Page 44 of The Lies We Steal

That's what makes the hunt fun for them.

I don't let my fears deter me from finding out what exactly it was that had grabbed everyone's attention. What had been so interesting it caused everyone to leak out of their own spaces and into the hallway after a long day of classes.

“Excuse me,” I mumble, parting through bodies. Navigating my way through them with Lyra on my heels. Her steps less anxious than mine as if she already knew what was waiting.

“What is that?!”

“Fucking weirdos!”

“It reeks!”

There was one single nail piercing the skull of a skinned and sliced critter. Its medium-sized body dangles from sliver nails, a stream of dark fluid flows down the door and congealed in a blob on the floor. The smell had fermented due to the heat blaring through the halls.

Rotting meat and savage intent seeped into my body. My skin crawled with inevitability. My palms sweating, my mouth dry and my heart striking my sternum like a drum. I pushed through, grabbing the doorknob and thrusting the door open.

I frantically made my way to the cage on my desk, flipping the lid open and clicking my tongue. Hope disintegrates in my chest. My sweet all-white girl doesn't come skittering out of her hideaways for a treat as she normally does.

Desperately I toss around the swings and houses, searching the entire space of her home. A sob rips from my throat as I pick up the metal cage throwing it furiously to the ground. The pieces shattered on the floor.

I'd never felt such fury in my life. No one had ever done something like this to me before, came into my space, and stolen from me. I'd always been the one doing the taking. I'd been in control of what someone could keep and what they couldn't.

“Briar…” Lyra whispers behind me, my shoulders rising and falling with massive breaths, water running down my cheeks. My vision is blurry with anger and pain. Her eyes sad for me, but a piece of her wants to tell me, say I told you so. I can see it.

I turn seeing the entire floor watching me like I'm some circus act. I want to scream, to yell at them to get the hell out, and I'm about to.

But I see the paper. The white paper that's beneath my dead rat that's hanging from the door. I swipe my tears with the back of my hand, stalking to the door, the girls behind it jumping back at my aggressive nature.

I rip the note off the wall, peering down at the words scribbled in dark red, no doubt blood. There was no signature, nothing, because he knew I would identify who it was from. It wasn't from Rook, not Thatcher, or Silas.

No, it was from the one with the dark eyes.

I’m coming for what’s mine, Little Thief. Until then, keep quiet.

Alistair

Pop-pop, pop-pop.

The sharp sound propagates through the air and I don't have to message anyone to know where they are. Heavy metal fireworks echo as I walk around the backside of Silas's house to the backyard where there is a section of the space dedicated to one of his many extracurricular activities.

The place we know he goes when the voices get too loud. When the things in his head start to seep out into the real world. The shooting range that his father designed for him is simple, targets at different yards, a booth that we are supposed to stand behind along with safety equipment that has never been touched.“Two hundred bucks says you won't stand in front of the fifteen-yard target.” I hear Thatcher say as the gun stops going off.

“Make it five and you've got a deal.” Rook bargains.

There is a quick shake of hands and I know I should say something. Tell them it's stupid and reckless, anyone else would. If I was a good friend, I would. We don't need someone shot on top of the shit we have on our plate, but if they are making the bet, I know who is shooting.

And he doesn't miss.

Ever.

Leaves have begun to fall on the ground, crunching beneath my feet as I make my way to the booth. I lean my arms on the bench, watching them. Silas is surprisingly out of his black hoodie, a gray t-shirt straining against his massive shoulders.

He always conceals himself. Never the kind of guy who struts around or shows off. Content being in the background, but when he's in his element, when he's doing what he enjoys, he loves to flaunt his talents.

Rook is holding a bag of chips, walking down the path of open trees standing in front of a black, white, and red target in the shape of a human's upper body. He turns to face us, smirking.

There is no fear. No anxiety. Just excitement for the adrenaline that's about to come. When you get over the obstacles your brain gives you when a fearful situation is present, when you face the panic head-on, fear can become the best aphrodisiac in the world.

It's called the flood.

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