Page 25

CHAPTER

TWENTY-TWO

Paigelynn

I crouch behind a large gasoline tank, gripping the cold gun in my hands.

My heart races, each beat loud in my ears. Cam is fighting Makiah just a few feet away, but it feels like miles. I can’t help him—not yet. The guards are moving closer, their rifles raised, their footsteps crunching on the gravel. They don’t see me, but they will soon.

I peek around the concrete pilings, aiming.

I’ve never held a gun before, and it occurs to me there might be a safety on this thing, but if there is I don’t know how to undo it.

My hands shake so badly that the barrel wobbles, but I force myself to focus.

The guards are closing in fast. I pull the trigger.

The shot rings out, loud and sharp, and one of the guards stumbles back, clutching his arm.

I duck behind the post again, my chest heaving. My hands are trembling so much I almost drop the weapon. I’ve never fired a gun before, and the kick of it jolts through me, leaving my shoulder sore. But I did it. I stopped him. I bought us more time.

I glance toward Cam, my stomach twisting. He’s still fighting Makiah, his movements slower now, weaker. Blood drips from his face, but he doesn’t stop.

He keeps going, keeps pushing.

He’s doing this for me.

For us.

And here I am, hiding.

The guards regroup, their footsteps louder now. I peek out again, aiming for the nearest one. My finger hovers over the trigger, but my hands are shaking too much. I take a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down.

I can do this.

I have to do this.

I pull the trigger again. The guard falls, shouting in pain as he grabs his leg. His partner hesitates, his steps faltering. I fire another shot, and the second guard dives behind a stack of barrels, out of sight.

For now.

My focus shifts back to Cam. Makiah is gaining the upper hand now, his fists landing hard blows that make me flinch. Cam stumbles, falling to one knee, but Makiah doesn’t let up. He grabs Cam by the collar, yanking him up, his voice filled with rage.

“You’ve ruined everything!” Makiah shouts. “Everything The Mother built. Everything we worked for. And for what? Her ?”

His words hit harder than the gunfire. For so long, Makiah was someone I admired. Someone who made me feel special, like I mattered. He was strong, confident, always standing tall. He believed in the prophecy, in The Mother, in me.

There was a time when I would’ve done anything for his approval.

When I thought he was the one person, besides Angelina, who truly saw me.

But it was all a lie. He never cared about me—not really.

I was just a piece of the puzzle.

A tool for their plans.

Cam tries to fight back, but Makiah slams him into the ground. My breath catches in my throat as Cam groans, struggling to push himself up. Makiah picks up a piece of broken wood, his face twisted with fury. He raises it high above his head, ready to strike.

“No!” I scream, my voice breaking. I can’t shoot him because Cam's so close. I might accidentally hit the wrong man.

I don’t think. I just move.

The knife Cam gave me feels heavy in my hand as I sprint toward them. My mind is a blur of fear and desperation, my heart pounding so hard it feels like it’s going to burst. Every step I take feels slow, like the ground is pulling me down, but I push through it.

Makiah doesn’t see me coming. He’s too focused on Cam, too lost in his rage. I reach him just as he brings the wood down. I raise the knife, my hands shaking, and drive it straight into his chest.

His heart.

Time seems to stop. Makiah staggers back, his eyes wide with shock. He looks down at the knife, his hands trembling as they reach for it. Blood seeps through his shirt, staining the fabric dark red.

I stare at him, frozen in place. My breath comes in short, sharp gasps, my heart hammering in my chest. I can’t believe what I’ve just done.

I stabbed him.

I stabbed Makiah in the heart . He tried to take my heart, but I got his instead.

The man who once called me special.

The man who told me I was destined for greatness.

His eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see something flicker in them. Anger. Hurt. Betrayal. It twists my stomach, but I don’t look away.

I can’t.

“I am the prophecy,” I say, my voice shaking but firm.

His knees buckle, and he collapses to the ground. He tries to speak, but no words come out. His lips move, blood bubbling at the corners of his mouth, but I can’t hear him. All I can hear is the sound of my own breathing, harsh and ragged.

I drop to my knees, my hands trembling as I stare at him. He lies still, the knife still in his chest. Blood pools around him, dark and thick, soaking into the gravel.

I should feel relief.

I should feel free.

But all I feel is... empty.

I think of the times he smiled at me, his confidence infectious. The way he spoke about the prophecy, his voice filled with conviction. The way he made me believe I was something more than just a girl.

More than just a heart.

But it was all a lie. He wasn’t my friend. He wasn’t my protector. He was just another pawn in The Mother’s game.

And now, he’s gone.

“Paigelynn.” Cam’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts. I turn to see him struggling to sit up, his face pale and bloodied. I rush to his side, my hands steady as I help him to his feet.

“You okay?” I ask, my voice trembling.

He nods, wincing as he leans against me. “Thanks to you,” he says, his voice weak but steady. “You saved me.”

I glance back at Makiah’s body, my chest tight. “I didn’t want to kill him,” I whisper. “But I had to.”

Cam rests a hand on my shoulder, his touch grounding me. “I know,” he says. “You did what needed to be done. It was him or us.”

The dock is quiet again, the only sounds the distant crackle of fire and the gentle lapping of the water. I glance at the knife, still embedded in Makiah’s chest, and feel a strange sense of calm.

He’s gone. The man who once made me feel special. The man who taught me to believe so many elaborate lies.

As I watch the life drain from his eyes, I remember being a tween and going to his church, how eager Mom and Dad were to bring his passion for religion into my life. I remember how I felt so special. So chosen. So cared about.

I remember how my parents wrestled with guilt over giving me up to the prophecy. How Makiah assured them I'd be taken care of. How he said to was the will of forces we could not fathom. How I was pure of body.

How the prophecy would reveal its truths.

I lean close and whisper, “The prophecy above all.”

But this time, it’s not a vow.

It’s a goodbye.