Marry or Kill

31

S O L

As I blink, momentarily dazed, my senses sharpen with fear blended with realization, and I swiftly scan the chaotic scene for Noah's familiar figure. The fire around us intensifies, the slight breeze only serving to fan the flames larger.

My heart races, threatening to escape my chest, as I spot Noah, thrown back by the explosion's force. "Noah!" I shout out urgently, my voice barely audible over the crackling of the fire and the approaching footsteps of the oncoming guards.

Atticus stands before them, his gaze fixed on me through the blazing fire. His eyes, like twin reflections of the fiery turmoil around us, embrace the raging embers.

As the fire licks across his expression, a play of shadows and light reveals a subtle dimming of his cheekbones. The flames cast an eerie glow on his features.

I realize that through his expression that betrays nothing but boredom, he had planned the fires, the explosions, and mostly to kill us.

My gaze strays away from Atticus, nearing from the distance. I have little time left.

With each racing step towards Noah, the heat becomes more oppressive, and my surroundings blur with smoke and chaos. The acrid scent of burning debris fills the air, sending sticks of flame down my throat.

I crawl to his side, and watch his golden tan glow in the fiery light.

A shadow carves his face, detailing the sharp jaw of his, slicing through the night. A mix of concern and panic floods over me when I try to peel open his eyes with my fingers.

I nearly slap him when he twitches, shrugging off my fingers from his face. Sweat lines Noah's forehead, and my fingers meet with a tangy red colour. I swipe off the blood.

The wound is small, and Noah isn't fully unconscious.

As I dip my head to his ear, the soft strands of my hair brush against his cold skin. My fingers move with a pleading urgency as they delicately stroke the side of his golden cheek.

"Noah, if you're in there and can hear me," my voice trembles, "I need you to understand, it's crucial—don't try to save me."

A pang of pain floods my face, and I can feel the emotion surging in my body begin to betray my face. Atticus hovers nearby, his presence casting a shadow over me and my emotions.

I close my eyes for a moment, then touch his hand, my fingertips dancing over his palm.

"We'll have our time," I whisper, the words a promise hanging in the charged air, "but not right now, not when there's a chance I might lose you."

Through the roar of the intense fire, Atticus interrupts with a cutting edge to his tone, "I would have assumed even you, Sol, possessed the basic sense to prioritise self-preservation. Have The West's teachings truly done nothing to you?"

I stand up to look at Atticus, feeling the smoke fill my lungs, playing with the vocal cords in my body. "Your teachings are nothing but nonsense, and so are you," I growl, the anger of my words coloured in disdain.

Atticus slowly shakes his head, keeping an unyielding stare. "That would be nothing short of insulting my father," he drawls, then sighs when his eyes wander down to my body, as if storing every small detail about me.

Suddenly, I spit at his shoe.

Guns immediately shoot upward, their barrels fixated on my head, and a disdainful laugh erupts, like thunder, scattering birds from their tree perches. The chilling sound sends shivers down my spine.