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Duarte sneered. “He’s an essential man in this government. You know that better than anyone.”
My blood boiled. “Doesn’t he benefit from a happy, economically stable commonwealth? She gives people hope!”
The man in front of me spat to the side. “His father supported me when I took power. We owe them money. If he wants her dead, I will have to comply.”
I was getting desperate. “Talk to him. Convince him she’s better alive. If you harm her, I will make sure everyone knows about how you helped kill your own daughter—how you manipulated the Blood Tournament and covered-up Martina de León's murder. Do you want your people to see the monster you truly are?"
The Canciller's nostrils flared, his eyes narrowing into menacing slits. His balled fists trembled at his sides as he stared me down. "You dare threaten me, Castillas?" he growled. In the dim light of our makeshift shelter, his face appeared more monstrous than ever, twisted by the shadows.
"Think of it as a mutually beneficial arrangement," I replied, my voice steady despite the pounding in my chest. “Talk to Omar Gálvez. Tell him that Carmen will remain alive, and I can assure you that your secrets will stay hidden. I will marry her. This is good for everyone.”
He looked like he would kill me here and now. “If you try to force my hand, I’ll kill everyone you love.”
I swallowed. “If you kill her, then no one I love will be left alive.”
He stepped forward. “I’ll kill both of you.”
Drawing myself up to my full height I shook my head. “You just lost almost an entire generation of Élites. Kill me, and you’ll find yourself back where you were fifty years ago—with a government on the brink of collapse. The Comerciante Nocturnos won’t bail you out this time.”
As I spoke, I could see the wheels turning in the Canciller's mind, his gaze flickering between Carmen's unconscious form and my determined stare. He hated the idea of someone else having control, but his desire for survival slowly took precedence over his anger.
The Canciller's face turned red with fury, his hands shaking at his sides. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. Instead, he glared at me, calculating the risks of my threat.
"Fine," he finally said through gritted teeth. "But remember, Castillas, you're just as much a pawn in this game as she is. You'll suffer the consequences if you cannot control the situation."
"Understood," I replied, my heart pounding as the magnitude of the agreement settled upon me. But I had to save Carmen, and this was the only way.
I swallowed the bile in my throat at the thought of making a deal with this man. But this was the only way to ensure Carmen's survival.
When the Canciller was out of earshot, I hurried to Carmen's side. Her unconscious form lay on a makeshift stretcher, her face pale and drawn. Despite the anger and fear that consumed me, I couldn't help but feel sorrow at the sight of her missing leg. It was a cruel reminder of our harsh world and the price we had to pay for survival.
I knelt beside her, gently brushing a lock of her wild, curly black hair from her forehead. Unspoken words of love and apology swirled in my head, but I knew they would have to wait. For now, I focused on the task at hand—ensuring Carmen's survival.
Our fight was far from over, but I felt more hopeful at that moment than ever. People raced around me, not watching closely enough to see how I cut my finger and let a bead of blood well up. Once it was large enough, I wiped it across her lips. After moments of worrying it wasn’t enough, I gently opened her mouth and brushed my injured digit across her tongue.
Then I picked up her hand and channeled my energy into her. There was a connection between us I’d left untouched for so long. I could see the scars inside of her and feel the hurt in her body.
Tears streamed from my eyes, and I worked.
I couldn’t fix the missing half of her leg, but she would live.
PartThree
Numb
Chapter31
I Want To Stop Breathing
Two Weeks Later,
Ilaid motionless as I came into consciousness, my skin slick with sweat and my wild black curls splayed across the pillow. Every breath came as a struggle, each inhalation sending shivers down my spine. A coppery taste of blood was on my tongue, and my breath was loud in the quiet room.
When I tried to move, everything resisted. My once strong, six-foot-tall frame now felt fragile, like a wilted flower struggling to find sunlight.
Attached to my arm was a thin tube that snaked its way to an IV stand, pumping liquid food into my veins. The constant dripping sound it made was a haunting lullaby that had kept me company during the long hours of pain and fear. With every heartbeat, I could feel my blood pumping through my veins.
I wasn't dead.
