VAIN | Inside the Universe

Chapter Twenty Three • The Devil Wrapped in Silk

"We?"

"It pains me, but yes. We."

"I don't remember agreeing to an assassination."

"I don't remember giving you a choice."

The arrogance with a body count sits back in his seat, running his fingers over the bottom of his glass until the stem lodged itself between his middle and pointer. Never would we be so careless as to write our thoughts in our eyes, but we stared into each other's from across the table as if we were reading our darkest secrets.

I'm starting to think we captivate silence. There's something about the way it finds us so fiercely, and how deafeningly loud it roars, as if it so desperately wants to impress us with how much of the room it can consume. And that it did as it often does in our meetings of joint chaos, coating the walls, ceiling to floor, in a suffocating blackness that yells out their lungs in praise, incentivizing us to act.

It was louder than usual, making it more difficult to withstand the urge to either burn Asgard to the ground again or jump across this table and tear eachother apart. His stare dared me to try. No, it wanted me to. But neither of us would ever admit that there's an novel itch we need to scratch.

I let the silence play for a minute before I finally broke it, leering into his eyes at his audacity to move his horse before any of his pawns.

"Is this about your friend?"

"We're not friends."

"I'm not fighting one of your petty vendettas."

"This is a much greater matter than both of us--"

"Don't act like revenge doesn't roll more smoothly off the tongue."

He arched an eyebrow, tapped the table once with his pointer to test the silence. The room ached for the sound of our voice again, but we were perhaps the most stubborn we've ever been. Our faces molded to a glacial stone as our tone flowed just as bitter and cold.

He found the noise ceased for a second at his taps impact, so he did it again. Once again, twice, three times, echoing the ticking of a bomb as if to test my own restraint.

"How long?" I snap.

"You've seen it."

I tap my own finger twice, taking a slow, steady breath to keep my composure. His pawn smugly takes two spaces. "How long has this been planned?"

The grin I've only imagined on his face slowly falls. He considered something in me before speaking, tilting his head slightly as if my eyes told him to think a thought over for a second time. If it wasn't his first instinct, then what he spoke was a risk he decided to take; sacrificing one of his pieces for the greater game.

He clenched his jaw and bored his eyes into mine as if the words came with warning. "We met years ago. I had gotten myself into a little...predicament. He resurrected me, and I had the mastery of chaos he needed."

It was quick, vague, but I expected him to lie. It was something. For what seems like the first time since I met him, something clicked. Frigga had written the worried words herself in her journal—the deal she and Odin dreaded he took.

A truth, whether it be full or not, was a gift with him. My face held the stone look it's cemented itself into, but my eyes couldn't help but dance just a bit darker.

"What did you do for him?"

"Slow."

"I have a right to be impatient."

"Ask a better question then."

His ability to demand while he deflects will forever fascinate me. It's an art only he could master. Hell, I buy into it before I can even realize I have.