"YOU want my help?"
Ace bristles, sliding off the hound's stomach and onto the hardened ground before me. "Don't make me say it again, Marks."
I scoff, knowing it's better to bite my tongue than prod the beast. The worst thing I can do is chase Ace off since he might be the key to getting Quin back.
"I need to find Pax. Where's your skinwalker partner?" He asks while taking off into trot towards the rocky forest, completely abandoning his own territory.
"Quin. You mean Quin? I haven't seen him since last night."
He digs his heels into the ground, whipping around. "And that doesn't worry you?"
I swallow. "...a bit."
Ace stares me down in utter disbelief. Then, wringing his hands, he turns and keeps walking, boots crunching against the gravel as they might with snow.
"Alright! Here's the plan. Listen up, Marks, or I swear I'm going to—"
"—break my teeth and use them to dig out my entrails?" I finish, unamused.
"I was going to say: 'to dig out your lungs'—but sure. Let's go with that." Ace clears his throat. "So we need to find Pax and your boyfriend—"
"—not my boyfriend."
"—and somehow keep our two territories Somnian free," he says. "Meaning we should combine our territories, patrol them as if they are one, large mass, and scout for Pax and Quinton in the meantime."
There is no arguing. It would be pointless, as useful as striking up a watered down match to burn down this skeleton of progress.
We patrol in silence. I've forgotten, through all his unstable bursts of anger, how talented Ace is. There's a reason why he's the top of the class, and—from his top two ranking as of now in the exam. Within the hour we've cleaned up my territory, retraining three Somnians and chasing off one particularity opinionated harpie. The Somnians of Ace's land are far more agressive. Stubborn. It's no help that the snow seeps into my pants and bites my skin, or that my vision is obscured by a persistent wall of white from an unwavering blizzard.
Just as the sun falls, we finish up our final rounds and set camp on the border between our two territories. It's odd, feeling the frigid snow to my right and the warmer slap of wind to my left. Odd, but eventually it grows normal.
The heat of the campfire creeps along my legs, recently struck to life by a few unfortunate logs of wood. I pull my feet under me, away from the flames reach, for fear it will trigger an onslaught of memories that I'd rather not face again.
Ace sits across from me, knees brought up to his chest. Silent. The fire's shadows dance along his skin as he studies the flames, mouth opening solely to release a withheld breath.
A soft buzzing rattles the backpack besides me. The device! My fingers fly to the backpack, more than happy to occupy themselves under the oppressive silence. The rankings are up. I don't have to scroll long to find my name, 7th on the list—pushed up from the day of capturing rather than chasing off Somnians with Ace. He and Paxton are somehow back up in 1st.
"We're still in the running," I say, hoping to get any form of reaction from the statue of a man sitting across from me.
He says nothing.
I scratch the back of my neck, drawing my hands closer. "Don't worry, Ace. Pax is an elf, he can fend for himself. You won't be eliminated because of him."
YOU ARE READING
The Los Angeles Lighthouse | ✔
FantasyMason Marks is a screw up. Every day is a struggle to cough up enough money for rent, to ignore the reek of despair flooding the streets, to stop himself from slipping further into the shadows and slums of Downtown L.A. And he is sick of it. When h...
