CHAPTER 80
1148 Words
The tavern’s light fractured in Elise’s eyes, lantern flames blooming like orbs suspended in water.
The air hummed, too loud, too soft, each voice in the room stretching into echoes as if the walls themselves mocked her for staying. She pressed a hand to her forehead, but even her palm felt strange—heavy and distant, like it belonged to someone else.
Her bones no longer carried her the way they should. Her legs were too light, her chest too tight. The glass in front of her tilted, though she hadn’t touched it in minutes. She swallowed, tasting iron under the bitterness of ale.
“Elise,” Luka’s voice came, low and measured. But to her, it wasn’t Luka speaking.
She blinked at him, her eyes slow to focus. His lips moved, and she swore she heard only Kai’s voice, clipped at the edges with guilt and distance.
Her throat tightened. “Why are you ignoring me?”
The question fell out before she could bite it back. Luka stiffened, the faintest flicker in his eyes betraying surprise. He watched her carefully, and in that pause, realization struck him like a clean blade. She wasn’t seeing him at all. She was seeing Kai.
Didn’t they just have this conversation now?… he thought but decided to continue to play along again.
His jaw flexed, then smoothed over. He leaned forward, letting the lantern-light carve shadows across his cheekbones. “Ignoring you?” he repeated slowly, testing the words, slipping into the role offered to him like a second skin.
Her chest rose and fell in uneven waves. “You don’t look at me the same anymore,” she whispered. The words trembled, slurred, but the pain in them cut clean. “You don’t see me. Not when I’m… falling apart. Not when I—” She stopped herself, pressing her lips together.
Her hand trembled around the rim of her glass. “I dream of a figure, calling me by another name. Over and over. And you—” Her gaze sharpened on him, glassy but wounded. “You say nothing. You just watch. Do you even care anymore?”
Luka exhaled through his nose, hiding the curve of a smile against the rim of his drink. This was more than he expected. She wasn’t only seeing Kai—she was unraveling before him.
He set his glass down slowly, as though bracing himself, then let his fingers drift toward hers. A light touch, careful, almost reverent, grazing her wrist.
“I was afraid,” he said softly. His voice slipped into Kai’s steadiness, deliberate and low. “Afraid of what I’d feel if I got too close again.”
Her breath caught, sharp and fragile.
“You don’t…” Her voice cracked, and she pressed her knuckles to her mouth before lowering them again. “You don’t understand. I thought I already lost you.”
Luka’s thumb brushed across her knuckles, deliberate, a mockery of tenderness. “You never lost me,” he whispered. “I’ve missed your touch every night.”
Her eyes fluttered shut, lashes trembling against flushed cheeks. She was caught in the dream now, tangled in her own longing, unable to see the trap closing around her. Luka didn’t need to push harder. He only needed to wait.
Outside, rain whispered against cobblestones, soft and unrelenting. Becky leaned against the tavern wall, her hood pulled low but her eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
In her hand, a tiny shard of glass glowed faintly, enchanted to catch sound and sight with unnatural clarity. Through it, Luka’s voice came smooth, Elise’s voice came broken, and Becky’s grin stretched wide enough to hurt.
“Fall, Elise,” she murmured to herself, her lips barely moving. “Fall right where I need you.”
The rain slid cold down her cheeks, but it only sharpened her thrill. Tonight would bury Elise in ways no blade could. Tonight would leave scars that no healing touch could erase. She tilted the shard, making sure every trembling confession was preserved. Her laughter slipped out, muffled by the storm, a knife of joy hidden in the night’s curtain.
Elise leaned across the table, her hand gripping Luka’s arm with sudden desperation. Her nails dug into his sleeve, her voice cracked and hoarse.
“Let’s go back to the packhouse,” she pleaded. “Please. I just… I don’t want to be alone anymore.”
Luka stilled, hiding the triumph that flickered inside him. He tilted his head, letting the silence draw long enough to seem like hesitation. Then, with a faint smile and a shake of his head, he murmured, “Not there. Not tonight.”
Her brow furrowed, confusion swimming with tears.
“The walls watch us too closely there,” he said gently. “Let me take you somewhere no one will find us.”
The words sank into her like balm, though they should have burned. She swallowed, her throat tight, and nodded. “Just… don’t let me wake up alone,” she whispered.
He rose smoothly, steadying her when her steps faltered. To her, his hand at her waist felt like safety. To him, it was victory, each staggered step a thread pulling her tighter into his snare.
The tavern door swung open, spilling them into the rain-soaked streets. Lanterns blurred to molten gold, paving stones rippling like water beneath Elise’s gaze. Luka’s hand never left her, guiding her through the maze of shadows as though he had always been the anchor she clung to.
Behind them, Becky followed at a careful distance, her enchanted shard glowing faintly beneath her cloak. Each stagger Elise took widened Becky’s grin, every blurred word another nail sealing the coffin of her rival’s reputation.
The inn—or perhaps a safehouse Becky had ensured would be waiting—rose from the rain like a shadow, its windows shuttered, its door creaking open with a groan. Luka led her inside, the warmth striking her face in a dizzy rush.
Elise sank onto the edge of the bed, her head heavy, her body trembling between longing and dread.
“Kai…” she whispered, her voice raw. “I still dream of you. Every night. I thought you were gone. I thought you didn’t want me anymore.”
Luka knelt before her, brushing wet strands of hair from her cheek. His smile was tender, practiced. “I’ve wanted nothing but you,” he murmured. “Let me remind you.”
Her lips parted, her chest heaving with broken hope. She reached for him, fingers clumsy but desperate, clinging to the illusion as though it would shatter if she hesitated.
Her mind blurred. Her heart broke. Her hands reached.
And outside, through the c***k of the shutters, Becky pressed the recording shard to her lips, her grin carved sharper than the rain.
“Checkmate,” she whispered.
- Writer
