Colson

The Rules of the Game

Colson POV

Kendrick let me walk out.

No threats.

No chains.

No “you won’t leave this room alive” theatrics.

Just a calm nod, a knowing look, and the kind of silence that crawled under your skin and stayed there.

That was worse than violence.

I didn’t rush. Rushing was how you got followed. Instead, I walked like nothing had changed, posture loose, hands in my pockets, every step measured. The old me had mastered the art of looking bored while calculating escape routes.

Inside, though, my thoughts were spiraling.

Kendrick knows.

Not suspects. Not guesses. Knows—or knows enough to be dangerous.

And the fact that he hadn’t acted meant he was waiting.

For what, I had no idea.

I doubled back twice, crossed rooftops once, and slipped through a market ward meant to keep out thieves but barely noticed vampires. By the time I reached the quieter district where Amaris was now hiding, I was certain no one had followed me.

Certain didn’t mean safe.

Her house looked exactly the same as it had earlier, just a new location. —modest, unassuming, wrapped in layers of wards so subtle they blended into the structure itself. The kind of magic that didn’t scream keep out so much as I see you.

I didn’t knock.

I used the signal we’d agreed on.

The door opened almost immediately.

Amaris stood there, already alert, eyes sharp as they swept over me. When she stepped aside to let me in, her hand lingered on the doorframe—ready to seal it the moment I crossed the threshold.

The door closed. The wards slid back into place.

I didn’t bother with pleasantries.

“How,” I demanded, turning to face her, “does Kendrick know?”

That finally broke her composure.

Not dramatically. Not fully. Just a flicker—her breath hitching, her skin paling for half a second before she straightened.

“Tell me everything,” she said calmly. “From the moment you arrived.”

I stayed standing, pacing once before stopping in front of her.

“He summoned me,” I said. “Not Ezra. Kendrick. Sent one of his men to my apartment like this was routine. Underground office. No guards. No show.”

Her jaw tightened.

“There was a witch,” I continued. “Standing behind me the entire time. Didn’t move much. Didn’t flare magic. Just… watched.”

Her eyes widened.

“Describe her.”

I did. The stillness. The way shadows bent toward her. The complete absence of name or identity.

Amaris sucked in a sharp breath.

“She should be in hell,” she whispered.

That stopped me cold.

“She was cast away,” Amaris continued, voice low. “An immortal witch who chose darkness so completely that even hell rejected her presence. Her name was stripped. Her magic sealed. She was… erased.”

I stared at her. “You’re telling me Kendrick has a nameless, erased immortal witch standing at his shoulder.”

“Yes.”

“…That explains why the room felt like it wanted to eat me.”

Her lips twitched despite herself.

“She was sealed,” Amaris repeated. “She should not be free.”

“Then she escaped when Ezra did,” I said. “Or someone helped her.”

Her silence confirmed it.

A heavier question pressed down on my chest.

“Is she from my time?” I asked.

Amaris hesitated longer this time.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “And that is deeply troubling.”

I dragged a hand through my hair and finally dropped onto the chair across from her table.

“Okay,” I said. “Then explain this, because it’s been clawing at my brain since I got here.”

I met her gaze.

“Why am I the only Colson?”

She didn’t look surprised.

“There aren’t two of you,” she said gently. “There never would be.”

I frowned. “Time travel usually comes with duplicates. At least that’s how the stories go.”

“The stories are wrong,” she replied. “The only time displacement spell I know—true displacement—anchors the traveler to their past self.”

Something in her tone made my stomach sink.

“You didn’t arrive alongside your past version,” she continued. “You became him.”

I sat very still.

“So,” I said slowly, “my future body—”

“Is in stasis,” she finished. “Protected. Held outside time.”

“And I’m walking around in my own terrible life choices.”

“Yes.”

“…Wow. That explains a lot.”

She smiled faintly.

“Anything you do here,” Amaris said, “will not change your future directly. People, relationships, outcomes—they’re anchored.”

Relief loosened something tight in my chest.

“But objects are different,” she added.

Of course they were.

“The book,” I said quietly.

She nodded. “That is why you’re here. It exists fractured across time. You can retrieve it. Move it. Bring it back.”

“And when I leave a place,” I said, “no one remembers future me.”

“They remember the Colson who belongs to this time,” she confirmed. “Memory reshapes itself.”

I leaned back, exhaling slowly.

“So I’m basically a ghost with excellent timing and a very specific shopping list.”

“That is… an accurate summary.”

Silence settled between us, heavy but not uncomfortable.

Then I chuckled.

“Future you really likes dramatic letters, by the way.”

She huffed softly. “I imagine she had reasons.”

“Oh, she did,” I said. “Threatened the fate of the world. Implied doom. Very on-brand.”

I rubbed my face, exhaustion finally catching up.

“So Kendrick knows—or suspects. Ezra’s chasing a lie I fed him. A hell-witch is loose. And the fate of everything hinges on a book I’m not supposed to touch.”

I looked at her.

“No pressure.”

“You are not alone,” Amaris said firmly.

I snorted. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Her voice softened. “Colson… if Kendrick knows, time itself is straining. That means we must be precise.”

I nodded.

“Then we plan,” I said. “We lie better than them. We steal faster than them. And we make damn sure that book never ends up in the wrong hands.”

She studied me for a long moment.

“And if this costs you?” she asked quietly.

I shrugged. “I’ve spent worse nights.”

A pause.

Then I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, lowering my voice conspiratorially.

“So,” I said, a crooked smile tugging at my mouth, “hypothetically speaking—if you and I were to work very closely together…”

Her brow arched.

“…purely for world-saving purposes,” I added, flashing her a wicked, unmistakably Colson grin, “it wouldn’t change anything, right?”

Her lips curved despite herself.

“Colson,” she warned.

I stood, grinning wider. “Just checking the rules.”

Because if the world was ending, I was at least going to enjoy breaking a few along the way.