The Season Trials

C H A P T E R S I X T E E N

C H A P T E R             S I X T E E N

Running loses its appeal after that night. Instead, I soak in the comfort of a warm bed in the early hours of next morning.

The stories is replaying over and over, only getting more chilling each time. What if that was me? It's sickening to imagine.

It's all so cruel.

So unfair.

And it will never end.

Never.

Suddenly aware I'm being watched, I make sure the blankets are covering me. Slowly, I turn my head, catching sight of Kyell in the open doorway, leaning against the jambs. He watches me coolly, completely casually.

I shift uncomfortably, staring right back.

As he approaches the bed, I don't move, even though I just want to hide under the covers farther. He doesn't even seem to notice, each step light and carefree. Guarded, I don't look away—let anything slip from my vision in case he's about to draw something from behind him.

Only no weapon is drawn. I'm not held at knife point.

Instead, he walks right next to the bed, and I catch the first sign of hesitancy since seeing him: the way he hovers awkwardly as though he can't tell what a safe distance is.

I say nothing.

Kyane doesn't seem to have the same issue. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice quiet. "I know I've said it, but I can't help it. Max is irrational. He doesn't... trust easily."

At that, I sit up straight, forgoing any caution as I gape in disbelief. "He doesn't trust easily?" My voice is shrill; incredulous. "I don't care. I'm too busy sleeping with one eye open because he's already tried to kill me once."

Kyane stares at the floor. "Like I said, he doesn't trust—"

"Because I'm so scary? I have no power here." My voice cracks. "None."

Now he's hanging his head, sounding almost genuinely apologetic, "I'm sorry. I can't make him say it or do it for him, but it's all I can say. You tried to run. He made an assumption. A wrong one—but he didn't know that. He acted impulsively."

I don't warrant the excuse with a response. In all honesty, I don't know what to say. The whole situation is misdirected blame and anger. It's the unnecessary death and violence; the constant fear of being ripped from everything you know (and it's not a hypothetical). Everyone's the enemy as far an anyone's aware; no one can be trusted.

All of it... is just so unfair.

Suddenly I don't feel like fronting that I'm in any shape to be with company. Feeling inexplicably vulnerable, I pull the covers, turning to face the opposite wall.

Guilt forms a pit in my stomach—because Kyane can't be blamed for anything and he doesn't deserve the accusations.

I can't apologise though, though I want to: my throat too tight to get a word out.

Silence descends on the room like a blanket, uncomfortable and stifling, but neither of us break it. I'm aware of his presence, profoundly so, as he continues to watch me.