Page 101 of Spoils of war
That night, sleep never came. Not that I wanted it to. Every time I closed my eyes, the fire came roaring back. My parents. The screaming. The smell. Arche.
It clung to me like smoke I couldn’t scrub off.
Aran was outside, keeping watch. I slipped out barefoot, careful not to wake Will, arms wrapped tight around myself. Aran was by the fire, one knee bent, a bottle resting against it. Flamelight flickered across his face, catching the shadows under his eyes.
“Is that what you do now?” I stopped a few feet away. “Drink until you forget?”
He didn’t flinch. Just tilted the bottle back and took a long, slow swallow.
Like it was for show.
Like he wanted to piss me off.
“You caught me.”
I sat across from him, pulling my knees up to my chest, as the fire crackled between us.
“You’re really going to waste your life like this?” I asked. “Drunk and reckless? Like you were at the bar?”
A bitter sound escaped him, somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. He tipped the bottle back again before answering.
“Yeah. Maybe my life isn’t over, but it sure feels like it.”
“That’s deep,” I spat. “Coming from you.”
His eyes lifted to meet mine. “I told you, I had nothing to do with what happened. I didn’t betray you—”
“Swear it.” I didn’t blink. “Give me your word that you didn’t tell the vultures about The Wardens. Their plan. Any of it.”
“I didn’t.” His voice cracked, and he leaned forward. “I swear it. Look me in the eye and tell me I’m lying.”
He held my gaze, and I forced myself to meet it. Those deep forest eyes, wild, broken, and full of something I recognized only as grief. I wasn’t sure if I could trust my own judgment anymore, but I didn’t see an evil, backstabbing traitor when I looked. I saw agony. And one thing was clear. He was more afraid ofmethan I’d ever been of him.
“They tried to make me talk,” he said, his voice fraying at the edges. “And I wouldn’t. I would’ve rather died than betray you. And that’s—”
He tried to push the words out, but they caught in his throat and stayed there. He didn’t need to finish. I already knew. He wouldn’t have left her, and nothing else could have hurt him like that.
“That’s why they killed Selma,” I said.
The words fell between us like death.
Final.
“They made me watch, Kera.” His voice broke like glass. “They butchered her like an animal. And I haven’t been the same since. I feel empty. Like my soul, if I ever had one, just vanished.”
His hand trembled as he dragged it across his face, like he could erase what he’d seen. What he’d done. What he hadn’t done.
“You don’t trust me. That’s fine. I get that.” He swallowed, hard. “But gods, please—please trust that I hate them just as much as you do.”
He tipped the bottle back again. The motion was sharp. Angry.
“This emptiness… this hollow ache—I need to drown it. Or it’ll drown me.” He sat there breathing like it hurt, the fire dancing in his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
His shoulders slumped. “I don’t want your pity.”
“I think we’re both losers in this. We both tried. We both failed.” I continued. “And I probably would’ve done the same thing.” My chest ached. “If someone I loved was in danger…My brother was my world. He was always there. And then… he wasn’t. He was just gone.”
