It took five days for Theo to locate the Order, during which time Draco made a few trips to the Potions classroom to check if they had all the ingredients to brew the Draught. He was missing one—the powdered root of asphodel. He examined the cauldrons available. Their shape, their size. He wasn't sure what should be used to brew a permanent potion.
He'd have to check the Hospital Wing's ingredient cabinets—or ask his mother to. They brewed and bottled their healing potions right there.
When he was not training his band or spending time with Hermione for various reasons, he was outside. Aimlessly searching the Empire for Keela. He had started asking around if anyone had seen her. He got honest answers (no), mocks and sneers, and genuine questions (since when doyou have a dog?).
This time, he was on the northern side of the Empire right after the training session of the day when Theo apparated right beside him.
"Are you available right now?" was the first thing he blurted out.
Draco jumped and swore, heart leaping in his ribcage.
"Sorry," Theo mumbled. "I found them."
"Now, now?"
"Yes."
Draco hesitated, and his friend rolled his eyes.
"You'll be back before she notices. After dinner. Tops." He extended his arm and Draco took it, swallowed immediately in a spinning gust of wind.
They landed in the middle of a street. The carcass of an abandoned car was half-propped on the pavement. A flock of birds flew away at their sudden arrival. A bus stop was just on the side of the road, its shattered glass littering the ground like a carpet of diamonds. Draco noticed a large rectangular-shaped building with an impressive symmetry, guarded by a lonely statue in a half-circle of browned grass.
Theo walked towards the building.
"We're in Paisley," he shot over his shoulder, and Draco followed.
They passed the statue, erected on a stone slightly higher than Draco. He craned his neck to look at the brass man. It was dirty, and someone had tied a red bandana around his face.
"The fight with Muggles happened in another part of town." Theo climbed the low steps to the entrance. The large, white symbol of the Empire's Games was marked on the glass doors.
"How come it took you so long to find them?" Draco halted at the entrance and turned to him. "Thought you had easy access to them or something."
Theo pushed his lower lip with his tongue, frowning distractedly. "Remember how they said they have multiple bases? Turns out they don't stay in one location more than a week. That's why they find us, not the other way around."
"What about Watford?"
"That's where they started. When they were gathering people. Since their numbers have increased, they have spread."
Draco failed to understand the logic behind this kind of operation. How could they work together efficiently if their people were divided in multiple everchanging locations?
"Anyway." Theo knocked on the door three times, waited, knocked once, then quickly two times.
"Cute," Draco scoffed.
Theo smirked at him and pointed a finger right in his face. "Now, be nice in there."
"I'm always nice."
A silhouette appeared behind the glass and pushed the door open. It was Katie Bell. "You're already back." Her tone was surprised, then her eyes settled on Draco and her face turned cold. "With him."
Draco tried to conceal his pulse, thumping like a wildebeest. He remembered quite vividly that he had sent Katie to St-Mungo's during his Sixth Year.
"I already told you I was bringing him," Theo replied.
Katie stared Draco down with the intensity of a furnace and widened the door to let Theo pass, not holding it for him. Draco caught the door before it closed and entered.
The ceiling was very high, ornate with golden chandeliers—daylight streaming in generously. Sleek, hardwood floor and tiers around three walls, filled with empty red seats. The large space in the middle was empty.
There was no one here.
He was already unsheathing his wand, suspecting.
But Katie flicked her wand at the empty space, and the Disillusionment Charm faded. There were five wizard's tents right on the floor, all with different colours and patterns. A few people dressed like Muggles were amongst the tents, talking to each other—seated or standing.
Katie walked to a green tent in the middle. Draco entered right after Theo, wondering how nice he was supposed to be.
"They're here," she announced.
The inside of the tent was spacious, resembling more like a flat with different sections. The kitchen was on their left, the living room on their right, and other screens of fabric were dividing the space in the back—private rooms, maybe. The tent smelled of incense, with a tang of coffee.
At the kitchen table were seated Charlie Weasley, McGonagall and Murtaugh. The latter had a gun strapped to his shoulder. They had a tiny radio too.
McGonagall rose from her seat. "Thank you, Katie."
Katie bumped harshly against Draco as she exited the tent.
"Hi, there," Murtaugh said, scratching his chin with his thumb.
"Theo." Charlie nodded as a greeting, before looking directly at him. "Draco."
Draco nodded back, examining them one by one. Trying to decipher the level of threat they were—although he didn't truly believe that McGonagall would hurt him. He simply knew that when people didn't trust one another, they turned unpredictable.
Theo took the seat beside McGonagall and Draco sat at the edge of the table, between Murtaugh and Theo.
"I'm sorry, this couldn't wait." Theo was already fumbling in his pockets to retrieve the folding piece of parchment.
Draco immediately thought of Hermione. Her hand graciously drawing on the yellowed parchment. The two lines between her eyebrows when she focused.
Oh, how he missed her already.
Why was he missing her so much already?
Theo placed the drawing in the middle of the table, and turned it towards Charlie and Murtaugh. "We've got a plan. Actually, it's Hermione's. But I'll let Malfoy here explain." He paused. "If you don't mind."
Draco wanted to sigh deeply, but didn't. Instead, he uncrossed his arms and intertwined his fingers in front of him. All pairs of eyes turned to him. He held their stare, unwavering.
"Of course." Charlie frowned.
Draco then proceeded to tell the plan, not missing any detail. They all listened to him, and Murtaugh looked bored. When he was done, their eyes lingered on his face for a moment before drifting away.
A silence fell over the table, and Charlie whistled, making eye contact with McGonagall.
"That's… wow."
"Are we sure this is the way to go?" McGonagall frowned, mouth wrinkled with age. "This would be irreversible."
"That's the goal," he said between clenched teeth, controlling his tone. "I think we can all agree that we're way beyond arrests and trials."
"In my opinion," Murtaugh licked his lips, rocking on the back legs of his chair, "you're going at it too soft. Each of those bastards need a bullet between the eyes."
"Cole." McGonagall pursed her lips.
Murtaugh lifted his hands in defence. "Just my opinion."
"WhatIthink," Theo jumped in, "is that there are gonna be a lot of casualties. Before everyone is put to sleep, I mean. While we break the players out."
Charlie was rubbing his chin, eyes pinned on the table. "And the wards will be reversed?"
"They're gonna be reversed as soon as you break in," Draco specified. "Otherwise they will know we corrupted them."
"So, as soon as we're in and the wards are reversed, we will not be able to disapparate?"
Draco leaned back in his chair. "No. But you'll physically be able to run outside."
Murtaugh frowned and showed his palm to interrupt them. "Hold on. I don't know how your voodoo works exactly, but doesn't that mean that they will be able to escape physically too?"
Draco couldn't help a smirk from cracking his lips. "That's why you'll use that thing around your neck. You can secure the perimeters, make sure no one comes out."
Murtaugh's eyes glinted and he pointed his index at his temple. "I like the way you think, boy."
"We'll have to be synchronised." Theo crossed his hands under the table. "The game will start at 3 pm. We'll have to determine at which minute precisely we reverse the wards so you can stream in, which minute we strike, which minute we light the Ember under the cauldron. We'll have to know how long it takes for the fog to spread."
"We can't know this information for sure," McGonagall said.
Charlie took the ink drawing and examined it. "I don't think we need to know, actually."
Murtaugh turned to him. "Why the hell not?"
"Becauseweknow it's coming. We'll have protection. Masks. Charms. All we need to do is hold back the forces and prevent them from leaving the Empireuntilall the players are out. Then we don't have to stay. We will let the Draught spread inside the dome."
"Right," Theo nodded firmly. "But the most important thing is that the Dark Lord doesn't come out. Under no circumstances."
"And trust me," Draco interjected, "as soon as he'll understand what's happening, he'll unleash everything."
"Let him." McGonagall spoke sternly, voice lower and confident. "We'll hold him back."
Silence stretched in the tent again.
"But none of it can happen until we've secured the Essence," Charlie sighed. "That should be our priority right now."
"Shouldn't you talk all of this with Shacklebolt or something?" Draco asked. "I mean, everyone needs to know. How will the others know? If we want even a tiny fucking chance of succeeding, we need to be on the same page, on the exact same word, on the same letter."
"Let us take charge of the others."
"We'll need to know as soon as you find the Essence," Theo said, rubbing his neck. "In the meantime, we'll brew the Draught."
McGonagall adjusted the collar of her cloak. "I think we should take charge of this as well. Horace will be delighted."
"Do you have all the ingredients?" Draco narrowed his eyes at her. "Because we do." He was missing one, but that didn't matter.
"We can find them at St-Mungo's Hospital. Wizards were really keen on protecting it since the fog's arrival. Besides, Mr. Malfoy, I think it would be madness to believe that there is no risk of you being caught while brewing it in the middle of the wolf's den."
"We can brew two of them, I don't care," Theo interjected. "I believe it's pretty difficult to brew anyway."
"Very well."
"We also should destroy the Floo fireplaces as soon as the players are out." Draco added, before cracking his knuckles. "Until then, we need to be able to find you easily. Especially Theo. We'll need to coordinate our plan better than this."
Charlie and McGonagall exchanged a knowing look and he waited. Already expecting what would come out of their mouth.
"Unfortunately, we can't reveal our locations," Charlie tied his hands behind his neck, "even to you. If you're caught and someone uses Legilimens or Impero on you, your mind can't reveal what you don't know."
"We will communicate with you," McGonagall said.
"Not the fucking ravens."
Charlie sighed heavily. "They blend into the background and nobody pays them any attention."
He tightened his jaw, a muscle clicking, and inhaled slowly. Why couldn't they make this easier? Why was everything under their condition?
"Fine." He breathed through his frustration. "But send them to my mother's house. Always. Never to me, Hermione, or Theo. We can't have a raven drop a letter at the window when we're in a meeting with the Dark Lord. My mother lives alone. Send them there."
At this, McGonagall tilted her head, watching him closely. He could discern the surprise and confusion on her crinkled face. She had caught the detail. My mother lives alone.
"Where is—"
"He died six years ago." He was quicker than a bolt, voice piercing the tent.
Her brows twitched. "I'm… sorry to hear that."
He scoffed. He didn't believe she really was—he knew who his father had been. How he treated other people.
No words slipped out of his lips. Their meeting ended after another brief exchange and Charlie promised them they would hurry to find theEssence. Right before they left, he gave Draco an envelope.
"For my father," he said gravely. "Please."
Draco shoved it in his cloak.
China Will Prevail
by Rita Skeeter
China was the fourth country to pledge its allegiance to His Holy Established Empire. Although they needed a little convincing, they quickly understood the value of our system and how it would benefit their nation to replicate it onto their territory. We are deeply grateful to China for believing in the supremacy and purity of magic, and we are so very thrilled to assist them in the establishment of their own empire. Their Arena will be even bigger, and they already discussed different games' ideas.
Join our network. Make our land sacred again.
Restored article of EMPIRE THIS WEEK
found on the windshield of a car [23.04.2012]
Six days later, Hermione was curled up against Draco on her cot two hours after curfew. Her head was pressed on his shoulder, right where it met his bare chest, his arm snaking around her waist. Her hair were leaving a damp mark on his skin, but he didn't seem to care. They chatted quietly in the darkness, but most often, they kept quiet—simply existing side by side.
Yesterday, Narcissa was visited by a raven. Slughorn and Minerva had made a first trip to France that lasted four days but returned empty-handed. No Essence. The news had bummed her. Quickly replaced with a spark of hope when Narcissa found some roots of asphodel. Theo and Draco had started brewing the Draught at the lodge in Yorkshire's Dales right away. At least, they had made their first attempts.
But the potion would be useless if it couldn't be spread like a gas. And if the Order couldn't find the Essence de Brume before the third game, there would be no plan. And the players would die. And the goal was to save them. If Arthur, if Reine didn't survive the third game…
Pansy and Ron had died in the third game, during different editions.
She could die as well. She could climb those pine trees, but she wasn't as quick as Wade or Reine. She didn't know if speed was an important factor to win, but at least, she had overcome her vertigo. Wade would very much likely win that game.
Draco's arm tightened around her. "What's wrong?" he whispered.
She shifted. "Just thinking about… Wade." He stiffened under her and she hurried to add, "Because I have to tell him that we want to save him. I have to tell everyone."
Draco's fingers tugged at the tip of her hair, playing with them mindlessly. "Maybe they don't need to know."
She frowned in the darkness. "Of course we—"
"What I mean is… It will already be so chaotic on that day. We'll simply have to tell them where to go and they'll follow."
"You think?"
He took the time to inhale and exhale fully before answering. "When people are scared, they throw themselves at whatever potential solution they see."
She thought for a second, blinking and staring at nothing. Listening to his steady heartbeat, the strong pulse that sounded like home.
"I should tell Reine at least," she said after a while. "She would want to know. I want her to know."
He kissed the top of her head. "Of course."
Propping herself on her elbow, she turned to watch him. His eyes were heavy-lidded, his skin pale and smooth with the shine of the moon. She looked at the bend of his lips, the contour of his face, sharp angles and rough traits.
He smirked devilishly. "If you continue to stare at me like that, Granger, I'll give you something else to look at."
She rolled her eyes and sat up straight, untangling herself and leaving his warmth. "I think—there's something I need to talk to you about." She averted his eyes because she couldn't handle the change of his expression.
He sat up immediately, brows creasing. "What?"
Slowly, she reached under the cot, right where her head would lay every night, and retrieved the fork. In complete silence, she simply kept it in her hands. The metal caught a moon beam and glinted in the room.
"Do you… want me to brush your hair?" He sounded unsure, but not mocking.
"No, of course not."
He shrugged. "Because I would do it." He delicately pushed her hair over her shoulders. "Merlin, I love your hair."
She hid her smile and took a deep breath. Staring at the fork and remembering. Letting those feelings wash over her once again, reconnecting with the painful tug of guilt and self-hatred she constantly buried.
"Hermione?" he murmured.
"Since the second game," she started, voice breathy but steady, "I have considered this fork to… harm myself. I wanted to. I almost did—countless times. I know it sounds stupid, because it's a fork and it's ridiculous, but for me it would have been a way to pay back something I owe. I still—sometimes I think I still want to do it. I still think I deserve it for what I've done. I wasn't able to tell anyone, I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I hope you're not angry or—"
He wrapped his hand over the fork—over hers. "I still have so much work to do if you think that I would be angry about this." He sighed and stayed silent, bearing a hardened face. His thumbs brushed on the back of her hand.
But this wasn't what she wanted. She hadn't meant to make him feel guilty. He wasn't guilty of anything.
They were quiet for a little while before he finally looked back at her. "You shouldn't feel ashamed for wanting to do it. Of course I'm glad you didn't." He lowered his eyes. "When the mind breaks in too many parts, sometimes the only way we can piece everything back is to break ourselves even more. Mending can be as painful as breaking—they might feel the same."
Her breath hitched and she lifted her free hand to his face. "You're hurting," she whispered, tears clogging her windpipe. "I want—I wish you weren't hurting."
He took her hand away, kissed her knuckles gently. Then, he traced the length of her arm with the tip of his fingers, skimming over the bite mark that number 25 had given her.
"I'm not broken, Hermione." He kept his eyes on her arm, then switched to the other, pushing back the sleeve of her uniform.
The scar Bellatrix gave her was on full display—her marred, brownish skin.
He lifted her arm and kissed the scar, his warm lips lingering. "I should have done something on that night," he murmured, brows ever so slightly narrowing at the memory.
She found nothing to say, but she had never blamed him for his aunt's actions. She remembered the feeling clouding her entire existence in that moment in the Manor. Her hopelessness, her pain.
"I found where I belong," he said, planting another kiss on her arm, soft as a dove. "How could I be broken when I found you?"
The fork clattered to the ground as she swiftly pushed herself in his waiting arms. He caught her with an iron embrace and she let out a half-pain, half-relief whimper. There was a lot happening inside her at this moment.
Her emotional landscape felt like crying, but again, nothing came out.
Draco repeated the same calming words and sounds over and over again, fingers tenderly weaving through her curls. Like he was consoling her, although there were no tears.
And it's in this manner that she asked him number 25's name. To damage herself even more, or maybe to allow the first flake of healing to fall on her heart.
Patricia.
On Thursday, February 10th, Hermione decided she would speak to Reine about the escape. Arthur knew already. During dinner, she requested to take a walk with Reine before curfew.
Reine met her at the castle's entrance at 9 pm, the blanket she kept in her room wrapped around her shoulders. Her hair were tied in one very long braid that fell to her waist.
She shuddered slightly when they stepped outside. "I get cold in the evenings."
Hermione smiled. "Understandable. We can go back inside if you want."
"No. A walk is good."
Together, they started down the main path, falling in step with each other.
"Have you ever been to the Boathouse?" she asked, the cold air caressing her face, keeping her sharp and awake.
Reine glanced toward the Lake. "I know it is there, but I have never been."
"I could show you, if you want. It's pretty."
Reine looked at her feet for a few steps. "Okay."
She guided her to the right, towards the stone steps. The path was lit with lanterns placed at regular intervals.
She was stalling. She didn't know how to shape her sentences. So instead, she examined Town Hall's building, its tall windows casting rectangular boxes of golden light on the grass. The sky was black and cloudless, speckled with glinting stars, and the moon was still low, barely grazing the top of the mountains.
As they made their way down the steps to the Boathouse, Reine sighed.
"Are you wasting my time, Forty-One? Because if you are, I will turn back right now—"
Reine sometimes called her by her number, using it like a nickname. Especially if she was annoyed. Hermione kind of liked it.
She inhaled. "If I told you we could escape very soon, but that would mean a war would occur… would you trust me?"
Reine didn't answer, and Hermione preferred to assume that she was thinking. Halfway down the path to the Boathouse, Reine stopped, her hand on the stone railing, and faced her.
"What kind of war?"
"A big one. One that could put a stop to everything."
Reine frowned. "Is it coming whether we want it or not, or is it orchestrated?"
Hermione bit her lips, hesitating. "The latter, I think."
"What is our chance of winning?"
"I don't know. We have a good plan. But it's still a shot at freedom."
Reine hummed and resumed her descent. The Boathouse grew bigger in front of them as they drew closer, its sharp angles outlined against the sky.
"To answer your question, yes I do trust you." Reine shot above her shoulder. "If we have a chance at winning, then I will take it. I already told you I was ready to burn this place down."
They arrived at the bottom of the stairs, right on the stone deck that stretched on the water. She could hear it lapping gently at the stones.
"This will all end soon," she said. "I promise."
Right then, there was a thud from somewhere inside the Boathouse. Hermione's heart jumped and she stilled, listening.
A ruffle.
Something clattering.
Reine widened her eyes. "There is someone in there!" she whispered-shouted.
Before she could even take a step back, the wooden door opened widely, and candlelight flooded the stairs. She had to blink a few times to understand what she was seeing.
"Look who's here," Wade said mockingly, glaring down at them. His lips were red and swollen.
"What are you doing here?" she fired back.
Another head peeked from behind Wade's broad silhouette.
She gasped. "Cho?"
Cho was red-cheeked, gathering her hair above her head. The zipper of her uniform was halfway down. She looked breathless.
Fire sparked in her veins, prickling the back of her neck. "Oh, my God," she blurted out. "I'm—sorry, we didn't—"
Wade grabbed her harshly by the collar and yanked her inside.
"Hey!" Reine roared, shedding her blanket and jerking to Wade.
He pushed her away, eyes locked on Hermione's.
"Wade—" Cho squealed from somewhere.
From this point of view, Hermione could see the walls covered with various fishing objects. Nets, hooks, harpoons, anchors of different shapes and sizes, and there were three wooden boats stored over their heads, resting on the ceiling beams.
"I heard you talking," he spoke low with a threatening tone. "What are you up to?"
She tried to wrench herself free, but she also didn't want to fuel his anger furthermore. So she calmly waited.
"We were just talking about how good it would feel to leave," she replied, deadpan.
"Is that so?"
Cho appeared in her peripheral vision, right on the other side of the water gap in the middle of the Boathouse.
"You're screwing the Trainer." He brought his face closer to hers, his breath wafting over her. "You disappear for hours on end. I think you're fucking cheating—I don't know how you do it, but you're lying."
Reine lunged at Wade again, trying to pry him away from her. He kicked her back, his foot landing square on her stomach. She bent over.
"Do not touch her!" Hermione warned. "This is between you and me!"
"Wade, let's just leave," Cho pleaded.
"Shut up!" he barked. The next second, he released her, grabbed a blade hooked on the wall and jerked Reine up by her ponytail. He brought the knife to her throat, smiling wickedly. This was a sharp, long and pointy knife, probably something used to skin the fish.
Her guts froze, blood icing under her skin. Her pulse hammered loudly in her ears as she wondered what the fuck was happening.
She showed both of her palms to him in surrender. "Wade, please." She tried to convey as much calm and control in her voice as she could. "Let go of Reine. Please. She has done nothing."
"She's working with you," he hissed, pressing the edge of the blade a little harder against her neck. "She said she trusts you."
"She's my friend, that's all." Panic was shooting up her spine, stiffening her muscles. "We were just taking a walk. I wanted to show her the Boathouse. We didn't know you were here."
Cho started crying. "Wade, drop the blade, please—"
He pointed the knife directly at her, his face reddening with anger. "You! Go find a Gamemaster!"
She blinked. "What, why would—"
"NOW!"
Cho scurried outside and Hermione clenched her jaw, trying to ignore the stab of disappointment this caused her. Cho's steps faded away as she climbed up the stairs.
Wade slid his hellish stare back on her. "I've had a bad feeling about you since they announced your name in the first game. Treating you like a queen, like you already owned the game."
"That's just because I have a reputation!" she exclaimed. "I'm an enemy of the Dark Lord, and they have seen my face everywhere! It didn't mean—"
"I've seen you talk with them!" Spit flew out of his mouth. "Since when are you whoring yourself around?" He dipped his face on Reine, his lips brushing the shell of her ears. "Are you whoring yourself too?"
"You are a bloody tosser—" Reine snarled, chest heaving.
He pulled on her ponytail, and her head craned back with strain.
"Don't you want to be free too?" Hermione lowered her voice. "It's possible, if we work together, we can—"
"Iwill win Numberland. And I won't let any of you waste my chance."
Reine reacted immediately, pushing his arm away and kicking him right in the leg. He grunted with fury and threw herself at her.
Hermione didn't waste a beat—she hurled herself at him too, trying to wrench the blade from his hand. That's what mattered. She wrapped her hands around his wrist, but he was way stronger, not even budging. He elbowed her right on the face.
Spots blinked in her vision, and Reine headbutted him. She wrung one hand around his throat as the other reached again for the arm holding the knife.
Hermione lunged again, kicking him right behind the knee. His weight buckled. Reine pitched herself forward, crushing her fist right on his jaw. Wade grabbed her by the ankles and pulled, over throwing her—her back slammed on the stone. She hit her head and went limp for a second.
A surge of black anger spiked in Hermione's veins as she yelled, engaging in a close hand-to-hand fight with him. The weapon was still clenched in his fist, but he wasn't using it.
She dodged his punches. Ducked. Striked. He hit her in the stomach. She managed to land a punch in his sternum.
Behind him, Reine was stirring and groaning, slowly sitting up.
Wade reached for her throat to strangle her. Hermione tried again to pry the blade from his fingers. The metal was just an inch from her face, his thumbs crushing her windpipe. Instead, she bashed her forearm right on the inside of his elbows. He released her and she kicked him in the stomach.
He took hold of her kicking feet. And a terrifying feeling iced her body.
With incredible force, he hurled her at the water gap. She fell into the glacial water, her lungs closing in with the shock of it. Something underwater—something alive—skimmed her leg and she jerked up. Coughing and spitting, she resurfaced and clung to the edge.
Wade had taken back the knife and was facing a groggy-looking Reine.
"You can't trust our Trainer," he spat at her. "They're plotting something. He'll kill you. He did something to me, although I can't remember! I just know!"
"What are you talking about?" Reine's voice was hoarse, her forehead creased.
Wade scoffed humorlessly. "He killed number 48, you know. I was jogging around the castle before curfew. Saw it happen from afar."
Hermione's heart stopped. She hoisted herself out of the water, shaking violently. "R-Reine…" Water splashed on the stone at her feet. "It's not what you think!"
Reine's face was blank at first. But Hermione saw the second it registered.
Her features fell. She looked at Hermione like she had just been hit. "You… knew?"
Tears sprang to Hermione's eyes. "Yes, but—I mean, I didn't know when you asked me!"
Hurt was shining in Reine's eyes. "I trusted you, Hermione!" Betrayal was etched in her quivering voice. "Why didn't you tell me! You should have told me!"
The light caught in the movement of the blade. Wade plunged the knife in Reine's abdomen. Pushed to the hilt with a squelching sound.
Hermione's scream travelled across the Lake.
She stood still for a second.
Reine's eyes flitted between Wade and the blade.
"Now I can win the games," he whispered, retrieving the knife. Blood spurted out. Reine clutched at the wound, falling on her knees. Her mouth sagged open. A trickle of blood trickled out.
She wilted. Dimmed.
Slumped on the ground.
Unalive.
Wade wiped sweat and blood from his face. He turned slowly to her, blade coated in crimson. "Your turn," he growled.
There were faint voices behind her.
And she knew she had a split second to decide.
She bolted.
Ran out of the Boathouse at breakneck speed.
Wade darted after her.
She sprinted, the air freezing her lungs and her wet uniform. Instead of going up the stairs, she jumped over the stone railing into the bushes. Her boots met rocky ground, and she raced down under the dark cover of the trees. Stuck between shore and cliff.
She ran forward. Weaved through the trees and bushes.
Wade was following.
But she was faster.
She was cold.
She was shocked.
She ran the only way where he couldn't follow.
It took three minutes before the edge of the Lake curved away from her and mountains widened on the skyline.
He screamed something behind her.
Wind slapped at her cheeks but she didn't break her speed.
Her strides were quick.
Heartbeat hammering.
Her soul tearing apart.
After another minute, there was another scream behind her. A different one—a yell of pain and anger. She looked back above her shoulder.
Wade had stopped, clutching his wrist.
"You bitch!" he screamed at her.
She was out of the Empire.
He threw the knife at her but it didn't reach her.
It thudded somewhere in the grass behind her.
She kept running, and running, and running.
Disappearing into the mountains.
Out of sight.
Out of reach.
Out of prison.