Page 4 of Darkness and Deceit
The words hit me like a stone tossed into still water, sending ripples of anxiety coiling through my mind. I suddenly become aware of the expectations cascading onto my shoulders like a waterfall. I have trained for years, honing my skills. Enough to grasp the Balance, but not to master it. Surely others that are wiser, older, and more experienced are better suited for such a critical task.
“It is an honor,” I manage to say, though the words sit like lead on my tongue. “But I have not yet completed my training. Would it not be wiser to send someone more… seasoned?”
I glance down at the intricate patterns on the floor, feeling the legacy of my lineage—a long line of decorated Keepers—pressing down on me. Expectations are especially daunting when you haven’t yet become the person everyone anticipates you to be.
Malissa rises. “You are of strong lineage. And you are particularly attuned to the Balance for someone your age. The choice was clear to me from the start.”
I glance around the council chamber, taking in the twelve elders. Then I look at my grandmother. I know there is no place I would rather have her than here, far from the danger that waits beyond these walls.
I will not risk losing her. Not her. Not any of them.
No, this mission is mine to bear. Whether or not I feel ready... there is no choice but to accept it.
“I will go,” I say quietly, and the words settle like a seal across my chest.
Malissa’s gaze lingers on me. “Lilith Knight remains unproven. And yet, everything we know hangs on what she becomes. You are not to interfere—but you are to observe. Closely.”
She pauses.
“The Balance watches through you now, Augustus. Make sure it sees clearly.”
Two
LILITH
A single candleburns on the desk in front of me, but it might as well be a spotlight. Outside, storm clouds choke the sky, casting everything in shadows thick enough to feel like night.
Its flame dances, casting sharp shadows across my face while the rest of the room stays cloaked in darkness. The two men across from me sit still and silent—one scribbling notes, the other watching like he’s waiting for me to unravel.
Keepers.
Gods, Iwantto respect them. I really do. I should be awed.
But after hours in this stuffy room, after the same questions asked three different ways, after the silence, the scribbling, the way they look at me like a problem they still can’t solve… I’m struggling.
They act like they hold the realm together by sheer force of will and judgmental stares alone. Like the rest of us are just variables. Unknowns. Risks to be managed.
And me? I’m the biggest risk of all.
A Dual.
I shift in my seat, which is less of a chair and more of a punishment. It’s high-backed and straight, designed to keep meat attention. My back is killing me from the hours I’ve spent here.
I keep telling myself not to show weakness. Don’t let them see you sweat. But it’s getting harder with each passing moment. It’s as if I’m under a magnifying glass, where every syllable is being dissected and catalogued, and every pause or stutter is a potential sign of guilt.
“Begin again,” says the younger one on the left without looking up. His voice is clipped, polished, and absolutely void of humanity.
I grit my teeth. “We’ve already done this three times,” I say, and even I can hear the edge creeping in.
Without missing a beat—the older, red-haired Keeper—responds. “Protocol requires repetition.” His voice is smooth, but the way he says protocol makes me want to claw at the stone beneath my feet. He speaks like everything I am is a variable in a formula only he understands, an equation to be solved by subtraction. Subtract the lies, subtract the fantasy, and maybe you’ll get to the residue of truth.
It’s fucking infuriating. I’ve never felt so raw, so exposed, so close to exploding. I want to scream, to pace, to hurl the damn candle at the wall, but there’s nowhere for the frustration to go except back inside me. It piles up behind my ribs, a pressure cooker, waiting for a vent.
Not to mention my head is pounding. My bladder is about to burst. I haven’t eaten. And now I’m supposed to recount every terrifying thing that’s happened like I’m reading it from a script.Again.
I clench my jaw and glance at the door. It’s sealed, of course—no guard necessary, just a lattice of invisible sigils keeping everything and everyone exactly where they’re meant to be. I’m not a guest, not a prisoner, but something in between. A liabilityunder observation. My only company is the relentless candle flame and the unyielding eyes of the Keepers.
I take a shaky breath and rub at the tired ache behind my eyes.
