Evie
It was a new low, in every possible way, to be staring at her own backside.
When she first encountered the impostor, she’d panicked. But when she saw how closely the fake was mingling with her boss, her panic turned to fury. So much so that she grabbed the nearest object and hurled it—hard.
Was that a paperweight? She *knew* those things made excellent weapons. She couldn’t help but giggle.
“I’m sorry, did that actually hurt?” she asked, wincing as the impostor clutched its head.
“Sage?”
She snapped to attention. “Yes, sir?”
“Please don’t apologize to the ancient monster.” His tone wasn’t exasperated, as it usually was with her antics, but rather… relieved.
She wrinkled her nose. “But I hit her with a paperweight.” Fake Sage hissed and retreated, snarling from a corner.
“Take note,” her boss said, stepping protectively in front of her. “That’s what you look like before you’ve had your morning brew.”
She clutched the back of his arm as the creature hissed and snarled again. With a sour expression, she muttered, “I should’ve thrown the paperweight at *you*.”
The impostor’s form began to shift, returning to the unnatural white light that had appeared in the Fortis arena, a light that lacked any discernible face. Despite the comfort of having Trystan’s arm in her grasp, her heart pounded erratically in her chest.
“You’re too late—he’s already failed,” the light taunted. “His dark soul is mine. Surrender it, or you’ll remain trapped here forever, tormented by great evil.”
Evie curled her lip and nodded earnestly. “That sounds like a pretty standard workweek at the office, honestly.”
Her boss glanced down at her. “Why, thank you,” he deadpanned.
“You’re welcome!” she replied with a playful grin.
“Silence!” the voice hissed again. Even without a face, its impatience was palpable.
Her boss sighed, raising his hands in surrender. “Hands of destiny, I yield. Take my evil essence and allow her to leave.”
As if she’d thrown herself into this mess just so he could play the self-sacrificing hero. “Don’t be ridiculous. Here.” She pulled the dagger from her waist and offered it to the light. “How about a trade? This dagger is magically linked to the scar on my shoulder. You could probably make me dance like a puppet.”
The hands of destiny—because, of course, Becky’s ridiculously attractive family would have a room for something called “the hands of destiny”—flinched away from the dagger, hissing once more. *Interesting*.
But her boss’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “You’re not trading your dagger for our freedom, Sage. That’s hardly a fair exchange.”
Destiny’s voice spoke again, cutting them off. “You would offer your most precious possession to save such twisted evil?”
She rolled her eyes. “I’ve suffered more at the hands of those who claim to be good than those labeled as evil.” She held the dagger up higher. “Take it.”
“No.” The Villain’s voice was thick with anger. “No, Sage. You can’t argue your way out of ancient magic. No matter how persuasive you think you are, you can’t defy natural law. Take the deal and leave.”
He turned to the light now.
“I’m evil,” he said to destiny. “I’ve killed countless people, tortured many more for information, and spread fear throughout Rennedawn—and likely across the continent, too. I shouldn’t pass any test of goodness.”
Evie interrupted him by clamping a hand over his mouth. “He’s like a teddy bear with a kitchen knife.”
The Villain pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking her hand away, but destiny’s creature cut in, a trace of amusement in its ancient voice. “There’s no need to argue further. I’d forgotten how exhausting humans can be. You’ve already passed.”
Her boss looked like he wanted to argue again, and she pressed her shoe over his boot, furiously shaking her head.
Naturally, he ignored her. “How is that possible? What was the test—who can argue the longest?”
The hands of destiny shook its glowing head. “No, Trystan Maverine.” He froze, and so did she, as the light hovered over them, leaning down to whisper something in Trystan’s ear. He stiffened so much it looked like his bones might crack.
The next thing Evie knew, she was being thrown to the dirt of the arena ground. She turned over, coughing until she could see clearly again. Her body felt like a poorly assembled puzzle, with all the pieces in the wrong places.
She reached out for Trystan, but instead of finding the softness of his shirt or the warmth of his skin, her hand brushed against his forehead, which was burning with fever.
In the background, she heard the gate of the cage closing, but all she could focus on were his closed eyes, his chest rising and falling far too slowly.
“Sir?” She shook his shoulder. “Trystan?” His eyes fluttered open, and he looked at her so curiously that Evie wanted to shake his head just to see what words might fall out.
Trystan’s gaze remained unfocused as he stared at her. “It can’t be.”
“What? It can’t be what?” she asked quietly, pushing damp strands of hair off his forehead and cradling his head in her lap. “What did it whisper to you? Are you sick? What’s wrong?”
“I wish it was different. I wish… I wish…” he murmured, his eyes closing again.
*I wish… what?*
Evie swallowed and looked around at their onlookers. Renna and Julius were ushering down servants with a medical gurney. Tatianna kneeled beside her, hovering glowing hands over Trystan’s still form, while Kingsley appeared, tapping a webbed foot against the boss’s forehead.
She addressed no one in particular. “I think…we’re going to be late for dinner.”
Her boss’s fingers tightened around hers, gripping her hand as his eyes flew open, gasping as he was loaded onto the stretcher. “Don’t leave me.”
She squeezed his hand as tightly as she could. “I won’t. I promise.”
But as soon as she said the words, a prickling sensation crept up the back of her neck, as if she were being watched. In that moment, she feared she had just made a promise she wouldn’t be able to keep.
