Page 60 of Eternal

AZRA

“Mount Everest” by Labrinth

Present

I slip into the kitchen, the smell of meat, wine, and heat wrapping around me like a shroud.

My apron is tight against my chest. The space is gigantic, filled with glittering silver chandeliers.

Only a few people move about, too busy or too self-important to notice me. I’ve done this a thousand times.

Blend in. Don’t stand out.

Other servers move through the small crowd, not many.

One of them, a young girl, catches my eye.

She’s shaking as she fills glasses with some fancy, overpriced wine.

Her fingers fumble as she pours, the glass tilting too far, and her eyes keep darting around, like she’s looking for something, maybe a way out.

I’ve been watching her since I entered. She’s too young to be here, and I’m trying to figure out why.

“Hey,” I say, stepping up beside her. My voice is low, soft, I don't want to scare her away. “How old are you?”

She hesitates, wiping her hands on her apron. “Sixteen.”

Sixteen.

‘You’re a woman now.’

I need to stop my mind from remembering right now.

But I can’t help it. I know exactly what that look means. I know what kind of people prey on girls like her.

And I know why she’s here. The same kind of person took advantage of me. They stole everything, my choice, my voice, without permission, without care. My tears, my screaming... none of it ever mattered.

They only take from young women still trying to find their shape in the world, naive in their eyes, when really, they’re simply trying to build themselves.

“You’re too young for this,” I whisper almost to myself, grabbing a bottle of whiskey from the shelf, popping the cork and taking a shot.

Focus Azra.

“I… I need to get out of my house,” she says, her voice too small. “My mom’s boyfriend… he…he hurts me. I need money to leave.”

Her words hit me harder than I wanted to. Because it takes me back to another time, another place, another me.

Before the job, before the blood. The fake home. The abuse. The way I had to fight to survive. And the way I lost every battle.

I pour the whiskey again, watching the amber liquid cascade into the glass.

I’m fucking this up. I’m fucking this up…

The girl’s voice wavers again as she continues. “I need to leave. That’s why I’m here. I don’t care what I have to do. I need to get out.”

I pause.

She’s like me, in a different way, trying to escape, trying to survive, even if it means sinking lower.

I was like that too. Maybe that’s why I want to help her, give her the options no one gave me.

I hand her the glass, letting her take it with shaky hands.

“You need to leave,” I say flatly, looking at her through the sharp edge of the knife I keep tucked at my waist. “Forget everything. Don’t say a word about tonight to anyone. If you do, you’ll die.”

Her eyes flicker to mine, searching for something. Maybe she thinks I’m kidding, she’s not stupid, but she doesn’t understand this world.

“Take the money from one of the guests. The ones at the table,” I continue, my voice low. “Steal it in the bag of that woman as you give her this glass. You need to be quick, no hesitation. You’ll have enough until you find a real safe job. Then leave. Don’t look back.”

She looks at me, confused. “ But ? — ”

“I said leave,” I snapped, not bothering to explain further. I need to fucking scare her away. I need to. “If you don’t, I’ll make sure you don’t walk out of here.”

Her face pales immediately, and I can see the fear starting to fill her eyes. She’s never been in a situation like this, but she knows I’m not joking.

“Go,” I repeat. “Now.”

She nods quickly, her eyes wide, and I watch her do as I say, take the money away slowly as the woman starts to scream at her and then slip out the back door.

She won’t last long if she keeps being reckless. But she won’t say a word, I know that.

I turn, checking the kitchen again to make sure the chefs are leaving too. I don’t want anyone to be left standing when the night’s over.

Two of them are huddled by the stove, plates in hand, and I step up to them, breathing in and out.

“Out,” I say. They freeze, their eyes wide with confusion, they don’t understand, but they don’t need to.

One of them tries to speak, stammering something I don’t care to hear. “Leave,” I repeat, my voice colder now.

Scare them away, Azra.

I don’t wait for them to argue. I pull my knife under my skirt, a quick flash, and they stumble backward. Fear pulses through them. Perfect .

They don’t even question it, they turn around and shuffle out the door.

I lock it behind them.

Now, it’s quiet, we’re all alone in this big house.

The guests are still talking in the dining room, oblivious. Antony Darveaux is sitting at the head of the table, laughing with his colleagues as if he wasn’t a monster.

They have no idea that this is their final dinner. That judgment is here today, here for them, all of them.

I slip into the room, carrying my tray of drinks. I’m not trying to be stealthy, I’m only doing my job.

A few glances are thrown my way, but no one pays attention.

It’s the same with every event like this.

Wealthy people only see what they want to see.

They don’t care about the staff, they don’t care about who’s filling their glasses.

The poison is in every drink, every plate.

The subtle touch of it is easy, too easy. I’ve done it a hundred times before.

One by one, they start to drop. First, it’s a cough, then a choke, a shake of the head, a deep breath, too sharp, too sudden.

Darveaux watches, confused, eyes darting from the fallen bodies to the untouched plate in front of him.

His face is pale now, his knuckles white on the table.

The others are slumped, eyes wide with panic.

But they’re already gone, lost to their own arrogance, their own belief that money and power could protect them.

I push one of the bodies on the floor, and sit down slowly, watching the chaos unfold, the room sinking into a quiet panic. I take out the hairpin from my hair. Darveaux’s eyes widen even more as I pull it free, the glint of the steel catching in the soft light of the chandeliers.

He starts to rise, panic stricken, but I stop him with a single motion. I pull my gun. “Sit the fuck down,” I say, my voice low and dangerous. “We need to talk.”

His breath hitches, but he obeys. Good. He’s finally starting to understand.

“I’m gonna drag you out now. You have a beautiful, beautiful garden, and that fountain… divine . Let’s make it useful.”

And I do as I say.

I drag him outside into the cool night, awkwardly lugging the chair along with me. Once there, I drop him into it.

The moonlight is beautiful tonight. Beautiful.

So fucking bright. Makes me feel like I’m floating in something celestial, something pure, even though I’m standing here with blood on my hands.

I could feel his heart, thumping so hard under my palm.

It’s not right to feel this good, but… fuck, I don’t care anymore.

I look at him, sitting there, tied to that chair. He’s shaking. Not like he deserves my mercy. But still… He’s got that look in his eyes. The one where he’s praying.

Praying I’ll let him go.

Praying I’ll understand him. I did that too… Back then, I did it a lot. Waiting for some pity and kindness.

But that’s not gonna happen.

I should cut him first. No, no, I should carve him open completely. Carve a little piece of his skin, right where the flesh meets bone, until he feels the pain so hard he’ll faint.

But I want him to feel everything, see him beg for more, watch his body tremble under my touch.

My eyes find the knife, and I trace lines in his body.

Should I cut it here? No.

I’ll start here, right under the ribs, maybe closer to the gut.

“Please… please,” he pleads. His voice cracks. Maybe he’s crying?

But I don’t stop. His begging means nothing. I can’t hear it, can’t feel it. It’s like I’m already somewhere else, somewhere deep inside my head where none of this matters.

I circle around him, my footsteps soft on the grass, my hands twitching at my sides. The smell of his fear is so so fucking rich, it makes me dizzy.

I should… end him.

His eyes flicker to the water. “Why are you doing this?” His voice is pleading, but it’s weak.

I stop. I lean in close to him. I can feel his pulse. Faster, it’s getting faster. His sweat is mixing with the dirt in the air. The blood on his shirt…

I smile, soft, almost… too soft, like I’m not here at all.

“Why am I doing this?” I repeat, the words slipping out of my mouth without thought. I tilt my head. “I think it’s because people like you fucked me up. It’s people like you who made me. So don’t flinch when I do what needs to be done.”

I almost laugh, but it feels wrong. Too wrong.

I turn my back on him for a second. My fingers brush the edge of the fountain, where the water’s cold. The reflection in the dark surface looks so peaceful. So peaceful. Like a lie.

“You use them,” I murmur. “You use them like toys, don't you?”

I hear him struggle to breathe. His voice shakes. “You’re… you’re sick. You’re insane. You don’t have to do this.”

I turn back to him, my eyes narrowing. Sick? Insane? “No,” I hissed. “I’m not sick. You’re the sick one. You’re the one who thought you could get away with everything because of money power and influence. You think you’re the only one who knows how to hurt? Huh? You think I’m the monster?”

I drag the blade down my arm. It’s sharp, cold, but it feels…

right. I stop, almost surprised by the feeling.

Almost disappointed. “You don’t know what you did to me.

I feel nothing now. I feel nothing at all.

Like I didn’t even have a fucking name. You took that from me.

You took the people I loved… and then you and your people hid. ”