Night swallows the city while I pull the mask over my face. The world narrows the instant it settles onto my skin, vision tinted by those jagged eye-slits. My breath is warm against its grin as I tug my hood up to become the demon Alexei wants. The white gloves slide on next. My heartbeat slows. My breathing levels.
Autopilot.
The streets are quiet as I move, just the sound of distant traffic and the buzz of a neon sign flickering over the vape shop below his building. The distributor lives in a shitty apartment above it—peeling paint, rust around the railing, an ashtray overflowing outside the door. Too easy.
I slip into the narrow alley and pick the back lock. The old mechanism clicks open, as if relieved to finally give up. Inside, the smell that hits me is of cheap takeout and stale smoke. I step through the cramped kitchen, each movement calculated and quiet. A tired light buzzes overhead, and there is a sink full of dirty bowls and a stack of empty energy drink cans.
Thisis the guy trying to claw his way up the drug world?Pathetic.But it makes sense because ambition for meaningful pursuits rots quickest in dark places like this. He’s sitting on the couch, hunched forward, TV light flickering blue across his face. A plate of half-eaten noodles sits on the coffee table beside him. He scratches his cheek and reaches for the remote.
And then he looks up.
His eyes land on the blank, stretched grin of the mask, and everything in him freezes. A startled gasp leaves him as he drops the remote onto the dirty rug. His mouth opens to scream or pray to a god I don’t believe in. I’ll never know which, because my hand isalready around his throat. My other hand drives the knife in, quick, clean, center mass. His fingers claw helplessly at my wrist, covered perfectly by the gloves.
His movements slow.
Then...stop.
His head hits the cushion, eyes frozen open in terror. There’s a soft wheeze as the last air leaks out of him. I stare for a moment, not feeling much. Just pressure in my skull, the ringing in my ears, the familiar drop in my gut. This is what I am now.
Alexei’s weapon.
I yank the blade free, wipe it on the couch, and leave.
Micah is at the kitchen counter when I walk in, still in the blood-splattered mask. The second he sees the stains, he shoots upright, the chair legs screeching against the floor.
“Jesus, Jude.” His voice cracks. “Again? Did Nolan—”
“It wasn’t Nolan,” I mutter, pulling the mask off. A strand of hair sticks to the inside from sweat. I shove it into my guitar case, where it will live alongside my other self. The version of me I wish desperately I could get back to.
Micah’s eyes follow the case. “Jude...we need to talk about Rook. I think we can—”
“It’s too late.”
Micah flinches at the tone.
But I’m so fucking tired. It’s a bone-deep type of exhaustion from all of the stress of trying to balance two worlds in my hands. I sink into the couch, elbows on my knees, head in my hands. “If this were still Nolan, maybe, yeah. But Alexei?” I shake my head. “Rook can probably hack house cats like Nolan. Buttigers?”I scoff. “They eat people like us every goddamn day.”
Micah’s throat works, like he wants to argue, wants to save me, but knows he’s out of his depth. He just whispers, barely audible, “He’s going to kill you.”
“Yeah,” I breathe, rubbing my eyes until stars burst behind them. “Probably.”
“We can at least try—”
“Shut it, Micah,” I snap, sharper than I mean to, my hands shaking as I reach for the heroin I’ve been craving for hours. “It is what it is.”
“What about Emma? And the band—”
“I don’t fucking know, man.” The words scrape out of me, drained and defeated. “I’ve ignored Finnick and Kami’s texts. They seem to have gotten the point to leave me alone.”
He drags a hand through his hair. “They texted me to check on you. I told them you were okay.” He sits beside me, softer now.
“I’m fucked, Micah.” My voice cracks. “If Idoend up dying, please make sure Emma is okay.”
His eyes narrow, fury burning through his fear. “What the fuck, Jude. What thefuck.”
I ignore him. I can’t handle the weight of his anger and care. My phone vibrates in my pocket, and my chest hollows when I see the screen.
EMMA