Milo stood before her sister’s grave, the morning sir cold and damp.
The cetery was old, one of those places where the headstones tilted at odd angles and moss grew thick on them.
Milo clutched a shopping bag in her palms and clasped them together.
"Eternal rest grant unto her, O Lord," she whispered. "And let perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace, An."
She reached into the bag and pulled out a single white lily.
It fell softly onto the grave, settling among the others she’d left over ti.
Marco DiMarco, her beloved sister taken too soon.
Milo stared at the na for a long mont, and bit her lower lip.
Then she turned and walked away.
The slums of Vitalis were a world away from Virelia’s golden dos.
Here, the streets were narrow, breaking apart and the buildings leaned against each other like drunks trying to stay upright.
Laundry hung from makeshift lines strung between the windows, and the sll of cooking oil mixed with raw sewage in a way that never quite left your nose.
Children ran barefoot through puddles, laughing in a soft and brittle manner.
Street vendors hawked wilted vegetables and questionable at, their voices had gone hoarse from years of shouting.
And everywhere, I an everywhere, there was the weight of poverty pressing down like an iron.
Milo walked through it all with her head high and the shopping bag swinging at her side.
She reached a building that looked monts away from collapse. The door hung on its crooked hinges and the paint peeled in long strips.
She pushed it open.
Inside, the single room was small and dark. A mattress in one corner, a stove that barely worked and a table with two chairs.
And in one of those chairs sat her mother.
Her wheelchair was old, the leather worn. Her mother’s thin and trembling hands rested in her laps.
But her face lit up when she saw Milo.
"Figlia" she breathed.
Milo dropped the bag and crossed the room, kneeling in front of the wheelchair. She wrapped her arms around her mother, burying her face in her shoulder.
"I went to see Marco today," Milo said softly.
Her mother’s hand stroked her hair. "I know, Figlia. I know."
"She didn’t deserve what happened to her."
"No. She didn’t."
Milo pulled back, her eyes wet. "I’m going to make the person who did this pay."
Her mother’s expression shifted, fear flooding her features.
She grabbed Milo’s hands, squeezing tight.
"Milo, no. Please Don’t talk like that."
"Madre."
"Listen to ." Her mother’s voice cracked. "Revenge is what put in this chair. Soone hurt our family, and I tried to make them pay. Just look what it got ."
She gestured to her useless legs.
"I lost everything. My job, my mobility and my dignity." Tears spilled down her cheeks. "And now Marco’s gone. I can’t lose you too, figlia. I can’t."
Milo’s throat tightened.
"I’m sorry, Mamdre. I didn’t an to.."
The door opened.
Milo’s aunt stepped in, her expression sour as always. She was a hard woman who loved nothing more than complaining.
"You’re here," she said flatly, not looking at Milo. "About ti."
Milo stood up right away. "I was visiting Marco."
"Of course you were." Her aunt moved to the stove, clattering pots. "Always the martyr."
Milo forced herself to stay calm. "I should get back to school."
Her mother reached out, catching her hand. "Be careful, Figlia. Please."
Milo squeezed back. "I will, Mamdre. I promise."
She left without looking at her aunt.
Outside, Milo pulled out her phone.
The street was empty and the morning sun casting long shadows.
She dialed and it rang twice before a voice answered.
"Yes?"
"I’ve been spreading the rumors like you asked," Milo said quietly. "But he hasn’t reacted yet. He’s still walking around campus like nothing’s wrong."
The voice on the other end was smooth, almost assured. "Patience, Miss DiMarco. These things take ti."
"How much ti?"
"As much as it needs. Pressure builds slowly and eventually, it becos unbearable."
Milo’s hand tightened on the phone. "And then?"
"And then he breaks, they always do."
The voice hung up.
Milo stood there for a mont, staring at her phone.
Then she pocketed it and walked back toward the transit station.
Huey stepped out of the administrative building, muttering under his breath.
"Absolute Perception. I knew these oga level topplers have broken crests, but seeing one up close and the hype doesn’t even begin to do justice."
He rubbed his temples, still processing the conversation with Reece Oxford.
The Magister had seen into his life, picked apart his psychology, and sohow still missed the most important piece.
That he Blue Reaper.
Huey wasn’t sure if that was luck or sothing else.
A group of female seniors passed by, Law Legion students, judging by their robes.
They spotted him.
And imdiately crossed to the other side of the walkway.
Huey watched them go with a deadpan expression.
"That was happening even before the rumors started." he said to no one. "Can’t even tell if it’s my face or my reputation anymore."
He sighed, adjusting his necklace.
His mind drifted to Alessia.
She’d helped him before, and she had connections. Maybe she could—
"Nope," he said aloud, shaking his head. "Not going there."
He started walking.
"Cross!"
A guy stumbled toward him, His eyes bloodshot and his movents disheveled and twitchy.
He shoved a handful of credits at Huey.
"What’s your problem?" Huey asked, stepping back.
"I need the stuff, man. The vendors dropped off. You’re the guy, right? The one selling?"
Huey’s expression darkened. "I’m not selling anything."
"Co on, don’t play gas. I got money." He pulled out more credits, his hands shaking. "Just give sothing, Anything."
"What you need is help."
"I need the purple!" The guy’s voice rose, desperate. "Just one pill—"
The guy took a step forward.
Huey’s eyes narrowed into a glare.
The guy froze and he backed off, mumbling to himself as he stumbled away.
Huey watched him go.
"Great," he muttered. "Just great."
He pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts.
Paused on Alessia’s na.
Hesitated and then hit call.
Alessia was half-asleep in her Legal Ethics seminar when her phone rang.
She glanced down.
Huey Cross.
Her eyes widened and raised her hand. "Professor, may I be excused? It’s urgent."
The professor waved her off, already bored with his own lecture.
Alessia slipped into the hallway and answered. "Huey? What’s...."
"I need you to do sothing for ."
Her excitent deflated instantly. "Wow. No Hi, Alessia. How are you, Alessia. ou look great today, Alessia."
"I don’t have ti for that"
"Well then no."
Huey paused. "What?"
"No. I’m not doing anything for you until you complint the piercing I showed you the other day and ask how my day is going."
"Alessia...."
"Nope. Those are my terms."
Huey was silent for a long mont.
Then, in the flattest tone imaginable: "Your piercing looked really nice and How’s your day?"
"You didn’t sound as enthusiastic as I’d like but I’ll take it. Thank and my day’s been great" Alessia’s voice brightened. "You know, soone has to teach you proper human relations, and it might as well be . Now, what do you need?"
"You know people and get around, so what I need is for you to organize a eting."
"With who?"
"Milo DiMarco. At the dical Legion rehab center."
Alessia frowned. "That’s... Oddly specific. It’ll difficult, but I’ll see what I can do."
"Good. Also, see if you can get Dante there too."
"Dante? Why—"
Huey imdiately hung up.
Alessia stared at her phone, her mouth wide open.
She stord back into the seminar, muttering foreign curse words under her breath.
Evening ca quickly.
Huey stood outside his dorm room, staring at the door.
He usually walked Josephine to St. Helena after classes, but not today.
He sighed, pushing the door open.
He needed to grab sothing before leaving for his shift at Vie’s; a small gift he’d ordered a while back.
The room was dim, and the curtains half-drawn.
Huey stopped in the doorway, and Calvin’s head turned.
Their eyes t.
Calvin’s expression was hard with hurt.
Huey had his guard up and neither of them spoke first
The silence stretched, becoming heavy and suffocating.
Finally, Calvin turned back to what he was doing.
Huey opened his mouth to say the first words.....
Reviews
All reviews (0)