Anomaly ━━ Matt vs Chris Sturniolo¹

𝖑𝖎. Corros Prison

[ tw: violence, death ]

𝖑𝖎. Corros Prison

THE NOTCH flickers behind Maeve, and she watches in awe as her home of the last couple months disappears with a single sweep of Dryden's hand. They can't even hear the children who were standing there a moment ago, waving goodbye, their voices echoing in the night. Fawn muffles them all, and, together with Dryden, drops a curtain of protection around the youngest newbloods. No one has ever come close to finding them, but the added defense gives Maeve more comfort than she cares to admit.

Cassian falls in next to her. He doesn't bother to look back at the now empty clearing, instead keeping his eyes froward, to the dark, cold woods and the task ahead of them. His limp is almost entirely gone and he sets a quick pace that Maeve eagerly follows, drawing the rest along with them. The hike to the airjet is not long. She tries to take in every second of it. The cold air bites at her exposed face, but the sky is blissfully clear. No snow, no storms ━ yet. For a storm is certainly coming, whether by Maeve's hand or someone else's. And she has no idea who will survive to see the dawn.

Cassian puts a gentle hand on her shoulder, murmuring, "This is worth the cost. We're doing the right thing."

She knows that. As afraid as Maeve is for herself and those closest to her, she knows that Corros is the right choice. Even without Kol's assurance, she believes in their path. How could she not? Newbloods cannot be left to Astraea's whispering, to be killed or made into hollow, soulless shells to follow her orders. This is what they must do to stop a more horrible world than the one they already live in now.

Still, Cassian's assurance is like a warm blanket of comfort. "Thank you," she murmurs back, putting a hand over his.

He smiles in reply, a crescent of white to reflect the waning moon. He pats her on the cheek, a familiar gesture that makes Maeve feel like a child, but she doesn't dislike it. It's a reminder of the blood they share. Not in mutation, but birth. Something deeper and stronger than any ability.

On their right, Matt marches on, and Maeve pretends not to feel his gaze. She knows he's thinking about his own brothers now, the bonds of blood torn apart. Perhaps he'll repair one of them today, with Nick. She certainly hopes so, for both of their sakes. Behind him is Weston, clutching his hunting rifle, scanning the woods for any and all shadows. For all their differences, the two boys share a startling connection. They're both orphans, both abandoned, with no one but Maeve to anchor them.

Time passes too quickly for her taste. It seems like they're on the Blackrun and soaring through the air in moments. Every second moves faster than the last as they hurtle toward the dark cliff before them all. This is worth the cost, Maeve tells herself, repeating Cassian's words over and over. She has to keep calm, for the jet. She can't look afraid, for the others. But her heart thrums in her chest, so loud she fears everyone can hear it.