“And if you refuse,” he continued, “when you try to save your kind instead of killing her, we’ll kill you both. Together. Call it mercy.”
From the doorway, Wickett shifted. Just barely. But the movement was fluid, purposeful, and the otherhunter straightened immediately. Like a predator recognizing something more dangerous than itself.
“Time’s up,” Calder said. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t reached for his blade, but violence radiated from him like heat from flame.
“We could make it quick,” the hunter said, backing toward the door. “Tonight. While she sleeps. Save everyone the trouble of tomorrow.”
“Try it.” Calder’s smile was all teeth. “Please.”
They left. All except Wickett, who lingered in the doorway. His stare burned into me, eyes holding mine with an intensity that made my skin prickle. Not the look of a hunter studying prey. Something else. Something that recognized what I was willing to sacrifice and found it... interesting.
When he finally turned to go, his voice still cut through the night. “Brave little witch.”
The way he said it, like a caress and a threat wrapped together, woke something within me. And I needed nothing to wake up at the present moment.
But then he was gone too, and it was just Calder and me and the crushing weight of everything left unsaid.
He blinked slowly. “You absolute fucking fool.”
“I know.”
“You’ve killed yourself.”
“I know.”
“And for what? She’s not even the ...” He stopped. Ran a hand through his hair, leaving it disheveled. “Tomorrow, you’ll have to kill or be killed. Those other witches won’t hesitate.”
“Katarina will.”
“Katarina hates you now. She thinks you abandoned her in the Bloodwood. She’s not your friend.”
Silence lingered far too long before Calder moved to the door, positioning himself against the frame.
“What are you doing?”
“Keeping watch.” He pulled out a blade and began cleaning it with mechanical precision. Each stroke deliberate. Familiar. “No one touches you tonight.”
“Calder...”
“Shut up, Syn. Just... shut up and try to sleep.”
I lay on the cot, staring at the stone ceiling that seemed to press closer with each breath. The death marker sat on the shelf, catching candlelight. Tomorrow I’d fight witches. My own kind. For the privilege of hunting my best friend.
The candle burned lower. Wax pooled and hardened. I felt Silas settle somewhere above. Still angry. Still disappointed. But there. Always there.
Calder kept his vigil, blade gleaming in the dying light. Pretending he couldn’t hear my breathing. Pretending this was just another night, another watch, another chance to protect what mattered.
Finally, so quiet I almost missed it, he said, “Why couldn’t you just run?”
The question felt like a knife sliding into my heart. Because running meant letting Vitoria die alone. Because I’d been running my whole life, and some sins required you to stop. Stand. Fight.
Even if it killed you.
I closed my eyes and listened to Calder breathe. Steady. Loyal. Keeping the darkness at bay while I tried to find peace with what tomorrow would bring.
The candle guttered out, and we sat in darkness, waiting for dawn.
Both with broken hearts.
