CHAPTER 12: He fights like he means it

POV: Imani

By the time the infirmary had finally quieted down enough for me to breathe, my hands had calmed down from shaking excessively, and my back was now protesting in a way that made me feel like it was a fair swap for the chaos I’d just endured.

I honestly couldn’t keep track of how many people I’d had to help today. There had been stitches, splints, and I’d even popped a dislocated shoulder back into place at some point while the poor guy yelled every curse he could think of. Then, there was a girl, who was barely fourteen, who came in with a nasty graze along her ribs; and seeing her walk in made my stomach drop, but thankful to the heavens, it turned out to be less serious than it looked, and that made me a little bit relieved when I found that out, more than I cared to admit. She was still a child, and I’d seen enough blood today to last me a lifetime.

The smell in the infirmary was overwhelming, it smelled like harsh antiseptic, the metallic scent of blood, and the stale air of a room that had been filled with way too much fear in a short amount of time. It was hard for me to wrap my head around everything that had happened, especially the strange symbol I had found burned into the corpse in the courtyard. I knew I had to deal with that later because it kept returning to my thoughts no matter how many times I tried to push it aside.

Rosalind, one of the aides who hadn’t said much to me since I arrived in this place, passed me a fresh roll of gauze without a word. She didn’t even wait for me to reach out for my hand for it before she was already moving on to the next patient. In the grand scheme of things, it was a small gesture obviously. But for some reason, it meant something to me. Perhaps because I’d spent the last few days feeling like I had to prove myself to everyone every single chance I got, and she had finally stopped making me feel that way.

Just a few days ago, she had carefully double checked every stitch I’d closed, like someone who was wary of a stranger’s work. But now, tonight, she hadn’t checked a single one. She literally trusted me to know what I was doing, and I found myself appreciating that more than I would have expected.

Once I finished with the last patient, I collapsed onto an overturned crate. With my elbows resting on top of my knees, I let myself finally stop moving for the first time in long ass hours. My body was aching in that familiar way you feel when you’ve pushed muscles you don’t usually use, but beneath the soreness, my mind was way occupied with the image I hadn’t fully faced yet. That mark on the dead man’s arm. The same lines and branching pattern that had been carved into my own palm just two nights earlier in front of a crowd of strangers. I turned my hand over briefly, staring at the faint lines before lowering it back to my knees again.

“You should eat,” Zane said from the corner, and I didn’t even need to look up to know it was him. I had unknowingly learned his footsteps over the last few days, the unique weight and rhythm belonging to him and him all alone.

He set a plate down on the crate beside me without making any fuss, just some bread and what looked like an old stew, that was thinned out enough to feed a whole compound instead of just a few people. He didn’t come too close. He made sure that he kept a decent distance, carefully maintaining that space, which almost felt more significant than if he had actually closed it.

“I’m not hungry,” I replied, knowing I was lying, but my stomach betrayed me with a grumble the moment the words left my mouth.

“Eat anyway. If you don’t, you’ll be useless to anyone before dawn tomorrow,” he said, pointing the obvious out.

It was practical advice, so I didn’t bother arguing about it. I took a piece of the bread and tore into it, and to my surprise, it tasted better than I expected. I guess everything really did seem to be tastier when you were running on an empty stomach and fueled by adrenaline rather than common sense.

“You wanted to talk about the symbol,” I ventured, not in the mood to tiptoe around it any longer.

“I wanted to ask what you think of it,” Zane replied.

“I think it’s the same shape as the mark on my hand. That’s not an interpretation; it’s just what I saw.” I held up my palm to show him, the bandage long gone, and leaving faint branching lines visible under the lamplight. “You noticed it too. So don’t act like you didn’t.”

“I noticed,” he confirmed.

“So why aren’t you more worried?”

“I am in fact worried,” he said, his voice coming out steady, but I could see the tension tightening around his eyes. “I’m worried in a way that doesn’t help either of us if I let it show. Panicking doesn’t kill whatever is hunting you, it only just makes you slower when it finally catches up to you.”

I chewed on that along with the bread in my mouth, begrudgingly respecting the reason behind his calmness even though I resented it deeply.

“Have you seen it before? The symbol, I mean. Not just on me. Like before all this began.”

His silence lingered for way too long that it made me have to remove my focus from what I was eating, then he finally answered, “Yes.”

I set the bread down. “Where?”

“In my father’s records. There’s a storeroom beneath the main hall that is filled with things he kept that never made it into any council logs, also maps and notes he never explained to me or to Naomi, at least not that I know of.” He replied, going tense for a moment, his jaw working before he unclenched it. “I was maybe twelve years old the first time I came across it. There was a page with that exact pattern sketched on it, along with a note in his handwriting that simply said one word, which was Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” I asked, feeling the tension starting to twist in my gut.

“He never explained it to me. I asked him about it a few years later, but he just laughed it off. Calling it superstition, and some old folklore that’s been passed down from people who were just trying to find something to fear other than the world ending.” Zane met my gaze, his expression steady. “I don’t think he really believed that. I think he said it to shut me up, and the easiest way to get a kid to stop being curious is to tell him it’s not real.”

“So, he was scared of it,” I pointed out, already concluding.

“I think so. Yes.”

I took a moment to process everything I had just gotten, feeling a tight knot of frustration move in my chest. It was that kind of anger that bubbled up when you were surrounded by people who each seemed to have just a piece of the puzzle, yet no one was willing to put the whole picture together. I was beginning to feel extremely ridiculous asking questions about something that was happening to me while everyone else around me seemed to know just enough to avoid giving me an actual answer.

“Everyone here seems to know half of a story about something that could potentially harm me,” I said, my voice coming out quieter than I intended. I had been holding in my exhaustion all day, and it seemed it was finally time for it to break through. “Naomi knows part of it. Kovac on the other hand also has his own half. And now you have this page with just one word, which even your father won’t explain. I’d really like to get the other half, any of them. All of them if possible.”

“I don’t have it to share,” he replied, sounding honest.

“I get that,” I said, pressing my palm down against my eyes for a moment, trying to push the tiredness aside for a little longer. “I’m not upset with you specifically. I’m just worn out from being the only one in every situation who doesn’t have the complete story about my own life.”

I noticed something in his expression shift, not exactly softening, but edging closer to understanding I’m guessing, than anything he’d shown me so far. He didn’t reach out or say anything comforting, and in this moment, I was kinda grateful. I didn’t think I could handle being comforted right now. I felt like any hint of tenderness might have been enough to break through the little control I thought I still had over myself.

“I’ll find that storeroom,” he said, calmly and determined. “Tonight, if I have to. If there’s more written down, I want it just as badly as you do.”

“Why?” I asked, sounding genuinely curious.

“Because something followed you into my territory and spoke your name. Then, at the same time, three separate breaches happened right under our noses, all bearing the same mark that’s imprinted on your skin.” His gaze was steady, not leaving mine. “That’s not just some random superstition. It’s a pattern. And I don’t like things I can’t explain.”

I opened my mouth to respond, perhaps to bridge the distance we’d created between us this evening, but before I could say anything, the infirmary door swung open with a loud bang, startling the both of us. A young man I didn’t recognize stood there, clearly out of breath as if he had been running, with his shirt soaked with sweat despite the chilly evening air. The expression on his face cut off whatever conversation had been building between Zane and me.

“My lord.” He paused to catch his breath before continuing. “It’s Naomi. She left the compound an hour ago. Alone. And nobody stopped her, nor did anybody question her. She just walked out the east gate like she had every right to.”

Without missing a single beat, Zane was already on his feet. “Where did she go?”

The young man swallowed hard before answering.

“East,” he replied simply. “Toward Asheville.”