone quiet except for the low murmur starting to rise.

I didn’t wait for the referee to fuss. I didn’t wait for the medic. “I’m done.” I turned and walked off before anyone could manage me.

Zara and Vivienne were already moving through the stands. Sawyer half-rose from his seat.

I kept walking. I didn’t want their concern. Their pity. I didn’t fucking need this public circus.

The boys’ locker room door slammed behind me. I ripped the mask off and hurled it. It crashed into the far lockers hard enough to dent the metal. The sound echoed.

Blood ran down my chest. I pressed my bare hand to the cut, furious, shaking.