Colson

The Things I Chose Not to Hear

Colson POV

The pit was alive.

That was the only word for it.

The roar of the crowd rolled through the underground chamber like a living thing—breathing violence in, screaming it back out. Blood soaked the sand in uneven patches, dark and sticky, glowing faintly where magic bled into it. The air thrummed with raw power, adrenaline, and desperation, thick enough to taste.

I remembered this place.

I remembered liking it.

That realization sat badly in my gut.

The fight ended with a wet crack—bone giving way under impossible force—and the victor raised his fists as the crowd erupted. The loser was dragged from the pit, unconscious but breathing. That was considered mercy here.

I leaned back in the shadows, posture loose, expression bored. In the past, this was the point where I checked out—where I let the noise, the booze, and the blood drown everything else out.

This time, I didn’t blink.

This time, I listened.

The next fight was announced—two enhanced shifters, chained at the wrists, eyes blown wide with drugs and rage. The crowd surged forward, hungry.

Perfect cover.

I let my senses stretch past the obvious chaos, sliding between sound and scent and magic until I felt it—

A pocket of stillness behind the violence.

Wrong.

Controlled.

Intentional.

My attention drifted upward, toward the iron lattice and private boxes overlooking the pit. The wards there were different—layered, subtle, old. Not for protection from violence.

For privacy.

I was here before, a distant part of me whispered.

I sat right here.

And that’s when the memory began to bleed through.

Not sharp. Not clean.

Just impressions.

Ezra’s coin heavy in my pocket.

A drink in my hand.

A bet placed without caring who won.

I’d been paid already.

I hadn’t been listening.

Now, I leaned forward, elbows resting casually on my knees like I was just another spectator with bloodlust and bad taste.

Behind the lattice, five figures stood together. Hooded. Still. Watching the fight like it was nothing more than background noise.

Witches.

Not street trash. Not hedge magic.

These were coven-trained. Old bloodlines. Heavy power.

Their voices threaded carefully through the roar of the crowd, low enough that only someone like me would catch them.

“…it requires blood older than the covens,” one murmured.

“Not just old,” another corrected. “Original.”

My spine went cold.

I forced my breathing to stay even.

“An original witch?” a third voice scoffed. “That bloodline is myth.”

A soft, amused laugh followed. Calm. Confident.

“Everything is myth,” she said, “until someone bleeds.”

The crowd exploded as the shifters collided—claws tearing, magic flaring. The witches didn’t react.

They were discussing the end of the world like it was a business proposal.

I remembered this moment now.

Or rather—I remembered missing it.

I’d been distracted by the fight. By the thrill. By the noise. I’d written this night off as just another errand for Ezra. Another forgettable job.

This time, every word branded itself into my memory.

“The spell can’t be cast without her,” one witch said. “The anchor must be of origin blood. A true beginning.”

“But she doesn’t know,” another replied. “If she did—”

“She wouldn’t survive long enough to be useful,” the amused voice finished.

My jaw tightened.

Amaris.

They weren’t talking about her being here.

They were talking about her being necessary.

A faint memory surfaced—Ezra’s voice weeks later, smooth and satisfied.

You did well that night.

I’d never asked why.

“Once cast,” a witch continued, “the spell rewrites the balance. Vampires bound no longer by decay or hunger. Power stabilized. Longevity ensured.”

“And the cost?” another asked.

There was a pause.

Then a shrug I could hear in her tone.

“The world reshapes. Not everyone survives the transition.”

“But the vampire race thrives.”

My stomach twisted.

This wasn’t conquest.

It was forced evolution.

A goddamn extinction event with good branding.

“And the original witch?” another voice asked, quieter.

“She burns,” the amused witch said. “Or ascends. Hard to say. Magic like this hasn’t been attempted since the first age.”

The pit erupted again—one shifter fell hard, unmoving. The crowd roared approval.

I remembered standing up right after that.

Ordering another drink.

Laughing.

Leaving.

“Ezra believes the timing is right,” one witch said. “The pieces are finally in place.”

“Yes,” came the reply. “Kendrick controls the pit. Ezra controls the streets. And when the witch is taken—”

Taken.

The word rang in my skull like a bell.

“—the spell begins.”

Memory slammed into me.

Ezra’s promotion of me shortly after.

More access.

More blood on my hands.

I hadn’t known what I was enabling.

Or worse—I’d known and didn’t care enough to look closer.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to stay still.

Amaris wasn’t here.

She was never meant to be.

She was the final component—not the witness.

And I was sent here because this was the first time her existence ever surfaced in the plan.

A different witch spoke now, uncertain. “And if she resists?”

The amused one smiled—I could hear it.

“Everyone resists at first.”

I shifted slightly, changing my angle just enough to see Kendrick himself step into one of the upper boxes, grinning like a man watching his favorite toy work properly.

Another memory blossomed.

Kendrick laughing later that night.

Calling it progress.

Calling it inevitable.

I’d hated him then.

I hated him more now.

The witches began to disperse as the fight ended, melting back into the crowd one by one. I stayed seated, face carefully neutral, fury coiled tight inside my ribs.

That’s when someone dropped into the seat beside me.

“Didn’t think you were coming out tonight, Colson.”

I didn’t turn my head.

The voice was familiar. Too familiar.

“Miss me?” I replied dryly.

A low chuckle. “Always. You look bored.”

“Violence gets repetitive,” I said. “Start noticing patterns.”

Another vampire leaned in from the other side. “You betting tonight, or just brooding like usual?”

“Brooding,” I said. “It’s my brand.”

They laughed.

Good.

They thought I was him.

The old me.

One of them nodded toward the pit. “Shame Sage isn’t fighting tonight.”

My stomach flipped.

“Oh?” I said casually. “Why’s that?”

The vampire grinned. “Because watching that human beat the s**t out of everyone was always entertaining.”

Another snorted. “Yeah, nuisance had no business hitting that hard. Kendrick hated it.”

“She fought like she had nothing to lose,” the first added. “Almost felt bad for the ones dumb enough to step in with her.”

I kept my expression blank, even as something ugly twisted in my chest.

Sage.

In the pit.

Bleeding for their amusement.

Of course she had.

“Ezra ever figure out what she was?” someone asked.

“Nah,” the other replied. “But he liked that she didn’t break.”

I swallowed back bile.

“Pity,” I muttered.

They looked at me.

“Something wrong?” one asked.

“Just thinking,” I said lightly. “World’s full of idiots who enjoy watching the wrong people suffer.”

They laughed again, assuming it was another Colson quip.

The watch in my pocket pulsed once.

A reminder.

Time was moving.

I stood slowly, stretching like I was just another predator getting bored with the show.

“Well,” I said, “if Kendrick’s done entertaining me for the night, I’ve got business elsewhere.”

One of them smirked. “Careful. You keep disappearing like this, someone might think you’ve grown a conscience.”

I smiled thinly. “Don’t spread rumors. I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

As I melted back into the shadows, my mind raced—memories continuing to bloom now that I’d given them permission.

This was the night it started.

The night the spell was named.

The night I chose not to listen.

Never again.

Because now I knew what Amaris had seen.

A future built on ashes.

A world saved for vampires—and destroyed for everyone else.

And I would tear it apart before they ever touched her.

The watch stayed silent as I disappeared into the crowd.

Waiting.