FAR GONE

Chapter 17

I spat blood onto the pavement, my body trembling but not giving in. The sticks came down again, cracking against my forearms, splitting skin, rattling bones. My vision was a haze of fire, but my ears—my ears caught everything.

A grunt to my left. Footsteps scuffing behind. The sharp whistle of wood before it split the air.

I ducked—barely. The stick smashed against the wall instead, splintering. I lunged forward, my fist finding ribs by instinct. The man choked on his breath and stumbled back.

Another came from the side. I pivoted blind, letting my shoulder take the hit, teeth grinding through the shock. My other hand lashed out, grabbed his collar, yanked him forward—and my forehead slammed into his nose. He crumpled, the crunch echoing like glass breaking.

Breath heaving. Blood dripping warm into my mouth.

Two more rushed me together. I heard them before I saw them. My arms shot up, catching one stick mid-swing. It rattled my bones but I held, twisting hard. The man cried out as his weapon spun from his grip. I drove my knee into his gut and sent him sprawling.

The second one swung down heavy. I shifted late—the wood tore across my back like fire. I roared through the pain, grabbed him by the wrist, twisted until I heard the snap. His scream cut through the night as he dropped.

My chest burned, lungs dragging fire in every breath.

Another came. I barely saw him, just the blur. The stick cracked my jaw, sent me spinning. I dropped to one knee, spit red pooling at my lips.

Not yet.

I pushed up, fists curling tight, and surged forward before he could swing again. My elbow smashed into his throat. He gagged, dropped his stick, clawing at his neck as I kicked his legs out.

One by one, they fell.

The last man hesitated, his breath ragged, his grip faltering. My expression must’ve said enough—rage painted in blood, eyes half-blind but burning. He swung weak. I caught it, yanked the stick from him, and drove it into his chest. He went down hard, air flying from his lungs.

Silence.

All of them lay groaning, broken on the ground. My arms hung heavy, bleeding, trembling from the effort.

From behind, I heard a sharp inhale.

Pellington.

He stood frozen by the car door, his eyes wide, lips parted like he’d just seen something crawl out of hell. His face drained pale. Then, without a word, he slipped into the driver’s seat and slammed the door.

The engine roared. Tires screeched, smoke curling, and just like that—he was gone.

I stayed where I was, chest heaving, blood dripping down my temple and chin. My body screamed in pain, but somehow my legs dragged me forward. Step by step. Toward the dorms.

By the time I reached the door, exhaustion crushed me. My hand touched the knob—then my knees buckled. Darkness rushed in. The last thing I felt was the cold wood of the doorframe against my cheek.

---

When I opened my eyes again, light pressed against my lids. The ceiling above me blurred into focus.

I was in bed.

I shifted weakly and felt it immediately—someone’s presence at my side. Slowly, I turned my head.

Mia.

She sat there, her face pale, her brows drawn tight with worry.

“You’re awake…” her voice was soft, trembling with relief.

My throat was dry. “What… happened? How did I get here?”

Her eyes glistened, though she tried to keep her voice steady. “You collapsed at the door last night. That’s how I found you.”

I exhaled hard, pressing my head back against the pillow.

She studied me, her eyes trailing across the bruises, the dried blood along my arms. “Kael…” her voice cracked, “what happened? Where did you go? Did you get into another fight?”

I swallowed, my body still throbbing. “I was attacked. By Pellington.”

Her lips parted in shock. “That’s insane! You need to file a report. This kind of thing—it’s not just dangerous, Kael, it can cost you your job. Fighting, causing harm to fellow workers… it could mean termination.”

I let out a dry scoff.

Her eyes widened, confused. “What’s funny?”

I turned to her, my voice low, bitter. “Did you forget? Rules like that only apply to people like us. The workers. But Pellington? He’s Lucien’s youngest son. Tell me, Mia… do you think Lucien would ever sack his own blood?”

Her mouth opened as if to argue—but I raised a hand, cutting her off.

“Don’t worry. I’ll handle it. I know how to go about this.”

Silence hung heavy. Finally, she nodded faintly. “Then… at least rest. Please.”

She rose quietly, gave me one last look, then slipped out the door.

The room dimmed again. I reached for my phone, my fingers trembling as I dialed Jessica’s number.

It rang once. Twice. Then—click.

“Kael?”

I didn’t waste a second. “What’s going on, Jessica? I heard about Hwarthorne… that he’s dead. But last I heard, he only suffered some injuries.”

A pause. Then her voice lowered. “His death was ordered. By Milton.”

My breath caught. Anger churned in my chest. “What? Why would Milton kill his own aide?”

“You still haven’t pieced it together, Kael,” she said calmly, like it was obvious. “Hwarthorne carried out Milton’s orders to take you out. But he failed—and you knew the source. If the police dig too deep, they might trace the attack back to Milton. And Milton can’t allow loose ends.”

My jaw tightened, blood rushing in my ears. Rage boiled, hot and sharp.

Jessica’s tone shifted, almost sly. “But this… this may actually work in my favor. With Hwarthorne gone, Milton will need someone closer. Someone he trusts. This could pave the way for me to be promoted as his right aide. And if that happens…”

She let the words hang, heavy with implication.

My fists clenched around the phone, heart pounding.