My face is so warm, I’m sure it looks like I’ve burned myself. It’s a price I’m willing to pay to hold these tears back just a few moments longer, just until he’s out of my sight.
I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me break, of being the last person I cared about and trusted and to know that he ruined it all.
My hands fall to my sides, brushing against my belt. The jars at my fingertips are still mostly empty, and what little blood I’d gathered from the pigeon is already gone after everything I had to do earlier just to survive.
And that’s just it.
I am a survivor.
And I’ve survived far worse than Rowland’s betrayal.
But I need supplies to do so. I need my bolts. I need food and water, and maybe even some new boots.
Truthfully, I can’t afford to turn him down. If he’s really withholding my goods until he learns more about his precious missing cargo, then I have no other choice.
Turning around, I face him with the fierceness I’ve learned to face this cruel life with since I was eight.
I march to his desk and snatch the map off it.
“I’ll find your girlfriend,” I hiss, walking past him toward the door. I retrieve Sable from where he discarded her on the ground, grateful to have the comfort of my crossbow back in my arms.
“Now?” Rowland frets. “You can’t go now. It’s already dark. You should at least rest and wait until morning.”
The brass doorknob is cool in my hand when I say over my shoulder, “No, I leave now. And once I return, hopefully it’ll be the last you ever see of me.”
7
OUT FOR BLOOD
When we see the ghoul’s emaciated form lying sprawled atop a heap of sewage that reeks all the way across town, we know we’re in the right spot.
Caz moves the dead creature with the toe of his boot. “Yep. It’s dead.”
I squat beside the ghoul, taking it’s thin, grey arm into my hand and rotating it, examining every inch. “The blood’s been drained. Not too long ago, judging from the lack of decay.”
“You think it was Gregor and Boris?”
Releasing the arm, I shrug and stand. Next to most people, I’m a giant. But ever since our teenage years, Caz and I have rivaled in height. We take turns almost every year, one of us sprouting taller than the other, until the next year comes and the other person’s growth spurt kicks in.
Standing beside him now, it would seem that this year, I am in the lead. Admittedly, not by much.
“It seems likely,” I say, a watchful eye to the surrounding alleyways and empty streets. “The kill is too clean for a ghoul. And I don’t know of any other noctis who are in the area.”
I turn around and Caz and I exchange a glance, our expressions vastly different.
Worry has already begun to seep into my features. But if I didn’t know any better, I’d say Caz almost looks intrigued, maybe even slightly entertained. I find his propensity for taking few things seriously reassuring. It tells me he doesn’t believe us to be in any immediate danger because if we were,thenhe’d be someone else entirely. It’s one of the many reasons I value his company. Too often do people jump to conclusions and instigate panic. They have unreliable senses of judgment, while Caz only shows concern when there is reason to be.
His judgment is reliable.
It doesn’t remove the fact that this situation is still troublesome.
Two noctis are missing. The thought of returning home to report to my father that not only were we unsuccessful in finding humans for the Hunt, but we also managed to lose two of his Crimson Guards makes my chest feel like it’s sinking in.
I can just imagine the tirade he’ll be on, how much my ears will prefer bleeding over listening to his relentless hectoring.
Behind us, footsteps approach, an echo carrying down one of the many tight corridors. A heavy thud follows from the same direction, a sound that makes me think someone has just leapt from one of the rooftops and landed on the cobblestones before us.
Davorin and Harland appear in the shadows a moment later.
