𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐓

THIRTEEN.

No.

This couldn't be possible.

Y/n's heart sank impossibly further as he heard the message reverberate around in his brain—and it served as a cruel reminder of his defeat.

"I thought I could do this," Y/n whispered, his voice barely audible—"I thought..I could change this."

The noise around him was starting to hurt his ears—who the fuck cared about the injuries on his body? Who cared he was a mottled mess? Who cared if he nearly died?—what was important wasn't him. It was the fucking game.

Aristidis leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to Y/n's temple—and that very movement sent tingles of reassurance down his back.

"Are they too noisy?"

Y/n swallowed the lump in his throat, mustering a weak smile. It was as if the tapestry of his emotions that had once been adorned on his very countenance—had its threads cut and smashed. Shadows danced upon the landscape of his mind—their elongated forms twisting and contorting like spectres of doubt, taunting him with their elusive promises; yet none of them would come to fruition.

The pain that coursed through his battered body intensified; and bitterness consumed his body. Failure tasted sour on his tongue. The noise around him grew unbearable, the cacophony of voices and actions blurring into a disorienting symphony. Their chatter seeped into every crevice of his mind—and he just wanted it to all stop.

"I..I—just want some rest," Y/n's voice cracked, "just make them stop...I just..want some rest."

He was exhausted.

All this, for what?

(He should have just abandoned Angelina.)

Y/n froze.

No.

Did he..dare to have such a selfish thought? But it wasn't fair. For him. In fact; anger filled him—how did Angelina meet Elliot even after he specifically told her to run?

Yes, he felt a surge of resentment towards Angelina for her actions; but was it..misdirected? It should have been..

[Iris.] Y/n managed a small thought—[What the fuck are you doing?]

Her voice immediately filled on his head.

[I should be asking you that! Three times in a row. Are you even trying?]

Y/n bristled; and as he flinched; Aristidis's eyes darkened and focused on Elliot. The Prince seemed to think Elliot's presence was the one causing him to act in such a way—which was true, in its own way.

[Not trying, you say?] If Y/n could have yelled—could have screamed his voice hoarse—he would have.

Y/n's frustration bubbled to the surface.

[I sacrificed my own well-being, risked my life, and fought against overwhelming odds. How dare you say I didn't try?]

[You failed for the third time in a row.] Her voice was completely devoid of empathy. [Do you know what happens to failures?]

[You designed the game to have something against me—setbacks!]

Iris's voice remained cold and unyielding, and Y/n would think if she did have a face— her eyes would be narrowing slightly. [Setbacks?] she repeated, her voice dripping with skepticism. [These were not mere setbacks, Y/n. Lives were at stake, and you couldn't deliver.]

[I did everything I could.]

[It wasn't good enough. You could have killed your sister, you monster.]

Y/n felt a sharp stab of pain at Iris's words, and his eyes squeezed shut. Every single conversation he had with her—just felt painful.