These Cages We Build for Ourselves

Chapter 21

Nash starts leaving Mythic Fountiers open even when he doesn't have time to play, taking every opportunity to catch a moment with Aster just to make sure he's still okay. A few weeks ago, this hovering attention would have sent Aster running, but now he seems to accept it. They spend hours just existing in the game's central town, trading sparse messages that mean little more than still here, still safe. It worries Nash all the more that it feels like Aster's circling the wagons, abandoning any reservations he had about trusting Nash in the face of this greater threat.

It feels wrong that Aster isn't with him. It feels wrong to cook meals and then eat them alone. Each passing day winds him tighter, but Aster doesn't ask to see him, so Nash holds back, trying to respect the space between them.

At night, his wolf prowls restlessly beneath his skin, even more agitated than his human side. The creature's unease bleeds into his dreams, leaving him tossing and turning. So when his eyes snap open in the darkness, instantly alert, he's not surprised. He lies still, straining to identify what woke him.

A floorboard creaks in the hall. Nash frowns. Niko has an ensuite bathroom—he has no reason to be out of his room in the middle of the night. Nash sits up, every muscle coiling tight as he listens.

Another sound cuts through the darkness: the soft scuff of a shoe against wood. Definitely not Niko.

Nash launches himself at the door in one fluid motion. His large frame makes stealth impossible—raw speed is his only shot at surprise.

A figure stands in the hallway, spinning on his heel as Nash bursts through the doorway. The man's hand whips up, and Nash tenses for impact, but nothing hits him. Confusion floods his mind until he draws in a breath—and fire explodes in his lungs. He stumbles backward, gasping, which only pulls in more of whatever's burning through the air. His legs give out and he crashes to the floor, the impact rattling through the house. He tries to move to push himself up, but his arms barely twitch at his sides. He can't move.

Footsteps echo through the hall, all pretence of stealth abandoned. The intruder disappears into the room beside Niko's—the storage room—then emerges and approaches Nash's helpless form. As moonlight catches the demon dagger clutched in the man's grip, recognition slams into Nash: this is the same guy who cut him at the club.

The man crouches beside him, raising the blade. White-hot pain tears through Nash as the dagger plunges between his ribs. His heart spasms around cold steel, and in that moment, Nash knows with absolute certainty that he's dying.

Across the hall, Niko's door creaks open. Nash fights against the paralysis with everything he has, desperate to protect his friend, but darkness is already creeping in at the edges of his vision. He's slipping away...

Nash jolts awake with a gasp, his dark bedroom materialising around him. For a moment, he thinks he must have somehow survived, been dragged back to his bed to recover. His hands frantically pat his chest, but find only smooth, unbroken skin. His limbs feel normal, his own scent is unchanged, and the taste in his mouth is just ordinary sleep. There's no evidence that he's been unconscious for days.

That can't have just been a dream. He felt that knife go through his chest, felt his heart stutter around it. No nightmare has ever felt that real before.

A floorboard creaks in the hall. A shoe scuffs against wood.

No time to overthink this, but Nash forces himself to pause for a few precious seconds. This is his second chance—he can't waste it by rushing in blind. He takes a steadying breath, then launches himself into the hall. The intruder's already made it to the storeroom by the time Nash gets out there.