LUMM 1: Die a Horrid Death, Arlo Crowhaven

10 | crowns & clues

I folded my hands, dusting it from the particles they caught from the window sill. Ethan watched every move with hawk-like eyes, not letting go of any detail. So, I stuck to one spot, kept my stance at ease, and beamed at him. He didn't bother me. I wasn't scared of him, of what he had done, or what he could do. Like everyone who participated in this wild chase, he was but a pawn in an elaborate game I established.

"It was a fun game, indeed," I replied with a small nod—the only thing I let past my curated outward image. "Let's be civilized people and talk. I'm sure you have questions before I put you in place. Think of it as your final words before the Ocalira slap on your wrists."

Ethan scoffed. He must have a plan of his own, but with me pulling all the strings I could, it had been a waste. His anonymity—the only weapon and secret he held against me—was now in my hands. If he was any wiser, he'd surrender now, admit his defeat, and go quietly. While I still had patience for him, that was. He had been a good friend, but if he stuck with me all those months as part of his revenge, then he deserved what I planned for him.

"How?" Ethan tilted his head to the side, exhaling a short gust from his nostrils as if he couldn't believe we were having this conversation. "I don't have anything to say to you except that. How did you know it was me?"

I reached into my pocket and drew out the pin with the felt tip. The silver glinted against the morning sun as the pin streaked from my hand to Ethan. The culprit reached out and snatched it before it curved down. He opened his palm and stared at the pin now settled on his hand. His gaze snapped up to mine. "What is this?"

"A pin. One that fell from one of the theater girls' uniforms," I said, jerking my chin towards him. "You're more familiar with it than you let on, aren't you?"

Ethan snorted. "It could be one of the girls in the Theater Annex. It could be Alyson," he replied. "Why do you think it was me?"

I edged my bottom lip out. "It could be." I bobbed my head slowly as if being convinced. But it wasn't Alyson. Never her. Because while love could drive people to take their next breaths, other times, it could be revenge. So, I raised a finger and touched it to my lips. Knitting my eyebrows, I continued, "But there's the matter of the carriage. And the smudge."

A sordid laugh tore from him. "Carriages and smudges?" he said. "I might have been wrong about you, Arlo. You've officially lost it."

"Oh, to be in your mind," I said, a hint of smile pulling at the corners of my lips. "So quiet, and so...linear."

I would thank Andy for that line later. Steepling my fingers, I took a deep breath and glanced at the bell. If I presented it as something so obvious and not something I didn't spend three days fixating on, I could do to him what Andy gained a reputation for. I could poke him straight into the heart and work my way towards his resolve.

The common folk have an innate belief—once dirt-born, forever a dirt-born. They have internalized this to a point where they would squirm like a toothed leech dunked in salt whenever an elite reminds them of their capabilities and up to what point they could control their fate. Andy was the main practitioner of that, except it targeted everyone whom he thought to be underneath him. Perhaps, I owed the devil more than a word of thanks.