“Caden Colt, and his ever-loyal sidekick Sean McGrath.” Petru’s raspy voice sounded smooth and authoritative.
His eyes flicked to the dead body beside us, one brow arching ever so slightly. “I see you’ve made yourself quite at home.”
I lifted my own in response. “If death feels like home to you, I can’t wait to see what you’ve done with the place.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, lifting for a split second before he nodded toward his fallen guard. “Why did you kill him?”
I tilted my head, barely suppressing a snort at the stupidity of the question. “You know why.”
A beat of silence passed between us, thick with unspoken history.
“You remember,” Petru said quietly, more of a statement than a question.
“I do,” I replied, my tone flat.
Petru sighed, the sound heavy with resignation. “Which means you need something from me.”
“Not me—my Collective.”
“Yeah, that’s what they all say,” he grunted, rolling his shoulders. “Come on in.”
As he guided us through his rather cold home, the walls seemed to press in, amplifying the sense of isolation and importance. Narrow windows allowed only a trace of light to filter through, casting long shadows that stretched along the cold floors.
Petru’s footsteps echoed softly as we crossed a vast hall with columns rising high above us, each one carved with intricate runes and symbols.
Without another word, we were escorted to our quarters for the night, and I couldn’t help but be surprised by the comfort of the room. It was furnished with plush chairs and soft bedding, though my mind was far too alert to settle into the luxury. The unease from earlier still lingered in the back of my head.
“What the hell was that about?” Sean asked once we were finally alone, his voice low but urgent.
I sat my ass down, leaning back in one of the chairs. “I did a mission with him once. Ten years ago. Area 4. We had to wait out a target for hours and, well, we started talking. He told me how he likes to play with his enemies before killing them off. Said he makes them guard the gate to his palace—right before beheading them—so the last thing they ever do is protect the place that seals their fate.”
Sean swallowed hard, his face paling slightly. “That’s… messed up.”
“Yeah,” I muttered, glancing out the window into the dark night, remembering the cold amusement in his eyes when he’d said it.
Dinner was served in the room, but neither of us had much of an appetite. The night dragged on, the hours creeping by as we were left to our own devices.
My mind was racing, torn between what to tell Petru in the morning and what to hold back. I needed to convince him to participate in the Resistance, to fight the war with us on two fronts: against the Radicals now and the humans in the future. But revealing everything about Stephen felt reckless at this stage. Petru could just as easily run to the United Chiefs and sell Stephen out for abusing the blue portal.
By two in the morning, I still hadn’t slept for shit.
Sean, on the other hand, had crashed almost instantly, sprawled out on the bed and snoring within minutes.
Fucking great.
“Did ye sleep at all?” Sean asked the next morning, rubbing the back of his neck as he shrugged into his jacket.
I shot him a look. “Not much.”
“I slept like a rock,” Sean grinned, stretching his arms.
I rolled my eyes, while lacing up my boots. “Yeah, kind of hard to miss when you snore loud enough to wake the dead.”
Sean laughed, unbothered. “Hey, it’s part of me charm. Besides, I’m sure Petru was comforted by the sweet symphony of my snores echoing through his fortress.”
I shook my head but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at my lips. “If we survive this, I’ll get you a recording contract.”
Sean grinned. “Deal.”
