Page 50

H.A.Z.E

I 'm good.

The darkness in the dungeon is alive. It crawls over my skin, sinks into my lungs, and presses against my skull like it’s trying to suffocate me.

The air is damp, reeking of mould and rot, and every breath is like swallowing nails.

I hear Sparrow cracking and crying and whining somewhere in the dark. It’s the only company I have.

Except for the voice— his voice.

It starts with a whisper. His voice. Low and sickly sweet, dripping with the same poison I swore I'd forgotten.

"Hello, Little One. I'm Ricci Gonzales."

Ricci. Ricci. Ricci.

He was just a name. He didn't have a face. His words had no depth, no sound, no tone. He was just a name. But I can feel myself being pulled back there—where? I don't fucking know. I just know I don't want to go. I don't want to remember. Not this.

"My, my, you have such a fiery spirit."

It's there, slithering through the cracks in my mind like a cold, oily snake. No matter how far I try to crawl away from it, no matter how tightly I press my hands against my ears, I can’t escape it.

"You're mine now, Baby Flame."

I flinch, my nails scraping against the stone floor. The word had no weight, no real sound, but it was louder than anything else.

"Dammit! You're fucking pathetic!"

The laughter bubbles up before I realise it’s mine. Sharp, raw and ugly. It echoes in the dungeon, bouncing off the cracked walls and floor slick with dust and poison. It doesn’t sound like me; it sounds like someone else entirely. Someone I don’t know. Or maybe someone I buried.

"Kill him. KILL. HIM!"

The crack of his palm— or was it mine? —against my cheek echoes in my skull, sharp and stinging. My head whips to the side, my vision blurring as stars burst behind my eyes. The world tilts, and I can’t stop it. I fall, hitting the floor with an unforgiving force.

The impact jars through my ribs and hips, the cold, hard surface stealing the breath from my lungs. I clutch onto a handful of Sparrow, its jagged teeth biting into my palm. Cold blood trickles down my wrist, staining my fingers, but it doesn’t hurt. Nothing hurts. Not in the way it should.

"If not him — then you. I will fucking break you, little girl."

The words make me stop cold, the Sparrow hovering inches from my wrist. My chest tightens, my breath hitching. I shake my head, trying to push it away, but it’s too late. The memories come rushing in like a tidal wave, drowning me.

"You're losing your hair. It was so beautiful."

"Her teeth, too."

"At nine? That's a fucking record."

Nine. I was nine. I am nine — no, that doesn't seem right. They're lying.

"Lies," I whisper, my voice shaking, but the sound is swallowed by the laughter still spilling from my lips. I press the Sparrow into my wrist—not slicing, just pressing. The tip bites into my skin, and for a moment, I feel real. I feel here.

But the voices won’t stop.

"I thought you were strong, but you're weak, too."

I clench my teeth, digging the thorns deeper into my skin until the skin splits. A thin line of dark blood that I can’t see, but feel the coldness slither out of the tear and drip down my arm. My breathing quickens as sharp gasps claw at my throat.

It doesn’t make the voices stop.

"Break her leg, then perhaps she'll stop running from her destiny."

"No!" The scream tears out of me, raw and broken, as I drag the thorns across my arms. The sting is sharp, a burst of fire that spreads through my veins. I laugh again, harder this time, the sound ripping from my chest like I’m being torn apart from the inside.

And maybe I am.

The darkness in the room seems to pulse, pressing closer, suffocating me. My vision blurs, the edges going soft and grey as the walls seem to close in. I hear their footsteps, slow and deliberate like they’re just behind me. I whirl around, but there’s no one there—just shadows. Just emptiness.

The world narrows to the weight on my leg, the force of his strength and the growing pressure twisting my leg—and it happens.

A sickening snap tears through my body; a sound so unnatural, it makes my stomach lurch.

White-hot pain explodes up my leg, blinding and all-consuming like a fire has erupted in my bones.

I open my mouth, about to scream, but my hand moves on instinct and slaps against my mouth.

"No!"

Don't scream. Don't scream. Don't fucking scream, you pathetic, weak, little human!

My scream turns to laughter; a high, keening sound that scrapes against the inside of my skull. My hands move to my hair, pulling at it, trying to rip out the memories along with the strands—and I laugh. And laugh. And laugh.

I press the Sparrow into my skin and tear myself apart. From my wrists to my elbows, my elbows to my shoulders. My chest. My stomach. My neck. My face. My eyes. My knees. My legs. Everywhere. Anywhere.

Long and deep. Blood pools everywhere. The Sparrow is no longer fighting its master. It wraps around me completely, consuming me, until only my eyes remain, staring blankly at the ceiling—but that fades, too. It sinks its thorns into my skin, going so deep they wrap around bone. But I don’t care.

Faces blink in my mind, fractured memories I can’t chase away. The curve of their smile when I begged them to stop. The glint in their eyes when they didn't.

Laughter echoed everywhere. It was funny to them. It was hilarious. Poking and prodding and taking, and taking, and taking.

"See… That wasn't so hard."

Blood. Red and deep and warm. It wasn't mine. It was theirs. So much blood. So many eyes—hollow, dead eyes.

Ricci is right there, his hand on my head, eyes gleaming proudly as he kneels and presses the softest kiss to my forehead.

"Smile, Little One. It doesn't matter if it's a real or fake one."

I don’t. I can’t. The words wrap around me like chains, dragging me deeper into the black. I don’t know if I’ll ever claw my way out. Part of me isn’t sure I even want to, as only one simple thought echoes in my head and drowns out all the other voices.

Shadow. I want Shadow.

As if he hears me, a deep, resonant vibration ripples through the darkness like a spark of fire.

It’s barely audible at first, but it grows stronger.

Closer. Until it isn’t just a sound; it’s a feeling.

The growl is low and steady, thrumming in my chest, reverberating in my veins.

It’s warmth, spreading through me like liquid fire, chasing away the cold and filling the hollowness inside me.

I hear the Sparrow's cries, and their grip on me loosens until it’s gone entirely. I almost whine at their disappearance, but then strong arms wrap around me, holding me tightly. His touch is warm; his presence is home.

Shadow.

"You're going to be the death of me, Nightmare," he grumbles, low.

I feel the smile on my lips. It’s small, barely visible in the darkness. But it's the first genuine smile I’ve had that requires no effort, no thought.

"I know."

****

Something is wrong; I'm comfortable.

The softness beneath me cradles my body like a cloud, a stark contrast to the unyielding cold I’m so used to. My fingers brush against something smooth, almost silken, and I freeze, my breath catching. This isn’t right.

I shoot upright, leaping out of the blankets that are tying me down.

The struggle throws me off the bed, and I hit the cold, hard floor.

My palms smack against the hardwood as I jump to my feet and glare at the large sheets like they had personally offended me.

I reach out, itching to tear the goddamn thing to shreds, but a small voice stops me.

"You're awake," a familiar voice calls, surprised.

I snap my gaze to Eden, standing in front of the door. His shoulders squared, and his chin raised. He tries to stop his chin from trembling by biting his lip. Pulling his shoulders a little too back, that it looks more uncomfortable than brave.

But his eyes; his eyes make me pause. They burn like molten steel, fierce and unyielding, locked on me with a fire that belies his age. There is no hesitation in them, no trace of doubt, only the hard resolve of someone who’s made up their mind and won’t falter.

"Baby Flame," I murmur softly— too softly.

"Don't call me that!" he snaps, his tone seething in hatred. I'm standing toe-to-toe with him suddenly, perching low so I'm at eye level with him. Eden falls against the door, his eyes widening and his chin quivering.

His eyes are red-rimmed, raw with the kind of pain that comes from trying not to cry and failing. They glisten with unshed tears, clinging stubbornly to his lashes as though, even now, he’s trying to hold himself together.

"Mia... M-Mia healed you," he tells me, trying hard to stop his words from trembling. "S-So you can save m-my mom."

His body trembles, his hands clasped behind his back. I smile, small.

"Don't," I say, my words soft, almost gentle, but the warning in my eyes is clear.

Eden freezes, wide eyes flicking between mine, hesitating.

For a moment, he doesn’t move, his grip tightening on the knife he thought he was hiding, before the sharp clatter of metal against the floor breaks the silence.

I glance at the large cleaver now lying at my feet, my brow arching as I reach for it.

"Baby Flame." I tut, grabbing the knife and balancing its weight on the tip of my finger between us. The blade gleams under the light, a stark contrast to the growing fear on his face.

Eden's eyes widen further, his small frame pressing back against the door as though he wants to melt into it. He doesn’t speak, but the slight tremor in his shoulders gives him away.

I tilt my head, studying him with a faint sigh. "Did you just grab the biggest knife in the kitchen without a single thought?"

"I-I…" His voice cracks, and the single syllable hangs in the air, filled with panic and the effort it takes to hold himself together.

"I was passed out a while." My gaze flicks to the pile of empty juice cartons lying on the floor. "You've made yourself comfortable. Why didn't you try and kill me while I was out?"

I see the moment my words register in his head; he narrows his eyes and hisses, "I'm not you!"

"No?" I smile, the cleaver spinning around my finger. "Then why are you here… with this?"

"My mom." His voice cracks. His hands clench at his sides, and his entire body shakes. "It's been three days. She isn't waking up."

His eyes snap open, peering into mine with pure vulnerability. He looks so fragile and small in this moment, so innocent and… good.

"And of all the creatures in this castle," I say, a familiar coldness seeping into my eyes as my golden gaze peers into his, "you thought you could threaten me, did you?"

"I-I'm different."

"Because you were born a Nightwalker?"

"Because I'm not afraid of you," he says, trying to keep the quiver out of his voice and failing miserably.

"Your tone betrays you, Baby Flame," I muse, snatching the cleaver by its handle so the sharp edge lines perfectly down half his face.

"I can smell your fear. I can taste it, too.

If you had trained with me, you'd be biting off your own tongue before you could even think of displaying such a weakness. "

His eyes clench shut, and he whispers, over and over again, "I can't be afraid. I can't be afraid. I can't be afraid. I can't…"

My words are low and cold. "Can't, huh?"

"I'm not allowed." He shakes his head, holding back the tears he so badly wants to shed. "Mommy gets hurt if I'm scared."

"I knew a girl once," I drawl, "and she was a small, fragile little thing.

Like you, actually. Every day, she was dragged away and tossed into a room with men twice her size, twice as strong, and twice as deadly.

Every day, she was forced to fight. Every day, she was forced to kill. And every day, she refused."

Eden stares at me now, the knife between us forgotten, and he whispers, "She was good."

Good. Yes, she was.

"Ricci, he didn't like it. He was growing impatient, and he was losing.

Men don't like to lose, Baby Flame, especially not to a woman.

He ordered his men to beat her to death, her punishment for the inconvenience she had brought upon him.

But the girl didn't want to die. She wanted to live.

She wanted to survive… even if it meant losing the game. "

"Did she…" Eden can’t bring himself to say it, but I know.

"One moment, she's on the floor, her weak little body curled up and trembling in fear and pain. The next, they were all dead. At her feet. Their blood on her hands, painting the white room red." My gaze connects with Eden, his eyes wide. "Fear did that."

"But she wasn't good anymore."

"No," I whisper, "but she could finally breathe."

I toss the knife somewhere behind me without care, the dull sound of it landing making Eden flinch. "Next time," I say, catching the stray tear that managed to escape down his cheek. "I suggest you use something with a pointed tip; a chef's knife, for instance. It's much more practical."

Eden blinks at me, his lips parting like he wants to say something, but no words come.

"Relax." I sigh, rising to my full height and cracking my neck. "But take this as a lesson. If you're going to try something reckless, at least do it right. Now, are you going to just stand there, or are you going to take me to Reece?"

His eyes widen. "You… You'll help?"

"Sure."

He looks at me quizzically, eyes narrowing. "Why?"

"Because." I place a hand on his curly-haired head, and he glances up at me with wide, unblinking eyes. I tilt my head, confused by my own words, when I say, "I think I'll do anything for you, Baby Flame."