My grip tightens further.
“Then talk.”
His eyes gleam.
“He wants you,” Felix says. “Pulled away. Distracted. Isolated.”
A cold realization starts to form.
“Why?” I demand.
Felix’s smile widens, even as the pressure on his throat increases.
“Because you’re the only one here who matters.”
I hit him. Hard. His head snaps to the side.
“Wrong answer.”
He coughs, then laughs again.
“You’re already playing his game,” he says. “Every step you take away from Redwood Crossing—every second you spend chasing me—you’re giving him exactly what he wants.”
My jaw tightens. Because there’s truth in that. I hate that there’s truth in that.
“Where is Damon?” I press.
Felix studies me. Then, finally?—
“Deep forest,” he says. “Northwest ridge. He’s waiting.”
Waiting. For me. Of course he is. I hold his gaze for another second, searching for deception. I don’t find any. Not in the words. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t a trap. It always means there’s a trap. I release just enough pressure to let him breathe.
“Why tell me?” I ask.
Felix exhales slowly, his expression shifting just slightly.
“Because I’m done playing distraction,” he says. “And because I want to see how this ends.”
Not loyalty. Not fear. Curiosity. That makes him more dangerous than I expected. I push off him and stand. He doesn’t move to follow. Doesn’t try to attack again. He stays where he is, watching me.
“You’re not getting back up,” I tell him.
He smirks faintly, already on his feet. “You’re welcome to try and stop me.”
I step forward once more. Fast. Decisive. I bring him down again before he can react, driving him into the ground and locking him there with enough force to keep him from rising.
Not dead. But not going anywhere anytime soon. That’s enough.
Felix strains once beneath me, testing the limits of the hold again, but I don’t give him room to build leverage. His breathing is uneven now, controlled slipping into forced. He studies me through narrowed eyes like he’s still evaluating the fight instead of losing it.
“You don’t get it,” he says finally, voice roughened by pressure.
“I get enough,” I snap back.
He exhales sharply, almost amused despite the blood at his lip.
“No,” he says. “You really don’t.”
