Page 19

H.A.Z.E

D amien doesn't move. He lingers over the edge of the rooftop, watching Reece below as though my presence here is a mere afterthought. But he does speak, his voice low and dripping with threats. "This is my territory."

His face is turned from me, but from the slight shift in his posture and the way his finger taps silently against the concrete, I can tell he didn't see me coming. I whine, mockingly, "But I just got here."

His hands clench, and his jaw tenses. His eyes are on Reece, but his attention is on me—no, not me. It’s the thing attempting to sneak up on me.

I see it in the way the Aether shifts, subtle but undeniable. It's enough to tell me something is there, moving in the shadows behind me, their intent sharp and unmistakable.

I pause, tilting my head slightly as if listening to the wind, but my heartbeat remains steady. There's no fear, no panic—only a calm certainty. Death is close but feels distant, like a familiar face in the crowd.

Damien smiles. He thinks he's fooling me. He thinks I'm prey, and I let him think I am.

"Right." He chuckles, as my lips curl into the barest hint of a smile. "I guess you can keep me and my Defect company then?"

Silly, simple fucking men.

Don't they know what they've walked into? Don't they realise I've been here before—felt this tension, felt their intent ?

The sound of the Defect’s heavy breathing hits me as a presence distorts the space beside me, puffing against my ear, rough and rugged. A shadow looms over my body as black blood rolls off my skin and hits the rooftop's gritty surface with a silent splash that echoes in the silence.

My gaze slides back to Damien as he finally turns his bright golden eyes to me, obviously expecting me to be on my last breath. To beg. But the smirk on his face slowly falls when he sees the dagger slicing through the skin of my hand where I had caught it.

The beast growls as I grab hold of the blade and slowly twist the dagger.

My movements are deliberate and calculating.

My heart is slow— always —and my breathing is barely disturbed.

I want Damien to know, to see, that this is nothing.

They are both nothing against me. I'm the monster in the dark, the predator in the shadows, and whatever territory I step on is mine.

The Defect tries to release the dagger as its sharp, pointed edge aims against his neck, but I grab hold of his large hand that grips the handle, and squeeze , forcing him to hold the blade and to take part in his own death.

The blade’s edge glints at me, its silver surface reflecting my dead, golden eyes.

He thought he had control—he doesn't. Not anymore. The moment stretches, taut and silent, until it snaps. I move.

For a heartbeat, everything is still. The world seems to hold its breath as the Defect's head tilts, detached from the body that no longer struggles against me.

The weight of it drags it down, tumbling in a slow, almost surreal descent.

Blood follows, black and deep and wrong, catching the light before splattering across the ground in thick, dark streaks.

His body collapses, crumbling like a puppet with its strings cut. For a moment, I just stand there, blade in hand, my gaze never once leaving Damien, as the chill of the Defect’s blood creeps towards my boots.

I exhale as a small smile stretches across my lips. "I'm disappointed in you, Damien," I say, amused, resting the blackened blade on the rooftop. "Since when do our kind team up?"

"We had a mutual agenda." He shrugs, staring me up and down.

"You had a mutual agenda… with a Defect?" I raise a disbelieving brow. "The man could hardly string together two syllables without slobbering all over the place. I don't see what use he was to you."

"On its own, it was useless." A gleam darkens his pale grey eyes—eyes that remind me of his son. "Together, they provide a nice distraction."

There used to be hundreds of Second-Generation Nightwalkers like Damien before the Saviour started hunting them down.

But Defects?

There were thousands of Defects; a number so large, they created Ricci's army.

Defects who were once human—abandoned and forgotten or tossed out of society—are now more beast than man, their bodies twisted, broken, and mutated.

They were humans whose minds had broken before they could reach the second stage.

"This mutual agenda of yours," I drawl, leaning a hip against the rooftop edge, standing toe-to-toe with Damien. "It doesn't happen to be a dark-haired, save-the-world, anti-hero with pretty red eyes, does it?"

Damien stiffens and looks at Reece. "I thought you said Nightwalkers don't team up?"

"They don't." I grit my teeth. "But I'm backed into a corner, doing things I simply wasn't created for, with creatures I would much rather see dead at my feet. Only now, I want them to suffer first."

Damien stares, distrust lurking deep in his gaze. "What does Riot have on you?"

More like he has something in me. Even now, as I'm voicing my will to hurt him, my veins burn.

And that doesn't seem to be my only issue, because I'm beginning to think this Saviour can track me the moment I use my abilities.

He doesn't think I caught it, but he appeared awfully fast the moment I summoned upon it in the garden when my presence should have been hidden from him.

"If I tell you, I may as well lie down and let you slit my throat." I grin, and Damien narrows his gaze, knowing we weren't built to surrender so pathetically.

"This partnership doesn't—"

"Partnership?" I murmur, blinking three times fast. "Why on earth would I partner up with you?"

Damien's jaw tightens, his eyes—cold and sharp—flick over me as though sizing me up, weighing out if he can kill me, and I see him come to his decision when a slow, deliberate smile stretches across his lips "So, what's the plan?" he asks smugly.

A smile tilts the corner of my lips. He thinks he's hiding it well—his disdain, his frustration at being forced to bend to my will. But it’s there, plain as day. The tension in his shoulders, the forced calm in his voice.

He's good at playing his role. I can see why Reece fell for his lies, and I can see how the Saviour did as well. But I'm a master manipulator. I know the signs to watch out for. They're the same signs I force my body to reflect when I want them to think they're in control.

"I want you to meet with someone." Damien leans closer, his face inches from mine, and I allow him to.

"Who?"

"The District 2 General." He raises a brow in question as I continue. "I killed his daughter seven days ago. He made a promise to the Gods to kill whoever did it, and I want him to know it was me."

His thumb runs along my jaw as he whispers, "Can he kill you?"

"No," I scoff, rolling my eyes at the absurdity of the question. "He can't, but when the time comes, he'll definitely be strong enough to stop the Saviour for us."

Damien arches a brow. "You think he's enough to kill the Grand Arbiter?"

"No," I answer. "I think he's enough to weaken the Saviour long enough for me to rip out his heart."

I know Damien can't kill him; unlike the enslavement mark, the loyalty bond works both ways. Damien grits his teeth. "How do you plan to get the General to turn?"

"I'm planting evidence so damning, the General will have no choice but to believe it. And when it's time to execute his righteous promise to the Gods..." A low chuckle escapes my lips, cold and sharp. "The Saviour will be the one on the chopping block, and he'll have no chance at surviving him."

My plan to kill the Saviour excites Damien, because there is no lie in his expression as his lips twist into a wide, toothy grin.

His grey eyes gleam, bright and wild, catching the last bit of light in the sky like shards of broken glass.

There's a manic energy to him, the kind that makes the air around him feel charged, suffocating.

"Devious, savage, evil," he murmurs, sliding his cold fingers down my neck, along my collarbone, between my breasts. "Ricci did a nice job creating you."

I snatch his fingers and say, "I know."

His eyes snap to mine, and he frowns. "Such a pity he couldn't fix your eyes."

I glower, feigning offence. "You don't like my eyes?"

"Don't be like that, darling." My frown slips into a neutral expression. "We're meant to be the embodiment of perfection. Your freaky, mismatched eyes don't fit. If Ricci were alive, he never would have let you go until he fixed those hideous fucking eyes."

I blink, searching for a lie in his gaze, but he seems genuinely distraught by them—my mismatched eyes.

"I could have been perfect," I whisper, leaning in close. Damien smiles.

"It's okay. We can get you some contacts. I'm sure they still exist." I feel his breath on my lips; it’s cold, nothing like Riot's. "It's only temporary. We'll get you all fixed once I get my boy back."

"The Nightwalker?" Anger ignites in his eyes at my words.

"Do not compare my boy to us. He is better.

He's superior. And when he's under my control, I'll take whatever is left of this broken world and make it mine.

They will bow to me, or they will burn." His grip on my waist tightens.

The moment I'd been waiting for is finally here.

His golden eyes glare down at me, and he sneers, "Including you. "

Before he can execute his plan, his entire body freezes up.

I watch him carefully; the tension in his body is so sharp that it looks like it might snap him in two.

His jaw clenches, the muscle jumping beneath his skin, and I can almost hear the battle raging inside him—his disbelief, raw and cutting, coursing through him like a current too strong to fight.

Under usual circumstances, I'd have no problem bragging about my ability. But, if the enslavement mark reacts to my power, it's no use… yet. But that's fine. Nightwalkers are many things, but we're not dumb.