“Not when you don’t know the truth.”
“The truth?” I ask, getting to my feet.
Taron’s face twists. The closeness we just shared evaporates into the evening air, leaving a raw, open wound in its place.
His words come slowly, like they cost him something to say. “I was there. In the cottage, the day you found the Necroseals. I followed you to the Night Market … and back to your cottage. I’m the reason Madame Vera knew where to find you.”
And Elara.
The ground falls away beneath me. My heart skips abeat. Two. Three. I stagger back, the space between us suddenly too much, too wide. It can’t be. Not him.
“What?”
Taron’s expression is pained. “I’m sorry.”
The betrayal is a physical blow. But beneath it, a searing wave of recrimination. How could I have been so foolish? So desperate? So oblivious?
I let myself trust him. I grew close to him, sought his support and convinced myself we’re a team. All while he carried this terrible secret. Something in me snaps. The desire, the closeness we shared moments ago, is gone, leaving behind something sharp and bitter.
My chest twists with a tornado of emotions – betrayal, anger, devastation – and I rush forward until I slam my fists into Taron’s chest.
He stumbles back, making no move to stop me.
“This whole time I’ve been wondering how she found me,” my voice cracks, “and it was because ofyou?”
“I didn’t know you then. Didn’t know myself, if I’m honest. If I’d known what would happen … that Madame Vera would go after your sister…”
“What? You would’ve done things differently?”
Taron swallows but doesn’t answer. He can’t, because that would mean admitting to me that Madame Vera has his soul. The weight of his words, of everything he’s told me, folds around me like a suffocating blanket. It smothers every thought. Every breath.
I pull my arms into my chest. The wet fabric of my uniform clings uncomfortably to my skin as I storm into the dark, my boots slipping through the mud.
The glow of his kiss still lingers on my lips. The press of his mouth is still imprinted on mine. My cold rage drowns it all out.
Taron led Madame Vera straight to me, and now Elara is dead.The thought makes me want to scream, to tear down the trees around me and destroy something, anything, to make this feeling go away.
But I can’t stop. Cyrus and Gideon are still out there, and I just let them take our half of the crystal star. I can’t let them win. I can’t let any of the surviving contestants win. Not now. Not when everything is more at stake than ever.
I let myself get sidetracked by Taron. I foolishly opened up to him. I believed he could be more than Madame Vera’s puppet. That ends now.
I’m getting through this tournament, even if I die trying.
Chapter Thirty-one
The jungle is a blur around me. Branches claw at my arms. Roots threaten to trip me up as I sprint through the dense foliage. Taron’s voice echoes behind me, but I don’t slow down. I can’t. Not after what he told me.
“Tal— Maeve, wait!” His voice is breathless and full of urgency. “Just stop for a second and listen to me!”
I push harder, even if the wild undergrowth tears at my legs and the wet earth sucks at my boots. His footsteps are close.
“Maeve, please!” he shouts again, his voice echoing through the general snaps and cracks of the forest. “Remember when I told you about Madame Vera’s ancestor?”
I slow in spite of myself.
“Well, I didn’t tell you the full story!”
“What full story?” I bite out. I leap over a fallen log,nearly slipping as I hit the other side. My pulse is a drum in my ears.
