Page 34 of The Last Dragon (The Great Burn Chronicles #1)

We sit in silence for a moment, the warm flickering light from the lanterns slowly fading away.

My legs are slightly numb, and I feel like I’m going pale.

Like I’ve caught a winter sickness. I’ve been having sleepless nights for two years now.

Headaches. The sudden feeling of hunger or thirst as if I haven’t eaten for days.

Is it something in the air? Pressure? Ilian’s been having headaches too, but his started the day I met him.

“How did Alex know about the Redsnout?” She breaks the silence.

I shake my head. “He could’ve overheard us. He wasn’t on the battlefield.”

“Maybe he knows something,” she says, closing the book. “I want to know if he actually knew the difference between the two genders, or if he’s like everyone else, and what he knows is because of us.”

I scoff, crossing my arms again. “As if he’s going to say anything.”

“Well,” she says, stacking up the two books and shoving them into her bag. She shoots from her chair, throwing the bag over her shoulder. “One way to find out.”

I’m not sure I want to trust this guy. Ever since he got here, all he did was stir up emotions that should instead be locked and controlled. But damn it, he’s already in on this.

Alex is good at throwing knives. That’s probably the only thing I really know about him. He was fond of showing it off at the tavern in Nedersen. So what other place would he be if not throwing some bullseyes at wooden dummies?

The thudding of knives echoes in the large room, barely any torches lit. It’s the middle of the night. Another clank, but this time it’s metal against stone.

“I thought you were good at throwing knives,” I say, approaching him.

He flips a knife in one hand while spinning another in the other. “Yeah, well, you weren’t exactly quiet when you walked in. Took away my concentration.”

“Didn’t think concentration was his thing,” Nida mutters, only for my ears. A chuckle plays in my throat.

“Listen,” she says, stepping on the platform. “We need your help with something.”

Alex’s golden eyes widened. “ My help?” He points to himself with a knife. “Well, this is interesting.”

Nida takes firm steps forward. “We need you to tell us everything you know about the Redsnouts and if you’ve heard or seen anything that cou—”

“No,” Alex interrupts. “You got it all wrong, sunshine. What’s interesting is that you think I would help you .”

Nida stays silent, her mouth opening and closing. I tower over her, glaring at Alex, hoping he will catch my threat, but he doesn’t budge.

“Sorry,” he says. “Maybe next time, don’t be assholes if you’re going to need favors. I’m not in the mood to help anyone.” He turns back to the wooden dummy, flips a knife into the air, catches it, and hurls it clean into another bullseye with a loud thud.

“Are you serious right now?” Nida says, her eyes narrowing at Alex. “This isn’t about you. It’s about our survival. The Corps. Humanity. Any of those things ring a bell?”

“Oh, they ring a bell, alright.” Alex scoffs, grabbing another knife from the table next to him. “It’s just that I only care about my own survival.” He throws the knife with yet another bullseye.

Nida grunts, opening up her satchel and taking out the books. “Look, these two are nearly identical, but the information about the dragons is different. Especially about the Redsnout.” She shoves the two books at his face.

“I’m supposed to care?” Alex says, pushing the books away. He waves the knife around dismissively. “You’re in my space ,” he mutters.

Nida backs off, glaring at him, promising a slow death if she were allowed to act on her fury. “You know the Redsnout we saw could be female. I need to know how exactly you know that.” She takes a step forward, reclaiming her stance.

“I already told you, sunshine. I ain’t talking. So get out of my hair.”

My patience, however thin when it comes to him, runs out. “Listen, if you want to remain in this unit, you need to start contributing.”

“I would if I didn’t think this was somehow going behind the general’s back.” He sneers.

“It’s for the sake of humanity. This is something we need to figure out before we even consider going to the General,” Nida says, cradling the books. “Any false information—”

“Please,” Alex interrupts, sarcasm dripping through his teeth. “If this were really for humanity’s survival, you wouldn’t be asking me for help now, would you?”

He’s sharp.

“This entails your survival, too,” I snap.

But all he does is scoff while twirling a knife in his hand.

He’s infuriating. But I can’t let him think he’s the only option we’ve got.

Clearly, he revels in this. I roll my eyes and grab Nida by her arm.

“Maybe there’s someone else from the Middle who knows more about printing books. ”

Alex scoffs instinctively. “Nah, that book isn’t printed in the Middle.”

A slip-up. I can tell the moment my eyes meet his—how he gently bites his lip. He’s not someone who enjoys being outside of the game—or feeling like he’s about to lose.

“What do you mean?” I ask, stopping in my tracks. Alex is taken aback, but now he knows he doesn’t have a choice.

He sighs. “This?” He grabs the book from Nida’s hand.

“This is calf leather, the type of leather only the rich can afford. The other one is sheep leather. It’s not very durable, so that’s why it’s so worn out.

He grabs the other book, flipping it around.

“It’s made in the Front.” He hands both books back.

“What?” Nida and I say in unison. I study the books.

He’s right. The grayish-green book is old sheep’s leather, but the other is brand new.

It makes sense for books to be made in the Middle for longevity—what doesn’t make sense is the difference in the information.

Nida examines them while I watch Alex throw more knives.

“Books aren’t made in the Front,” I say, glaring at him.

He rolls his eyes. “Not this Front,” he drawls, throwing a knife up in the air and then catching it mid-spin by the blade.

There’s no doubt in his words. The Middle used to be the Front before the Third was built.

Before expansion. Before the rich and poor existed.

A couple of hundred years ago, there was nothing but the poor.

“Did you know the Redsnout is female before?” I ask, but he barely reacts.

“As if I’m going to answer that,” he responds, burying another knife in the wood.

“How I know it doesn’t matter. What matters is that I do.

” He wears a proud smirk on his face, as if telling me that he has the upper hand.

Another throw. I let out a soft scoff. The way he hits all the bullseyes makes my mind drift to a conversation I overheard in the mess hall.

About two lords—and daggers buried between their eyes. I wonder if it was him.

“You’re awfully good at throwing knives, Alex,” I comment. There’s a slight twitch in his hand.

“Yeah, well, I had a lot of time to practice—since you don’t let me get near our unit without actually needing something from me,” he says, arms hanging loose as he slouches over the wooden divider between him and the knife-throwing area.

“Maybe it’s about time you tell me what you guys are planning.

After all, being in a unit means we need to stick together.

” He raises his arms in a nonchalant gesture.

I smirk. “Not happening.” I turn on my heel and head toward the exit, with Nida right behind me.

Alex slams the knife back on the table with a violent clank. “Then I guess you won’t mind if I sing about your little dragon problem.”

I halt, looking back over my shoulder, the smirk never leaving my face. “Then sing.”

He grabs the knife from the table again and strides over to me, eyes blazing, muttering curses with each step, ready to strike. But when he’s inches away from me, he freezes with a sneer. Fists clenched at his sides, the hilt of the knife clenched in his palm.

“What are you gonna do?” I say, a larger smirk tugging at the corners of my lips. “Bury a knife between my eyes? That’s how you handle things in the Middle, right?”

His eyes flash with fear for a moment, but his body stiffens with rage. So it was him .

He holds his breath. Nida bumps her shoulder into mine, attempting to create some distance between me and him. I glare at Alex, threatening him with every fibre of my being. I know who he is. I know what he’s done. And if the Corps finds out, he’ll hang. And now, he knows that I know.

“I suggest you keep your mouth shut, Alex ,” I mock. “Or, maybe, I’m going to start singing about your little lord problem.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he seethes.

“I’m pretty sure I do.”

He doesn’t move. His jaw clenches, probably locking away thousands of curses he desperately wants to spew at me. But he can’t. And he won’t. Instead, I watch how anger fades from his eyes—a surrender. Now, I have the advantage.