October 13th, 2014

  Timber Hollow, United States

  Graffiti, broken crack pipes, a bevy of trash, and dried blood staining the walls and floor of an abandoned warehouse. The perfect spot for capes to secretly meet—practically straight out of a movie. Too bad for me, I hadn’t been able to enjoy fulfilling that particur fantasy on account of not being given a choice to be there.

  In front of me had stood Hoplite, a man with so few public appearances in recent years that I was convinced he’d died an unreported death. I was wrong, unfortunately.

  Hoplite was also an official hero, though I’d begun doubting if he deserved the title.

  “What the heck did you bring me here for?” I’d asked, the stretched silence gnawing at me. It had been getting te, and I wasn’t nearly good enough at lying to trick Mom if I arrived home at the wrong time.

  No response.

  “Well?” I’d pressed, irritation sharpening my words more than I’d intended. The moment I’d spoken, regret coiled in my stomach–the kind you feel when you bump into a vase, helplessly hoping it won’t hit the ground.

  Maybe it’d been my tone. Maybe it hadn’t mattered. Either way, Hoplite had chosen that moment to move.

  Garbed in armored boots, his footsteps had echoed like thunder in the warehouse as he strode forward, silent and deliberate, closing the distance between us until he was uncomfortably close.

  “Greg?”

  With my eye level at his chest and him so near, I’d been forced to crane my neck to meet his gaze. It’d been a power py; I knew it then, and I knew it now. Yet, it had still worked, even if I was aware of it. Simply holding his stare had hurt—physically and mentally. A forceful reminder of the difference between us, of how little control I had here. I’d been given two choices: to step back and concede ground or stand firm and look like a stubborn child next to him.

  Either way, he won.

  I had stayed right where I was. It hadn't been out of bravery. My legs had simply refused to move.

  “Greg? Hello?”

  I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to meet his gaze, to push the fear down, to act like I wasn’t drowning in it.

  “Alright, enough, man. What do you-”

  His gauntleted hand had shot forward, too fast to react. My world went bck, my voice muffled. Squirming without sight, I could feel his fingers reach past my mask to scrape against my scalp, his palm pressing against me hard enough that it felt like my nose was going to snap. His thumb dug into the side of my chin, his hand rge enough to encompass my entire face.

  “Earth to Greg?”

  The pressure against my nose faded as he took hold of my mask, warping it with a casual squeeze. Before I could even attempt to defend myself, with a sudden yank he pulled bac-

  “Greg!”

  Violet was staring at me now, concern etched on her normally pcid face. I must have looked terrible to get her to show her emotions so btantly.

  We were at school, sitting outside against a wall. It was lunch hour, and the cafeteria was still taped and filled with rubble and promises of rebuilding. The news said Stormcloud was footing the bill, but knowing this school, I doubted they’d fix it til next year.

  At least we got to sit wherever we wanted now.

  “You alright?” Violet asked, her food forgotten in her open lunchbox. She never ignored her lunch, even if she always ate it like we were at some fancy ga.

  “Don’t worry about it. Just thinking about armored a-holes,” I grumbled.

  A-holes, huh? What’s got you worked up enough to almost say a naughty word?” she teased, one brow raised, though the concern remained.

  “It was nothing,” I brushed off, fshing a forced smile. It didn’t seem to be very good. Violet was still looking at me, studying my face with a furred brow and waiting for me to eborate. She wouldn’t push—not outright—but I also knew she wouldn’t drop it completely.

  “I just…” I exhaled, running a hand through my hair. “Had an annoying night.”

  She watched me a moment longer before finally picking up her sandwich and taking a slow bite. When she spoke again, her tone was noticeably more casual. “Annoying how?”

  I shrugged, trying to smooth over the frustration I’d let slip. “Just some guy on the internet. He just happened to strike a nerve, okay?”

  “And that nerve happened to revolve ‘armored a-holes’?”

  “Yep,” I said, dragging out the word and popping the p.

  “Mmhm,” she hummed, unconvinced. Then, bluntly: “You’re deflecting.”

  She was tactless, but she wasn’t wrong. A rge part of me wanted to sputter out some denial, make up some better lie, but I didn’t. It wouldn’t work—not on her. And more importantly, I didn’t want to dig this hole of lies any deeper. Not to her.

  That didn’t mean I couldn’t twist it.

  “…Maybe,” I admitted, rubbing my temples. “It’s just…” I exhaled, sighing more in the st hour than I had in the past month. “What would you do if, say, someone was bckmailing you into doing something you didn’t want to do? Like, really didn’t want to do?”

  Violet’s eyes sharpened, her casual but concerned demeanor vanishing in an instant. “Is someone threatening you, Greg?” she asked, something dangerous fshing behind her gaze.

  “Is someone threatening you, Greg?” Violet asked, something dangerous fshing in her eyes.

  “No! No, nothing like that,” I said quickly. “It’s just—this guy online brought up something simir, and it got me thinking, ‘what would I do, ’ you know? What would I be capable of?”

  Violet paused at that, the question unexpected enough to calm her down. The Greg of a month ago didn’t go outside enough to get bckmailed, and he certainly wasn’t exciting enough to have good material for it. So, for once, my previous meness worked in my favor. The question was hypothetical to her, and she seemed to be giving it consideration, going so far as putting her sandwich down.

  “Well, that depends on what they have on me and what they’re asking me to do. It’s not about how bad the bckmail is, Greg—it’s how bad it is compared to what they want.”

  “Yeah, but… what if what they have is like, really, really bad?”

  “How bad?” she asked, narrowing her eyes. “What could they have on you that’s so terrible?”

  She paused. Then, suddenly, horror flickered across her face.

  “Greg, did you send someone a picture of your… you know?” She gestured vaguely toward my lower half. “Please tell me you didn’t—”

  “I didn’t!” I interrupted loudly, eyes darting around to make sure no one else heard that. “This is hypothetical, remember? Now get your mind out of the gutter!”

  “I didn’t!” I loudly interrupted, looking around to make sure no one else heard that. “It’s a hypothetical question, alright! Now get your mind out of the gutter!”

  “My mind was never in the gutter, Gregory,” she stated sharply, and I almost flinched at the full-name treatment. “I was just making sure. It’s not like you haven’t met someone ‘special’ on M-CHAT before.”

  “That was one time!” I hurriedly defended, scandalized. “But never mind that. What would you do if someone had something on you that was really, really bad? Like, someone you love might die bad.”

  She blinked. “Someone I love?”

  She paused in thought before gncing at me, my face going scarlet even if it wasn’t like that. After a few silent moments of consideration, Violet answered, her tone turning from teasing to utmost seriousness.

  “Then I’d do whatever it took.” A beat. “I’d still try to find the bastard threatening me first, though.”

  I let out a nervous, forced ugh. “Uh, oh. Haha. Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

  “Who says you’re not already?” she replied with an obnoxious smirk.

  A smirk that disappeared the second I opened my mouth.

  “Well, that look you gave me says otherwise,” I said with too many winks, my face scrunching up on one side to accomplish the suave move.

  Violet’s mouth opened, sputtering denials on her lips, before she promptly shut them and turned away, suddenly finding her food much more interesting than me.

  “You’re an idiot,” she muttered, cheeks tinged pink as she took small bites of her sandwich. Violet was no blushing maiden; I couldn’t recall the st time I saw her look like this. I found I quite liked it.

  But before I could try my hand at making her even more scarlet, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, and my good mood drained to the st drop.

  UNKNOWN NUMBER: 7:00. Old town. Don’t be te.

  A second message popped up with an address for me to follow.

  I stared at it, stomach twisting as the world narrowed to a street name I didn’t even recognize. I thought I’d have more time. The weekend, at least. But Hoplite wasn’t giving me time or a choice. He’d frame it differently, but we both knew that ever since that night, there was a gun to my head with his finger on the trigger.

  I shoved the phone back into my pocket, forcing my expression to stay neutral.

  I wasn’t good at it.

  “Something wrong?” Violet asked.

  “No,” I lied. “Just some spam.”

  “Mmhm,” she hummed, humoring me, but she didn’t press it. I almost wished she did–take the choice out of my hands. Stop me from doing something I couldn’t undo. But that didn’t happen, and dread boiled like tar.

  Because tonight, a dream of mine died. Tonight, I’d be joining the Old Blood.