Chapter 10

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Cass

Cass hadn't missed the collection of weapons hanging from Dells like a second layer of clothing. 

Sharp silver beaded down his spine, lumpy brown sacks traced the lines of his ribs, sleek black bounced with the muscle of his thigh. Redd had carried weapons too. Cass remembered the gleam of her own knives with each of her steps, but Dells was somehow different. 

It was in the way he held his face, locked in his gait. The streets had made Cass perceptive, sensitive to seemingly inconspicuous details - the things that most disregard and mistake for simple traits or quirks, the reason a dog knows who the killer is before the people do. It was instinct. And it had been a useful gift, because he'd been able to tell which streets to avoid with just a brief glance at the boys who lurked in them. Most of them fumbled with a knife, didn't quite know what to do with such a thing. Most of them backed away from a gun, whether pointed at them or handed to them.

But then there were the ones that were always too calm, too brave. People were supposed to have fear, that's what made them human. The boys in the alleys were a different breed. They knew what it was to kill people, knew what bones to crush and what veins to slice in order to render someone else powerless. It showed, mostly in their eyes. Always moving, always looking for an easy spot to sink a knife in. Always had to have a way out, a way of keeping themselves alive. It was the mindset of a victim, a survivor. The cut on his leg spiked with heat as he walked. Dells was like them. 

Redd had carried weapons - a source of protection. Dells had become the weapons - a method of survival. He walked through the forest with a steadfast kind of dignity, a creature who knew exactly what he was. An airborne bullet, the blood trickling down from a knife, the aftermath of something lethal. 

Cass walked a few paces behind him. Dells hadn't said a word since they escaped from the village, hadn't given any reason for rescuing him. He didn't think Dells had even looked back to make sure he was still there. 

But Cass watched him - his gloved hands, specifically. With every other step, they'd twitch toward the revolver at his side, the pommel of a knife at his back. He wanted a monster encounter, wanted an excuse to shoot something. 

But Cass had no idea what he wanted with him. 

He picked his way around the white trees. "That was neat, what you did back there. How'd you get to be such a good fighter?"

Dells didn't turn around. "You make a home out of the Lost Forest and you're inviting beasts onto your doorstep. It's like having a flat in purgatory."

The Lost Forest. The grave feeling the forest had leaked out when he was walking with Redd crawled along Cass's skin once again. It made the lining of his stomach curl. Dells lived in it? 

With a heavy breath, Cass slowed. "Yeah, you know, word seems to spread pretty fast around here." He sank to a stop. "I've heard about the Lost Forest. I've heard about the kids and about Wilder. No one ever told me about you."

Dells's shoulders tightened, and Cass struggled to keep his breaths even as the other boy turned, fingers wrapped around the handle of his gun. "So I just saved your ass and now you're going to be difficult? That's cold."

Cass tried not to look at the weapon. "I just want to know who you are." 

Dells caught Cass's flitting gaze. His hand left the gun quickly, like he'd just realized where it had been resting. "I am no one you need to be afraid of." 

"Then tell me what we're doing. Why did you rescue me?"

"I'll explain everything to you," Dells made an attempt to turn back to the path, "once we get to my place." 

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