Page 62 of Revenge Saints

The little burner is still warm from earlier. I pour water from the kettle and drop in some herbs for tea—chamomile, maybe lavender. Anything to mask the bitterness.

With the knife, I crush the pill down into a fine dust. It flakes and crumbles like chalk, the smell slightly off, but I mix it in anyway, fast, before the water cools.

The tea swirls into a soft pink tint.

I stir, whispering a quiet, guilty prayer that it works just enough and not too much.

I sit at the counter, pretending to sip the tea when Max walks back in.

“I got more apples,” he says, holding up a bundle, “and some lettuce or whatever this is.” He chuckles, soft and easy.

My heart clenches.

He’s never going to forgive me. But I have to try.

“Want some?” I offer him the cup, trying to sound light.

He glances past me, toward the hearth. “Still enough wood for the fireplace?”

I nod. “We’ve got plenty.”

This place has a rusted stove where we heat the water. It’s slow, nothing like the electric ones back at the base, but it gets the job done.

I stretch out my arm and offer him the cup again. This time, he takes it with a smile.

He sips as I turn back to the counter, slicing apples like everything’s normal.

“You finish it,” I say, keeping my tone calm.

“Thanks. It’s really good, way better than whatever Ryker threw together yesterday.” He grins, leaning against the cabinet beside me.

“Knox has a plan,” he says after a moment. “We just need to gather some things.”

I nod, but inside I’m screaming.

They don’t have a plan. I heard them.

They’ve got ideas but nothing real. Nothing that’s going to save Dante.

Then Max stumbles.

My eyes snap to him.

He blinks hard and rubs his hand across his face. “Fuck, I’m suddenly feeling… sleepy.”

He leans on the counter, and I drop the knife, moving toward him without thinking.

His eyes find mine.

“Oh… Aspen,” he whispers, and there’s betrayal in his eyes. “What did you do?”

He tries to reach for me, but I step back, and he drops to his knees.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, catching him before he hits the floor. “You’ll be okay. I promise. I only gave you a small dose.”

I hold his head in my hands as he tries, weakly, to lift his arms. “Aspen… please, don’t.”

His breathing stutters, shallow and erratic, and then he goes still. I lower him gently, holding his hand until it slips from mine.