red spade • h.s.

My breath catches.

There's a scarily subtle, but clear difference in his face than before. His previous clear anger has dwindled, leaving a vacant and cruel expression in its wake.

A wall of cold covers his jade-toned eyes, lips quirked up in a way that only adds to his impassive semblance. I have to catch myself from backing into the fence to create a distance between the two of us for myself, realization dawning on me.

This tame facade he'd played up until now had only been exactly that--a facade. An illusion.

And somehow, I had let myself forget what he was, concealed behind all his cherry lips, pretty suits, and clear eyes.

"There's only so far determination and some skill will get you," he snorts. "I'm just hoping they don't blame me when you end up getting yourself killed."

"I won't," I promise.

He shakes his head, "This is what I mean, Rosaline."

"You're choosing to be in this mafia," he flashes a sick smile. "You can train and try all you want, your aimless optimism isn't going to get you anywhere. Because no one ever survives. Not in the very end."