Page 272 of Psycho Pack

"Well then," Whiskey says, cracking his knuckles with a wild grin. "Let's go win a fuckin' war."

Chapter

Forty-Five

PLAGUE

The old mine outpost looms before us, a jagged scar carved into the mountainside. My eyes scan the perimeter, searching for any sign of movement along the wall. It looks deceptively weak, crumbling in places, overgrown with stubborn vegetation clinging to life in this harsh landscape.

I know better.

Reinmich doesn't do anything by halves, especially when it comes to fortifications. But Azarel chose this as our best point of entry for a reason. The thought of my brother sends a fresh wave of unease through me, but I push it down.

There's no room for doubt now.

Our hidden forces should be in position, melting through the woods like shadows. I picture Valek among them, silver eyes gleaming in the darkness as he readies his rifle.

For once, I'm glad to have the snake on our side.

And not just because he came through when I needed him most.

Nikolai paces beside me, his blood-red coat a splash of vivid color against the muted tones of our surroundings. But apparently, there's no talking him out of his ostentatious optics,even in the middle of a war. To be fair, if Reinmich's forces notice us, it will be because of the army, not his obnoxious fashion sense.

His scarred face is twisted in a skeptical sneer as he mutters, "Weak point, my ass. This contact of yours had better come through."

I meet his gaze steadily, keeping my voice calm and assured. "He will. He's a man of his word."

The words taste bitter on my tongue. Once, I would have staked my life on Azarel's honor without hesitation.

Now... I'm not so sure.

But I can't let that uncertainty show.

Not when so much is riding on this moment.

I sense Whiskey and Ivy's worry. Turning to them, I offer a reassuring smile. It feels forced, but I hope it's convincing enough.

With deliberate movements, I reach for the leather plague doctor mask hanging from my belt. This one is adorned with golden Surhiiran filigree, but otherwise, it's a replica. The familiar weight of it in my hands is oddly comforting. As I slip it on, adjusting the leather straps, a sense of rightness settles over me.

This is who I am now.

A healer and a harbinger of death in equal measure.

At least for tonight.

Whether I survive this day or not, it's the last day I'll don this mask. Either I'll die, or I'll wake up tomorrow in a new life with my pack.

With Ivy.

The mask's eye lenses tint the world in shades of amber, making it all look surreal. It's fitting. What we're about to do still feels like a fever dream at times.

I check my watch, unease coiling in my gut as I note the time. We're cutting it close.Tooclose. A traitorous voice in the back of my mind whispers that maybe I was wrong. Maybe honor doesn't mean anything to Azarel anymore.

After all, our brotherhood once meant something too.

And look how easily that crumbled.

The seconds tick by, each one feeling like an eternity as restless energy rippling through our forces. The Surhiiran troops stand at perfect attention, a sea of white and gold, while Nikolai's mercenaries shift and mutter amongst themselves. Two very different armies with drastically different skill sets, united for one impossible goal.

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