𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐄, apply fic

𝙫𝙞𝙞. in my mind

TW // mention of murder & depression

( MATEO'S POV )

     "THAT SICK BASTARD."

     I wanted to scream for not putting the pieces together sooner. No wonder the blade only worked on me. I had a connection to it.

     It truly was an assassin's blade.

     "What?" Miren asked, urging an answer.

     "This is why....." I trailed off, anxiety consuming me whole. Motives run deep. He knew what he was doing. She wanted to leave him— I lived with a murderer behind my back. One slip up, and my fate would end the same as hers.

      My Mamá.

      "Why, what?" Issac pushed.

      "Nothing," I said, with teeth gritted. "My hand just hurts, Aria's probably nauseous from her injured head, and we're all tired. Let's take a break, yeah?" My accent was thick, which hadn't given Miren and Issac the best impression.

      They nodded, thankfully.

( ARIA'S POV )

      "TWO HOURS— WASTED."

      Our group collectively decided to move to a better location than our previous, puked over and muddied area.

      The search plan had failed, and for the first time since we got here, there had been a change in atmosphere. The comfort of not being alone in a foreign place instantly dissipated— as if this were the high school lunch room, except our dynamics have shifted, and I realized we would never go back to our old lives the minute this started.

      Nayari and Giovani were strangely inseparable, Mateo and Haven barely spoke— even to each other, Peter was suddenly giving all of us a suspecting look, Miren hadn't been conversing with anyone, and Issac and I were the next-door-neighbors-since-birth-but-grew-apart-then-reconciled kind of close.

     "Psst," Issac called behind me, tilting his head to gesture into the darkened woods. The light from our petite fire and flashlights wouldn't be able to reach that far, but I have a hunch that he already knew that.

     I slipped my jacket off, letting the cold air trail goosebumps on my skin. Issac didn't look too covered now— the sleeves of his once-worn hoodie wrapped around his waist, and his pants sported trouser cuffs that folded nearly to his knees.

     And there was the bruise, a pop of color on his upper back. I almost forgot about it.

      "If you ever speak about this to anyone, I'll tell the group about that one time you ate a mothball." Issac warned me.