As the moon rises above the mountains, I replace a small alley where I conceal myself. Quick, painful breaths escape me as I slouch against the stone wall. Tonight didn’t go how I planned. Nothing did.

My gaze lowers to the cursed mark on my wrist. Gabriel wanted to use me.

My chest aches as I ball my fingers into fists. I used him to get closer to Astarobane and his people. He used me because he thinks I can bring magic back.

Olah, help me.

I have never felt more alone. Not even after Mother died.

My arm burns where he struck me. He’ll have a bruise on his neck by morning.

We were always supposed to be enemies.

I stare up at the moon glimmering overhead. How it mocks me with its brightness. Its cheerfulness.

I need to escape this place, to run as fast as I can.

But I cannot.

I planned for ten summers, ten long tedious summers of hating Roland and wanting to avenge Mother.

If I kill Hector, the Bloodstone people will turn on me. They will hammer my body with arrows.

The cold, harsh truth impales me with its reality. It’s starkness. I know what I must do. I have always known.

I will kill Hector.

Then, I will die too.

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