The Sixth | Ekko

Chapter Fifty-Two

Derora and Sevika.

Identical twins, opposing fates.

One destined for arrest, the other for joining the counsel.

One loyal to a person, the other a city.

Derora hadn't meant for things to go as they did during the day of ash. She thought she could trust her. She thought she was different.

She thought it was love.

An Enforcer and a sumpsnipe.

But Sage wasn't like the other Enforcers, Derora was sure of it. She'd seen the woman's kindness firsthand—giving food to the children of the undercity, hoping the small gesture could make a difference somehow.

Marco, her best friend, pestered her about it often, trying to get her to reconsider approaching her, repeating the same thing every time:

"Never trust a piltie."

It was a common thing spoken in the undercity, like a religious reciting.

Derora ignored his warnings. There was something about this woman that left her enchanted, as if the blonde-haired woman was a siren whose song was sung through good deeds.

Their relationship was all-consuming, each fibre of Derora's being laced with love for the woman. It got to the point it was borderline obsessive. There was rarely a time where Sage wasn't on her mind, and when they were together, she always had to have skin contact with her somehow, even if just the slightest.

So when she heard of talks of an uprising from her sister, her first concern was how it would affect her relationship with Sage. If the undercity went through with it, it would put them both on opposite sides of the equivalent of a civil war. The possibility of Sage getting hurt—or being unable to see her again—spiked her bloodstream with potent panic.

She attended the official meeting at The Last Drop regarding the uprising, there only to collect intel. She sat with Sevika and Marco, her eyes narrowing at each detail spoken between the attendees.

A man named Vander seemed to be the one leading the charge, his two friends Felicia—a purple-haired woman, and Silco—a slim man with dark hair and a long, pointed nose—lingering behind him.

Derora's posture straightened when Vander revealed the date, time, and location of the planned uprising.

Two days from now, 20th bell, Pilt Bridge.

Maybe if she told Sage, they would be able to prevent the uprising and stop a bloody battle from breaking out.

And that's what she did.

The moment she realized she'd been horribly wrong was like someone had slashed apart the sky, moon, and stars with a backstabbing blade.

The uprising hadn't been prevented.

Instead, Derora's intel prepared the Enforcers for the attack, brutalizing their defences.

Derora stared down at Marco's mangled corpse, the surrounding mist a bloody red that resonated with the death that filled the pillared bridge. His intestines spewed from his abdominal cavity, his green eyes beady and empty, while his brown hair swayed against his forehead from the light breeze that blew past like a taunting whisper.

Her fingers went rigid and curled crookedly, nearly popping from their joints from the strangled intensity. Her bangs blew into her eyes, the ends catching in her eyelashes and adding to the tears welling at her waterline.