Page 2 of Breaking Ophelia
Property.
Breeders.
Wives.
Bam mutters, “Why even do this? You could just pick the winners.” His voice is low, but meant to be heard.
Rhett grins. “We’re a circus for the donors. People love a blood sport.”
Abelard raises a skeletal hand. Even the echoes obey. “The Night Hunt is not for entertainment. It is for correction. Our history is littered with mistakes. Weak stock. Unfit heirs.” His glare pins us. “That ended with the introduction of the Hunt, and in the absence of new games, we are growing weak once again.”
A low shuffle, then another Board member speaks. “The girls have been selected for maximum compatibility. Intelligence,health, genetic variance. We will not tolerate deviation from the approved list.”
My mouth twists. They’re not talking about people. They’re talking about breeding stock.
Rhett licks his lips. “And if the runners refuse?”
Abelard’s mouth curls. “Then they are removed. And so are their families.”
Julian runs a finger down the scarlet lining of his blazer, tracing the seam like it’s a wound. “No surprises then. Efficient.”
The Board doesn’t bother responding. That’s all the answer we get.
The eldest female, Ms. Valence, taps the ceremonial dagger in front of her. “Remember your lines. We are not merely administrators. We are executioners.”
She slides her glance to me, eyes glassy and red. “Isn’t that right, Caius?”
I meet her gaze, unblinking. “That’s correct.”
She nods, satisfied.
Rhett snorts. “Don’t see the point of all this theater, but—” His smile never reaches his eyes. “—we’ll do it your way.”
Colton says nothing. Bam flexes his hands like he’s already strangling someone.
Abelard closes the book with a thud. Dust blooms. “Tonight, we receive the first of our guests. Tomorrow, the beginning stages of the Hunt begins. Do not embarrass your lines. Do not fail.”
The Board members rise, all at once. Robes slither along marble. For a moment, they linger—twelve statues watching five bugs under a microscope.
“We will see you tomorrow evening for the final instructions. 7 p.m., do not be late.”
Then they file out, leaving the room colder than before.
We sit in the aftermath, all five of us pretending to relax, each measuring the others. Rhett breaks the tension first, voice raspy. “Anyone else think it’s funny they act like the Hunt is sacred, when it’s just a culling?”
Julian answers. “Sacred things always need blood to stay alive. That’s the joke. Plus, no one dies if we win… which we will.”
Bam cracks his knuckles again, louder. “I hope they make it interesting this year. Last time was boring as shit.”
Colton’s eyes flick up, just once, at the stained glass. “Someone always runs. Someone always chases. Someone always dies.”
I let the silence settle. The Board wants me to lead, so I do.
“Get ready,” I say. “They want blood, we give it to them.”
The obsidian table throws back a funhouse reflection—five faces, all fangs, no mercy.
It’s the only legacy that matters.
