Page 31

31

TILDA

T here’s no doubt about it: I’m a prisoner.

The truth slams into me as hard as the grip of the guards’ hands on my arms. They pull me away from the gates, their fingers digging into my flesh with enough force to bruise. Around me, the residents of Homestead gather, their faces a mixture of disdain and disgust. Their eyes burn into me, silent accusations in every glare, as if I’ve become something less than human—some kind of traitor who no longer belongs here.

I can practically see their thoughts…they think I “whored myself out” to the Alpha Prime.

I’m as good as dead.

I try to twist free, my instincts screaming at me to fight, but Patrick’s voice stops me cold. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be, Tilda,” he says. “You’ll just make it worse for yourself. Or for your sister.”

My heart drops into my stomach as I glance back at Enid. She’s screaming my name, her face red and streaked with tears. She looks so small, so fragile, her fists pounding uselessly against David’s chest as he holds her back. Every fiber of my being wants to run to her, to shield her from this madness, but I freeze in place.

Patrick's threat echoes in my head.

They could hurt her too.

I can’t let that happen. Not Enid. Not the little sister I swore to protect.

The fight drains out of me like water through a sieve, and I stop struggling. The guards jerk me forward anyway, dragging me through the town square. The weight of Patrick’s gaze follows me, and when I glance back, I see a flicker of something cruel in his eyes, a triumph that chills me to the bone.

He’s not just trying to neutralize a threat—he’s enjoying this.

I focus on Enid instead. Her cries tear at me, each one a dagger to my heart. “Tilda!” she screams, her voice breaking. “Don’t hurt her! Don’t you dare hurt her!”

“It’s okay!” I shout back, though the words feel hollow even to me. “It’s going to be okay, Enid, I promise!”

But is it?

I don’t even know if Reyes is still alive. My thoughts ricochet back to the gunshot, the way he staggered, the blood that soaked into his shirt before the wolves dragged him away. My stomach churns, bile rising in my throat. He could be dead, I think, the possibility so horrifying I almost lose my footing. My own people might have killed him.

A rough shove from one of the guards snaps me back to reality. “Keep moving,” he growls.

I stumble, my boots scraping against the cracked pavement. The familiar sights of Homestead blur around me, warped by the red haze of the Celestial Curtain. The streets feel alien now, every building and every face turned hostile. The people here—my people—don’t see me as one of them anymore. They see me as a threat.

Patrick follows at a leisurely pace, his hands clasped behind his back like he’s presiding over a parade.

The bastard. I’ll fucking kill him.

I’m hauled into the old courthouse, the building looming over me like a ghost of the pre-Convergence world. Its stone walls are cracked and weathered, ivy crawling up the sides, but the heavy oak doors still hold firm. The inside smells of mildew and damp wood, the air thick and oppressive. Every step echoes down the empty corridors, the sound bouncing back at me like a warning I can’t ignore.

The guards keep a bruising grip on my arms as they lead me toward the basement, their boots clomping heavily against the warped wooden floorboards. I glance around as we descend the narrow staircase, the dim light from a single hanging bulb casting eerie shadows on the walls. The courthouse has always been a place of judgment, but now it feels more like a tomb.

By the time we reach the holding cells, my fight has drained away. The sky is gone, the red haze of the Celestial Curtain replaced by damp stone and the sharp smell of rusted metal. The cells haven’t been used much since the Convergence—at least, not until now. The bars are old and thick, the metal pitted with age, but they still look sturdy enough to hold anyone unlucky enough to end up here.

I barely resist when they shove me forward, the soles of my boots sliding against the concrete floor. I stumble into the cell, catching myself on the grimy wall before coughing as a cloud of dust billows around me. It clings to my clothes, fills my throat, and leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

I whirl around, glaring at the guards as they secure the heavy iron door with a loud clang . Patrick stands just behind them, his expression unreadable, arms folded across his chest.

“You made a big mistake, you motherfucker,” I spit.

“Damn, Tilda,” he says, shaking his head like he’s actually upset. “They’ve driven you feral. When did he turn you? Right away…or after he rutted you?”

I blink in shock at his crass language, shaking my head. “What…what the hell is wrong with you? They were offering you things our people need , you fucking idiot!”

“We don’t make deals with the devil,” Patrick says. “You should know that after everything we went through during the Crusades. And now…you’ve betrayed us all.”

My jaw tightens. “I didn’t betray anyone.”

“No?” He leans forward, glaring at me through the bars of my cell. “You show up with one of them—one of the very monsters we’ve been fighting for years—and you expect me to believe you’re still one of us?”

I don’t flinch, though it takes every ounce of my self-control to hold my ground. “Reyes isn’t a monster,” I say. “He’s just a man…and a kind, decent man at that. He’s offering us a way forward. Supplies. Medicine. Protection. Do you really think the Heavenly Host is going to help us? They’ve abandoned us, Patrick.”

His face darkens, his lip curling in disgust. “Watch your mouth. The Angels haven’t abandoned us. They’re testing us, weeding out the weak. You’d do well to remember that.”

I clench my fists, my nails biting into my palms. “They’re not Angels,” I say, my voice trembling with anger. “They’re aliens, Patrick. Aliens who’ve been using us as pawns in their war. Open your damn eyes.”

He straightens, his expression hardening. “Careful, Tilda,” he says coldly. “You’re on thin ice as it is.”

I take a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down. “Look, I’m not here to fight with you. I’m here because I want to help. Reyes and his pack can give us the resources we need to survive. Isn’t that worth considering?”

Patrick’s expression twists, his lips curling into a sneer. “Reyes,” he says, spitting the name like it’s poison. “That’s what this is really about, isn’t it? You think he’s some kind of savior?”

I bristle, gripping the bars tightly. “He’s not a savior. He’s a man who’s trying to help people survive. You’re just too stubborn to see it.”

Patrick steps closer, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t give me that. I’ve seen it before—how people like him worm their way into communities, into minds. He’s made you doubt everything we’ve fought for, everything the Heavenly Host has given us. And now you talk like someone who’s lost faith.”

“I haven’t lost faith,” I snap, though even I’m not sure how true that is. “I’ve gained clarity. The Heavenly Host doesn’t care about us, Patrick. They’re not Angels—they’re using us.”

Patrick’s eyes flash, his jaw tightening. “That’s exactly what someone like Reyes would say. Apostates always claim to have the ‘truth.’ They call us blind, pretend they see the bigger picture, all while tearing down the foundations we’ve built to survive.”

I blink, taken aback. “Apostates? Is that what you think this is? That I’ve been ‘led astray’?”

His lips press into a thin line. “It’s more than that. You’ve turned your back on everything we’ve sacrificed for—everything the Heavenly Host stands for. You’ve let yourself be seduced by their lies.”

I scoff. “Patrick, listen to yourself. You’re clinging to doctrine while people are starving. Reyes isn’t out to corrupt anyone—he’s trying to build something better.”

Patrick’s face darkens, his voice turning sharp and cold. “You don’t understand what you’re saying. The Heavenly Host gave us purpose. They gave us structure when the world fell apart. Without them, there is no salvation, no hope. And now you’re telling me to trust the wolves who’ve been fighting against us for years?”

“They didn’t give us anything, Patrick,” I say, my voice rising. “They took everything from us. Our homes, our families, our freedom. They abandoned us here under the Celestial Curtain while they waged their war. Open your damn eyes!”

Patrick’s fist slams against the bars, making me flinch. “Watch your tone,” he growls. “You’ve lost your way, Tilda. You sound just like him—like the rebels who think they can thrive without faith, without guidance. Do you think they care about us any more than the Host does? They’re no different—apostates tearing down what little we have left.”

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “Patrick, this isn’t about faith or rebellion. This is about survival. Reyes and his pack have resources we need. They’re offering us a chance to live, to stop scraping by. Isn’t that worth considering?”

He leans in closer, his voice low and dangerous. “And what price will they demand for that, Tilda? What will it cost us to align with the godless? You think survival without faith is worth anything? You’ve already betrayed everything we stand for…and even worse, you took him to bed, let him transform you into an animal. It’s disgusting.”

The silence that follows is suffocating, the rage almost overwhelming me. Right now, I think I could turn…potentially escape.

But I can’t try it.

It’s more likely to get me killed than anything else.

“Patrick,” I say quietly. “Please. Just think about it. If we keep going the way we are, more people are going to die. This is our chance to build something better.”

He stares at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he shakes his head. “You’re naive, Tilda. Always have been. But this…this is a new low.”

I open my mouth to argue, but he cuts me off, his voice cold and final. “You’ve put us all in danger by bringing him here. The pack won’t stop at just you and your Alpha. They’ll come for all of us eventually. And we can’t afford to let that happen.”

“What are you saying?” I ask, a knot of dread forming in my stomach.

Patrick steps back, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m saying we need to figure out what to do with you. And if that means handing you over to the Angels…well, maybe they’ll show you some mercy.”

I stare at him, my blood turning to ice. “You can’t be serious.”

His smile is cruel, devoid of warmth. “Dead serious, Tilda. You’ve made your choice. Now it’s time for the rest of us to make ours.”

The room feels like it’s closing in on me, the air thick and stifling. Patrick turns away, heading for the door, leaving me alone with the crushing weight of his words.

The sound of the lock clicking into place echoes in the small space, and I realize with a sinking heart that we haven’t even hit rock bottom yet.

Things could still get much, much worse.