It wasn’t as if she was one step away from ruining everything. Ethan had already ruined it.

After openly suggesting what he wanted, and Scar inevitably refusing, Ethan had gone for a ride with his mare. Of course, there were other plans in between, but that didn’t matter now. He had done what he should have done a long time ago and felt lighter. Despite the blood of his kind being on his hands at that very moment.

But what was there to blame himself for? He had broken protocol, and Ethan had only retaliated. Scar didn’t need to know that. That’s why he was washing himself at the fountain in the middle of the Capital’s square, removing the blood of his enemies that seemed to cling to his skin.

His stomach growled with hunger, and Ethan was as famished as an animal that hadn’t eaten for a whole day.

As soon as he finished scrubbing his hands, he put on the white shirt he had found on a clothesline and shook his hair to dry it. He was eager to get home and take a bath, to clean off all the dirt.

Ethan mounted his mare and headed home, carrying the coat he always left on Aurora’s saddle. The cold didn’t bother him as much now; he wanted to feel the icy wind kissing his wet skin and needed his body to dry, especially his chest, where half of the shirt was sticking to him.

The whole way, Ethan could only think about Scar. The hunger seemed to prevent him from thinking about anything else but her, as if forcing him to see the mess he had made. Scar would never forgive him, but Ethan was willing to beg for forgiveness until his knees hurt. Because if it wasn’t her, he had no idea who it could be or how long he would have to wait until he found the right person.

Twilight was grazing outside when he arrived. Scar’s horse watched attentively as Ethan dismounted Aurora and unsaddled her, placing the gear on the log he had there for exactly that purpose. But it seemed Scar didn’t care much to unsaddle her horse. Or maybe she couldn’t see in the dark as he could.

A flickering light came from inside the house, and Ethan sighed in relief at the brief scent of her there, almost hidden under his own. He couldn’t help but feel a wave of emotion as he remembered the days when he was connected to Scar.

But at least now he didn’t have to worry about anyone or anything smelling her around. He had risked taking so long to have any reaction to that when he brought her to that corner of the forest, and now the scents were mixed.

Ethan climbed the stairs silently and opened the door.

The armchair on the other side of the sofa was turned away, Scar’s bare leg shining with the embers of the fireplace. The bag in front of the couch was open, and as Ethan closed the door, the armchair turned.

Maybe it was the most attractive thing Ethan had ever seen in his life, or the most terrifying.

Scar was sitting in the armchair, her fingers moving over the firearm, her wild eyes fixed on Ethan’s. The torn white hoodie exposed the full length of her belly, her arms completely hidden by the sleeves. And the questionable underwear was clinging to her thighs, leaving her sweaty legs exposed, the fireplace’s fire reflecting on the sweat.

But it wasn’t Scar almost naked that left him stunned; it wasn’t the gun in her hands, but the wounds all over her body, everything she was displaying from her legs to her face. He restrained himself from going to her and looking for more. Scar would probably shoot him if he approached like that.

Ethan didn’t dare take his eyes off her, searching for some answer he could find in that passive and, apparently, sickly face.

A pang of concern hit Ethan’s chest.

Her left eye was bruised and slightly swollen, her ribcage was equally bruised and injured, as was the red mark on her belly. A cut stood out on her jaw, and Ethan saw the dried blood streak that stained Scar’s face.

One of her legs was stained with dried blood, as if a good amount had flowed from the thigh wound. Sinclair clenched his jaw.

He wondered how she had managed to get those injuries and why the hell she was dressed that way, holding a damn firearm. As far as he remembered, he had made more than hundreds of mental notes to keep those weapons out of Scar’s reach, just like treating children near dangerous toys.

The truth is, he had left it in front of the couch. Because he wanted to.

Ethan threw his coat on the counter and began to approach Scar.

— What are you doing? — he asked, innocently.

Scar looked at the gun, a small smile appearing on her wounded face.

Ethan decided to take a different approach:

— Who did this to you?

Scar stared at him, and he almost lost his breath once more. As soon as he laid hands on those bastards...

— You did. — she replied.

Ethan must have shown his confusion through his expression, so much that Scar laughed and stood up, walking around while admiring the pistol.

— While you weren’t here, I was asking myself how long this would last. All this I want to protect you and don’t want to hurt you was pure lies. Or rather, you would have kept those things if you had left me alone from the start.

— I can explain.

Scar unlocked and pointed the gun at him without directly looking at Ethan. And she didn’t need to; it was Gwenda Matchstone Oxwinder he was facing at that moment, the fierce competitor who never missed a shot. A pitiless legend.

— I didn’t ask for an explanation — she replied.

Ethan tilted his head.

— You know. — she began, now completely serious — I’ve been fooled many times. But I admit, you were the worst of them, certainly the worst of all. I wish I could say I trust you, but unfortunately, I feel disgusted with myself for ever doing that as if it were my greatest certainty. — The look she gave Ethan was with such deep pain that he had to look away, thankful that the gun pointed at him was a good excuse. — I trusted my body to you, my whole life and everything I am. And you repaid me with the reminder that no one should be trusted. The reminder that you are trash.

— Scar... — Ethan risked a step towards her.

She pulled the trigger.

He barely felt the pain in his shoulder when he focused his attention on Scar’s arm, which had risen with the gun’s impulse.

— Oops — she murmured.

Ethan clenched his teeth, feeling the warm blood trickling down his arm inside the white shirt.

Scar resumed pacing patiently, running her fingers along the gun’s barrel while staring at the floor under Ethan’s feet, as if she could bore a hole with her eyes.

But this was some kind of torture. Not the injury she had just inflicted on his shoulder, but what she was seeing. Scar injured and semi-naked carrying a firearm, her long, slightly wavy hair falling wildly over her back, so different from what he had imagined when he first saw her, coming out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her body. Scar’s hair was wild, one of Ethan’s weak points.

In those days, no plan had taken such shape, and the ending he had imagined was so distant now that Ethan was angry with himself for having ruined everything. Anyway, they needed to get out of there as soon as possible. The idea of leaving this continent was still at the top of the list, and he intended to take Scar with him at all costs. He wouldn’t let her leave again; who knows what could happen if she went to the city once more.

That’s why he had taken precautions.

— From the beginning. — Scar started again, now completely serious — Everything was a lie.

— No. — Ethan fired back, knowing he needed to stop there because not everything was a lie. — No, you and I are a truth you can't deny, Scar.

Scar pointed the gun at him.

— You know I can, Sinclair.

Ethan growled at that name. And because he knew she could. Scar could deny and move on without Ethan.

— Nothing I feel for you was a lie, Scar. — Despite his insides shaking and screaming at him, Ethan remained neutral, speaking as calmly as possible.

— You're lying again — she accused — Aren't you tired? I'm the heir to the Oracle, daughter of Mary Jane Oxwinder. What a great way to conquer what shouldn't be conquered.

Ethan looked at her.

Conquer what shouldn't be conquered.

— You're mistaken. — he said.

— You want the rangers' leadership? Why not? What stops me from passing it to you? After all, they're different species. You'd get along well among dwarves, elves, and humans, wouldn't you?

— Scar, I never wanted to take your leadership with the guardians.

She snarled.

— Damn it, you blew up everything in sight, killed Trytan, faked my death, and blew up Darcy Raux. Who do you think you are, Ethan Sinclair? An assassin? With all your stories of overcoming? You're a treacherous faerie male. — Her hand turned white from gripping the gun so tightly, and Ethan feared she might pull the trigger unintentionally. She was aiming between his eyes. — You made me believe I could reclaim my rightful place in this world, made me believe in myself and what I was capable of. You deceived me all this time. You caused all of this.

He couldn't deny it; Ethan had, indeed, caused all of that.

The hole in the wall had felt like he could breathe again. However, his participation in the wall's explosion was zero.

— You're as faerie as I am, Scar. — he said, and she growled in response. — The wall was mainly destroyed by you, to feel the power you carry. You should be grateful.

Scar seemed to snarl as she said.

— Whoever blew up our only form of protection against you killed in the process.

Ethan grunted.

— You can't protect yourself from yourself. Accept who you are and come with me. I blew up the arena to remove you from this mortal world. To put you back on track, and now you refuse to come with me.

Scar bared her teeth.

— You killed in the process of your illusion. If you think I'll go with you far from here, you're very mistaken. I don't care who you are or were.

Ethan knew he might lose his patience any minute.

— Darcy Raux was declaring herself an enemy. — Scar turned white as the blood drained from her face, Ethan noticed. — She joined with those here to limit you, to hide you from the world before they take you from them. Because here on these lands, you're not safe. If you go with me to the Opposite Continent, I can protect you and teach you to live in this unknown faerie body, Scar.

She tilted her head, her brow furrowed with complete attention to Sinclair's movements.

— You're delusional, Ethan.

He grunted.

— I blew up her sector because Darcy was finding answers and documents about my journey that shouldn't fall into any vagrant's hands.

Scar pulled the trigger.

The bullet hit Ethan's other shoulder, and he felt it go through, hearing it clink on the floor.

— You prove yourself more and more to be an aberration. — Scar fired. — A useless one who thinks he's doing something good, but in fact, wants to control what you can't and shouldn't.

Ethan stared at her expressionless.

— And you with your manners being a Carvlinean agent. Do you think I don't know how your ego kept you off track? How you spent days walking the same path as many detectives just to see where you went wrong? Why didn't you find the clue first, Scar? One of the times, you were sleeping with Trytan and were so mesmerized you left the case in others' hands. — Ethan felt his body roar with horror. Because back then, he couldn't do anything. — Your consequence was exhausting to watch.

Scar slowly lifted her chin, her eyes shining with the fire of the fireplace. Her hair was stuck to her sweaty neck and forehead.

But Sinclair still had the damn bullet in his shoulder, the hot blood slowly trickling down. And at that moment, the fact that he'd been following her since Scar was in Rubben's hands and was beaten for failures didn't even take away the pain. The pain Scar was causing.

Scar lowered her chin, looking at Ethan from under her eyelashes. That expression was pure hatred that Sinclair felt on his skin.

— I bet you loved being my shadow, faerie.

Ethan clenched his teeth.

— The one you slept with had poison in his hands.

Scar gripped the gun tightly.

— And you thought it smart to kill him in broad daylight? How can you be a faerie and so stupid at the same time?

Ethan forced a weak smile and replied low and slow.

— Not even you could find me.

Scar growled and pulled the trigger. And again.

When the sound ceased, Ethan blinked with his vision blurring and felt his ear throbbing.

— You managed to go without an eye for a while. — it was her turn to smile. — If you want, I can finish the job and make you deaf.

His ear throbbed. Or rather, what was left of it beside his head.

Ethan tensed his jaw, focusing on the wounds all over his body. They were like daggers slowly cutting his skin, the sharp pain intensifying. He brought his fingers to the wound on his shoulder, which was already wide enough to pull out the last bullet lodged in his flesh.

His ear, or what remained of it, would heal. But Scar had shot the tip, exactly where the characteristic point of faeries and elves was beautifully drawn.

Sinclair wanted to curse her in every way. He was so fed up with bullets and holes in his body that he could go blind with rage if he continued to be provoked. His nostrils flared in anger, and Scar watched him, studying him.

You maintain your sanity, my Lord.

A figure was behind Scar, in a black tunic with a hood covering its face. Nothing was seen, nothing was felt. It was a presence Ethan didn't know when it came, where it would appear, or if it would come. He brushed it off with cuts on his arm.

Scar exhaled slowly through her mouth and spoke.

— You were paid by Rubben to kill him, weren't you?

The figure was still beside her, waiting quietly. She wouldn't do anything. Couldn't. But Ethan's heart started to gallop in his chest.

It wasn't there for Scar. It was one of Ethan's shadows.

He nodded slowly, returning to Scar's hazel eyes.

— I was.

Scar shifted in place.

— What was your connection to that son of a bitch? — she asked.

Ethan shrugged, and his whole body screamed in response.

— He did some right-hand work for me. He was my right hand.

And that meant he did the closest, most risky jobs that required the most attention and loyalty.

Scar raised her chin slightly, the only sign of surprise.

— Rubben doesn't work for anyone.

— Well — said Ethan, hoarse. — What was offered to him was not to be refused. He worked for me. We had a contract.

She narrowed her eyes.

— What happened to the contract, Sinclair?

— It ended. — he replied.

Scar tilted her head, doubtful.

What Sinclair had done with Rubben mattered little. He couldn't decipher what Scar was thinking or feeling about the revelation. But he didn't need to worry about anything when she pulled the trigger once again.

His right hand started throbbing, and Ethan curled up to his chest, growling at Scar.

— Stop shooting, fuck!

Ethan took two steps forward and reached Scar. His hand flew to her wrist, holding it so tightly he knew he could break it if he wanted to. Her wrist was thin and elegant, always carrying a thin gold chain with her own name.

Gwenda.

Sinclair blinked. He lost his posture and loosened his grip on Scar. She giggled, and her breath kissed Sinclair's neck as she leaned close to his almost missing ear.

— You're a waste. — she whispered.

Ethan knew there was a gun pointed right next to his head, the barrel touching his hair, probably dirty with his own blood. He still held the wrist with the gun pointed upwards, but Scar had pulled another gun from her back and pointed it at his temple so quickly that Ethan didn't even notice. When it came to firearms, Scar was hardly sabotaged or defeated.

She stepped back again, the expression of satisfaction still etched on her face. But then she became serious.

— Five steps back. Now.

Ethan obeyed. He took five steps back and one more to avoid more bullets in his body. His hand throbbed so much he couldn't even feel his fingers.

— It’s been a while since I held a gun. — she said, completely delirious with Ethan's blood dripping on the floor. — I believe you did everything possible to keep me away from that. — Scar indicated the bag in front of the sofa with her chin. — Pathetic.

He was taking shots for free and knew it, paying for what he had done to Scar.

— I would love for you to explain. — Scar said amidst Ethan's suffering, spinning the gun in her fingers as she walked to the bed, moving her body in such a graceful and alluring way that he could barely look away. Despite the anguish that left him unable to think, he only wanted to hold that gun.

The figure was still there, staring at him. And Ethan growled at her, who didn't respond. But the blood dripping from his body brought him back to reality.

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— You have a powerful enemy. — Ethan explained finally. He knew he would have to expose this sooner or later. — And he is on his way.

Scar stopped, her arms limp at her sides, and slowly turned around.

Ethan continued:

— I searched for you for many years, without hope that I would ever find you. Forgive me if my possessive side wanted to keep you safe.

Scar frowned, and a small smile appeared on her face.

— By your side. — she said. — You forgot to add that. — Scar moved away from the bed, walking toward Ethan with small and gentle steps. She pointed the gun at him as soon as she was less than a meter away.

Scar's scent beneath all the blood warmed Ethan's heart and filled his lungs. He resisted the urge to close his eyes and savor it while he could.

— Why would I have a powerful enemy now? — she asked, innocently. — I don't remember anyone who would dare come after me.

Ethan swallowed hard against the pain that wouldn't let him think straight.

— You know nothing about him. — Ethan practically whispered, even more hoarse. His entire body throbbed, and his heart raced every time he looked at Scar. — He's not just anyone. You've never faced him.

She tilted her head.

— I think this idea is splendid. Knowing that someone feels threatened by me without ever having faced me.

Scar took a step forward, the gun barrel pressing into Ethan's abdomen. Her eyes dropped to his mouth, and he could feel every drop of control leaving his body. Scar smiled.

— What's his name?

Ethan remained silent. He knew that if he gave the name, Scar might run away or attack him when she met him, which would please Ethan. But he would be screwed if he even pronounced that name.

Scar stared at him, hungry for an answer.

— I don't know. He doesn't have a name; he's just a fucked-up shadow that roams the lands of Alphardj.

Scar raised her eyebrows, a hint of a smile appeared.

The gun pressed more firmly into Ethan's body, but he didn't care as he brought his hand to her face. Scar tensed and dug the gun barrel into his abdomen as Ethan caressed her face.

— I wanted to take you away.

Scar pulled back from his touch, stepping back, and Ethan missed her warmth.

— I can handle myself.

No. Not with that. Not with this enemy that even Ethan feared at the moment.

One of the few things Ethan didn't trust Scar alone with was this creature. And Ethan couldn't lose Scar, couldn't lose his soulmate for various reasons. Mainly because he loved her.

The one coming after her would steal Scar in every possible way, would take away that sparkle in her eyes that Ethan had started to see since she smiled genuinely at him for the first time. He was blind for Scar. And blind with hatred.

And that figure wouldn't leave him alone. Ethan could be dangerous, but not for Scar, never for Scar. But the rest were. For Scar, the fucked-up shadow could be everything, and that tore Ethan's chest, leaving him exhausted from his own thoughts and a completely possessive savage.

Her gaze was pure doubt and a panic hidden for a long time. Ethan knew everything Scar had been through. Arth Cheack and Rubben would be jokes compared to what was coming if Scar stayed behind.

And he let her see the fear in his eyes, the terror. Feelings he never showed.

— What do you want me to do? — he asked, closing the distance Scar had opened between them. She was thinking too much to worry about pulling the trigger.

— Nothing. — she replied, looking into his eyes. — Never do anything unless it's to get out of my life.

A kick in the stomach would have hurt less.

Scar walked away, heading toward the bed with determination. She grabbed the pants lying on top and quickly put them on without letting go of either gun.

— Scar. — Ethan could have pleaded with that tone — I just want your safety. I can't lose you.

She stopped, about to put her other leg into the pants, watching him with a slightly furrowed brow.

Ethan whispered:

— I couldn't bear it.

Scar resumed getting dressed:

— I don't care what you can or can't bear. You've already lost me.

It was like a stab to the heart.

Ethan ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. He barely felt the pain in his shoulder with the movement.

— Believe me, as soon as you leave here, things will only get worse.

— You've already done the worst, and I hope you're as aware of that as I am.

— I did what had to be done. — he replied, completely oblivious to the fact that, in the end, he messed up a lot.

— You killed them all! — Scar was already aiming at Ethan again.

— All to keep you alive!

— Do you want me to thank you? Do you want my fucking gratitude?! — Scar was shouting, even as she approached with trembling hands of rage. — Then go fuck yourself!

— You have a life to live, and you were wasting it. — Ethan replied in the same tone, irritated at having to explain to her once again. — Everything I did was for a reason. Trytan couldn't sell that amount of poison he found, so I had Rubben send his men to snoop around the hideout while I went after him. I studied your relationship with everyone around you before I could act, and you have no idea how long I sat just watching and watching. — Ethan clenched his fists. — I knew you would recognize the casino symbols; I just didn't expect you to go after him so late. You could have spared a lot of pain and suffering.

The trigger was pulled once again.

Ethan grunted as the bullet grazed the right side of his hip. He bared his teeth at her so fiercely he could have lunged again. But he wasn't that stupid. Scar was neutral.

— You're blaming me. — she murmured.

Ethan cursed.

— No, Scar. I knew you would go after Rubben as soon as you saw the damn symbol, but even Darcy chickened out when she found out. — Scar's expression changed to shock but only for a moment. — I killed the guards in the tower of one of the sectors to draw attention, to inform that I had arrived.

Scar squinted her eyes.

— For whom?

Ethan hissed through his teeth as he tested the weight on his right leg. But he remained silent as he stared at the woman in front of him. His eyes must have expressed enough for Scar to ask:

— And does he know?

Ethan nodded.

— Absolutely.

— He must be quite an enemy for you.

Ethan tilted his head. For going after Scar and encountering countless times across the continent for nearly a century.

— You have no idea.

If not regarding the past, then regarding the fae in front of him, holding a gun pointed at him without fear of burying a bullet in his head. Like a game.

— The arena explosion was a failure. I planned to collapse that place when you left, but I had to intervene a bit earlier to get you out of there.

— Yeah. — she said. — Courvin wasn't very kind.

Ethan stared at her, or rather, at the corner of the gun aimed at his heart.

— Courvin was with me. A friend I made when I arrived in the city and trusted enough to help me.

Scar laughed.

— What do you have in your veins? Or are you very observant and analytical to be sure the lousy competitor wouldn't betray you?

Ethan gave a faint smile.

— More or less. — His shoulder wounds were almost healed, as well as his hand. — In the end, when everything was as planned, I planted a bomb in Darcy's sector as soon as you left here earlier today. I ran into her on the way out. — Scar took a long breath — but she told me to go to hell and crawl back from where I came. So, I made sure the bomb was hidden and followed you the rest of the way to Rubben's casino. They let me in through the back, and I listened to your conversation with that guy. When you left, I finished my job as I should have done long ago.

Scar turned pale as death, and Ethan blinked, confused. Wasn't that what she wanted? To put an end to the one who made her suffer? She moved the hand holding the gun, and Ethan smelled the sweat, the fear. Fear for Rubben. Ethan stifled a grunt.

— You hated him. — he said.

— Yes, but you manipulated him.

— You can't think Rubben would have changed just because he wasn't the one who created your latest nightmares.

— No, but you're not exactly innocent either.

— Rubben is still alive, if you want to know. — Ethan admitted. — He's in his casino, breathing for a little longer until I go back and finish the job.

Scar stood still, processing something Ethan had no idea about.

He continued:

— I blew up Darcy's sector to prevent the information about the cases I created from spreading. Information about me from spreading. You can't blame me, damn it!

— You killed Darcy!

Scar gripped the gun tighter as she spoke, incredulous.

Ethan might have gone into shock if he weren't consumed by hatred.

— I didn't know she was still inside, damn it.

And it was true. Darcy Raux always stayed late in the sector, keeping an eye out to ensure Scar was safe downstairs. But when Scar disappeared, Darcy started going home. That time was outside his plans, and Ethan truly believed it was empty after that random encounter with Raux. Scar pressed her lips into a thin line, blinking rapidly. Ethan knew she might shed tears right there, remembering the now-dead chief.

— I was there. — Scar said, her voice thick. — I watched as the flames consumed her alive.

Ethan felt his heart drop, his body heavy before her.

— Explain yourself. — he demanded.

He risked a step towards her, but only that. Scar ignored this brief closing of the distance. Scar shook her head and cursed.

— Darcy pulled me out of the sector before it exploded.

A white mist crossed Ethan's eyes. Scar was there, had put the person he loved in danger, and felt useless when he remembered the reason for all this. To protect her. And he had done the opposite. Ethan didn't know if he could speak, so he remained silent as he observed and studied her exposed wounds.

— I was beaten after the explosion. — she explained to Ethan, who was now scanning every inch of her injured body.

— Who? — the tone could have scared anyone there. But Scar closed her expression to him.

— The question would be why.

Ethan searched her gaze. He knew the reason well. He had caused it himself. And that was why he didn't want Scar to appear before the people. He shook his head and rubbed his face with one hand.

— I faked your death so they would stop looking for you. I needed to get you out of the mortal world, I needed to get you out of Carsany and start training you. But they found out you were alive, and they're just steps away from getting here.

— I don't give a damn who shows up right now. I want to hear it.

Ethan sighed, knowing Scar wanted all the answers to all the questions in her head.

— I didn't bring down Ramelia's sector. — he said finally. — That was the rebels' doing.

Scar shrugged.

— That really changes a lot. — the irony made Ethan roll his eyes. — What does Ramelia have to do with all this?

Sinclair took some time, deciding whether to speak or not.

— He has allies. Ramelia and her twin sister are on his side, working for the future.

Scar frowned.

— What do you mean?

— That you are too valuable.

He didn't expect her to say anything about that. Scar was valuable to Ethan in every way he could think of.

— And that's why they want me dead.

Ethan was uncertain about that. Scar saw it peculiarly, just as Ethan had planted in her mind. If he wasn't careful, Scar was just pretending, feigning ignorance. After all, they didn't want her dead. They wanted her for themselves. Each one chasing her wanted Scar for themselves, to prove themselves as good allies. They didn't want to be in the Shooter’s sights.

And Ethan was one of them and always had been. Sinclair had observed her long enough from rooftops and among the crowd to know that the Shooter was a dishonorable thief who disguised herself as a silly and defenseless woman when needed. Her elegant and delicate manner was admirable when she switched characters according to her missions.

It was not unexpected for any detective from Carsany. Even Ethan was capable of disguising himself as something he wasn't.

— Yes. — he agreed. — That's why many want you dead.

He couldn’t deny it. Scar dead was almost a universal desire, and she had no idea.

Scar took a deep breath, her eyes fixed on Ethan’s. Then she slipped her feet into the worn slippers by the bed and walked quickly to the door, still aiming the gun at him.

— What are you doing? — Ethan asked in one breath, afraid she was leaving.

— Going away. — she replied, and Ethan felt his body slowly decomposing. — Isn’t that what you wanted too? Well, we part ways here.

— Scar…

— I won’t live with someone like you.

Ethan complained.

— I couldn’t just show up and say: Hi, I’m your soulmate, let’s run away together to other lands.

— It would have worked better.

He grunted and took heavy steps toward her as Scar grabbed a lantern and descended the stairs. Ethan could see Scar trembling with cold, and his blood screamed to go to her, to embrace her. Just as he always imagined doing and always would imagine.

— I needed a distraction.

— And I was the fucking distraction, a bait. A damn victim.

Those words pierced Ethan’s chest like two knives.

— I would never use you as bait.

Scar clenched her teeth, and a muscle in her jaw twitched.

But the trigger was pulled twice in quick succession.

One moment, Ethan was ready to descend the stairs and stop her however he could, and the next, he was on the ground, clutching the tendons of his two shattered knees, groaning in pain.

— Scar… — he tried.

But she climbed onto Twilight and ignored him.

It wasn’t for a pathetic reason that Ethan was trying to keep her close. The enemy could be anywhere during the night, roaming like a specter. If Scar disappeared from his sight, Ethan would never forgive himself.

But she seemed to want to face death and enjoyed doing so.

— I couldn’t put everything on you. — he said between gasps. He could be dying at that very moment. — Liking to kill mystics, being one makes you a last-class assassin and could end up killing yourself. I had to go slowly.

Ethan needed to catch his breath, digging his nails into his palms as he leaned on his elbows, unable to move much. His legs felt amputated. His whole body was numb.

He barely discerned when Scar had left the front of the house, with Twilight running so wildly that Ethan could hear it clearly even from a distance.

There was nothing more to do but wait for that opening in the wall to have some effect. Ethan blamed the one who blew up the wall for not making a bigger hole, to prevent situations like these. But he could never have known that Scar would revolt like this, that his soulmate was a natural sharpshooter.

All he knew was that he had found the Oracle’s daughter and needed magic if he wanted to survive in that realm. Magic was his foundation, unfortunately. Ethan wished it wasn’t, so he could walk on lands devoid of magic. So he could live the same way Scar did and learn every part of Carsany. And then tear it apart from the inside out, starting with those who wronged the one he loved.

When he began to know Scar from afar, he started to fall in love. And when he refused to complete his mission. Sinclair always had more to do before meeting Scar. But he had been looking for that part of himself for a long time, and when he gave up, he found it. And he couldn’t let it go.

And now he was there. Without his knees and with his wounds slowly healing. His vision was blurred, and he was about to faint, but he knew he would wake up as he always did after losing blood. The magic would do its job. And if not the magic, then those who needed Ethan alive.

He was alone in that house, along with that figure that would terrify the purest heart, waiting for the worst until he could get up and finish everything the way he wanted.

He was going to stain the hell that he was with blood.

----------------------------------------

There was nothing more to care about, so she just focused on that letter as if it were the only hope that something would go right from then on.

Twilight ran as fast as Scar could remember since the last time she saved her own life with this horse. But maybe she was just so angry and terrified that everything was just an illusion.

They crossed the bridge and entered the city beyond the permitted speed, running between houses and bars for what seemed like centuries.

It had been the worst of the worst revelations, and Scar was broken. Although she hadn’t shed a tear since she left, she felt her face burning with rage and humiliation.

She could have killed him. Ethan was right in front of her; she could have ended it. But her instinct screamed louder, and it was totally opposite of what Scar’s mind and heart were telling her to do. And she knew she wouldn’t forgive herself afterward, not completely.

Everything had come to an end. Scar just needed to deliver the letter and get out of the castle alive. She could do it. She would do it.

The guards at the gate were alerted by Twilight’s speed and drew their weapons from their hips. But it didn’t matter when her horse stopped abruptly and Scar dismounted while it was still moving. Her feet burned on the soles, but she walked up to the guards.

She raised the letter so they could see it clearly.

— I have a letter for the king. — she said, and raised her own weapon high when one of the guards laid eyes on her. — From Darcy Raux.

Scar let the firearm drop to the ground. It was out of ammunition and she wouldn’t need it anymore anyway.

The guards patted her down, and Scar didn’t dare take her eyes off the one searching her clothes for a weapon. He swallowed hard, and a wave of satisfaction washed over Scar.

One of the guards addressed another.

— Tell His Majesty that the Shooter wants to see him.

Of course they knew her.

The guard saluted and quickly marched toward the castle.

Scar was about to say that wasn’t why she had come, but they pushed her inside the gate, looking around as if they were doing something dirty, hiding from others.

The whole way, Scar remained silent while accompanied by a royal guard.

Everything inside the castle was divine. The polished marble floor reflected her reflection, the enormous wine-red curtains were huge and striking, highlighting the dark green walls with old pillar patterns where they set fires for rituals and competitions.

The huge windows along the corridors shone with the lanterns along the way. It was all very beautiful and well-kept. Scar wondered how many servants the king needed to keep everything shining for unexpected visitors like her.

She still remembered all the times she was approached to be a private agent for the king. And she always told herself it was the last thing in the world she would do, but now she was rethinking that possibility. There was no more sector, no more the woman she was before the explosion in the arena, no more job that would accept her, and Scar was openly in danger, just as Ethan had made clear. There weren’t many options she could consider.

The tall doors of the main hall were opened, and a blinding light almost blinded Scar. She stepped forward, dazzled by the beauty of that hall.

In the middle of it, three people were standing, talking and pointing to the sides, but they stopped to receive the visitor. The guard who had gone to inform the king stood by the door, as still as a statue, and Scar glanced at him before turning to... the king.

Hendrix wore casual clothes for a casual night, his curly brown hair on top of his head shining as it always did.

Scar looked away to the rest of the hall, where decorations were being put on the walls, the pillars were being cleaned by servants, and the king was deciding the colors of the napkins and fabrics that everyone was organizing.

She didn’t expect, in any way, to see King Hendrix doing something like this. She always envisioned him as a complete brute and clueless bastard. But he was kind to the servants and even patted them on the back.

Scar wrinkled her nose in disgust when he excused himself and walked toward her. Everything was a lie.

— Your Majesty. — one of the guards said when Hendrix stopped a safe distance from Scar. — The Shooter claims to have a letter for you.

Scar turned to the guard.

Claims nothing, she had the letter in her hand.

— Good to see you, miss. — murmured the king, and Scar turned to him again. — I believe you haven’t changed your mind about my terms the last time we talked.

Scar watched those eyes fixed on hers, not even an inch away, looking at her facial wounds as she imagined him doing.

The last time they talked was on the day of the branding. That mark was ingrained in her body, and Ethan reminded her every night when he refused to touch it. The only place Ethan didn’t mind exploring.

— Not at all. — Scar replied and quickly extended the letter to Hendrix. One of the guards beside him moved slightly. — I came to deliver a letter from Darcy Raux.

Hendrix raised an eyebrow and took the letter. But Scar tightened her fingers on the paper, and the king couldn’t pull it from her hand.

Their eyes met again, and Hendrix smirked, both holding the letter.

The guards quickly drew their swords, orders echoing through the hall from some guard captain Scar had not yet identified around. Many servants stopped to look.

A guard stepped beside the king.

Scar raised her chin.

— You knew I was alive.

The king’s smile grew.

— I always knew.

Indecision coursed through Scar’s body as she dangerously considered whether she should even deliver that letter. It didn’t seem like one of the best things to do.

But it was from Darcy, and Scar couldn’t disappoint her. And if the king knew she was alive, more people knew.

She released the letter.

Hendrix’s smile was so convincing that Scar restrained herself from breaking those white teeth with a single punch.

— Thank you. — he said before starting to open the letter.

The guards were still ready to cut off her head.

Hendrix’s eyes moved to the bottom of the letter, perhaps checking if Darcy’s signature was there and matched the handwriting and whatever else was in the letter. Scar shifted in place, restless and nervous.

But the king ignored everything her boss had written on that paper, folding it again.

Scar frowned in anger.

— What did it say? — she found herself asking before she could hold back.

Hendrix looked at her from under his eyelashes for a moment and then handed the letter to one of his servants standing nearby. Scar watched as he took the letter away. She had the brief sensation that she would have to read it herself.

The king gave a smile, and Scar realized it was fake.

— Darcy has just transferred her resources to me. You have become my property.

An intense roar began in her mind. The blood drained from her face, and she felt pale.

Darcy had just handed Scar over to the king, and her mind was racing.

Hendrix continued, almost unshaken

— I see you didn’t expect this.

Not even if they had warned her.

But it was almost... the debt was almost paid, and now Scar was in his hands. Darcy could free Scar once the debt was paid; it was the boss’s choice, and she would have done that. Among all the certainties in the world, that Raux wanted Scar free was the greatest. But now... she had definitely become a citizen of Carsany and a servant of the king, his property in every way the law allowed. She belonged to Hendrix, the man she had been trying to stay away from for a long time, the same one who was investigating the Rangers. About who Scar was destined to be, and now she couldn’t. For now.

With that letter from Raux, Scar was trapped. And with that, she imagined she was completely trapped, with no research on Rangers, no comments about the Oracle... nothing. The Infernal Beasts would have to wait, and Scar had no idea how long she could endure this silence. She was tired of staying in the shadows, but now she had to continue.

When Scar arrived and showed the letter, the guards knew what it was about. That’s why they pushed her inside without delay, looking for anyone who might be with Scar to defend her. But she believed in her boss. In Darcy. And still, she was given to the king.

It wasn’t the end of the agreement with Raux; it was the beginning of another in which Scar would be in the sovereign’s hands. And who knows how long this would last.

The mark began to burn on her collarbone, reminding her of who she was and to whom she belonged. Hendrix had looked for Raux’s signature at the end of the paper.

Scar was terribly screwed.