Page 34 of Obliterated
“Then what is he exactly? To you and Max?” I press.
“Well… I call him Dad in private.”
My head whips her way so fast my neck protests. “Wait, what?Dad? He’s yourfather?”
A short shake of her head. “Not biologically. You know we were in the orphanage together, right? Roe adopted me when I was seven. Max was nine at the time and already a fucking menace.” She snorts, like the memory is equal parts fond and exasperated. “Picking fights with older boys twice his size, scaling the wall like he was born feral, getting punishment more than the actual troublemakers. But somehow, we became close, and I didn’t want to leave without him. We were a package deal, still are. And Roe… Well, no one could contain Max, not really, but he still took him in. Adopted him too.”
I can only fucking blink.
She glances at me like I’m the fool here. “I mean, it’s basic knowledge. I assumed you knew.”
My wide eyes snap back to Max, who now stands tall before the Nine, framed in the light of the setting sun and starting shadows like he was born for this stage.
The crowd surges, voices colliding into one deafening chant—Max. Max. Max.It rolls through the arena like thunder, stamping feet and clapping hands shaking the stone beneath me.
He never told me about Roe. But she’s right… we don’t really talk. Not about the deep stuff. We’re not at that part in our… let’s call it a relationship.
Not yet.
I want to be. Gods, I want to learn everything about this enigma of a man, the way he can be nothing but steel and violence to the world and somehow soft and almost gentle with me. I want to know him, really know him. And know more about Roe too. The man who’s apparently like a father to him, the man who rules the Watchers…
“But it makes little sense,” I say, processing this information out loud. “The Watchers are guarding the prison. How can they do this to Max? Torture him? Disobey Roe’s orders and do this to his adoptive son?”
“Loyalty can be bought,” Tass answers flatly.
“That should not come cheap.”
She snorts. “And who’s got the deepest purse on this island?”
The name slams into me before she even finishes.Joyeus. Of course. She’s seated smugly on Noura’s other side, lips curling too fucking pleased with herself as Max stands there, waiting for their judgement, arms loose at his sides.
Then Noura rises.
The crowd silences like a switch flipped.
My stomach knots so tight I can barely breathe. Because every inch of me knows—especially after what Tass just told me—this isn’t a fight. It’s a setup.
And Max is the one getting burned.
But he doesn’t cower. He rolls his shoulders again, slow, like he’s just shaking off rain instead of half a dozen fresh injuries. Squares up in the center of the Pit, spine straight, jaw set. Defiance written in every line of him.
He doesn’t look at Noura. Doesn’t even spare her a glance.
No… his head tips just enough, scanning past the crowds, until his gaze locks right where it always does.
On me.
Like he knew exactly where to look, like he didn’t have to search at all. I know we’re somewhere close to their usual spot, but the crowd is big, as is the arena.
Somehow he still finds me like it’s muscle memory.
My chest caves in and everything else fades. The crowd, the Nine, all the questions clawing at me about Roe, about Joyeus, about his past… gone.
All that’s left is him.
He nods once, barely a dip of his chin, like that’s all the reassurance he thinks I’ll need. LikeI’ve got thisis carved into his bones.
But I see the bruises. The swelling. The blood drying down his side.
