Page 129 of Dance of Ruin

I want to turn and scream at Nico, tell him it’s me and that I’m freaking the fuck out. But I’m frozen in place, watching the two men with knives circle each other.

When it happens, it happens quickly.

Brutally.

The wolf doesn’t fight like a man. It’s like watching a wild beast: fluid and unmerciful. He lets Han get in one good swing before he surprises him with a swift kick to the shin. I and many others in the crowd gasp sharply when Han’s leg jerks unnaturally to the side with a loud snapping sound.

Jesus Christ.

Han screams as the wolf rakes the tip of his blade up his forearm, opening the skin and splattering blood across the stone beneath their feet. Han’s knife clatters to the ground as he falls to his knees.

The wolf doesn’t let up: he wraps his arm around Han’s neck from behind and drags him screaming across the floor, forcing him to face the crowd as they come to a stop right in front of us.

This is madness.

Sheer, savage lunacy.

I feel like I’m in some apocalyptic movie, watching warlord justice as the wolf jerks his arm, forcing Han’s head back and exposing his throat.

He brings the knife to Han’s neck.

I rip my eyes away, but not fast enough to avoid seeing the blade slice across Han’s throat in one clean arc.

Oh God…

Blood sprays out in a flood, the crowd gasping and screaming—some in horror, others in rapt, orgiastic voyeurism.

I stumble back, my entire body trembling.

Nico sits—masked, unmoving and silent—as the body drops to the ground.

Thisis what he’s part of.

What he's been keeping from me.

My legs start moving on their own accord.

I slip away from the crowd, melting back into the shadows near the stone archway carved with runes that leads to the flickering hallway.

The man in the wolf mask called it “a way out.”

It’d better be.

No one sees me slip out. I stumble down the hall, still looking over my shoulder at the gothic cathedral scene. Then I turn, and Irun.

My heels are loud against the stone, but I don’t care. I keep running, my breath shallow and frantic until I suddenly hit a wall. The hallway branches left and right.

Oh, fuck.

This isn’t an exit.

It’s a maze.

But I can’t go back to the carnage in the cathedral. So I blindly choose left, and bolt that way. Then right. Then another right, followed by a left.

Panic begins to claw at me.

Every turn looks identical—arched ceilings, flickering light, stone walls that feel like they're pressing in closer with each corner I round.

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