The Grey Blood #2

Final Declaration

Alicia's hair is still damp from the light drizzle of rain that had assaulted them as they'd stopped for the night to rest. She stands shivering, staring at the place in the crease of her elbow where the needle had pierced her skin, Yeong's cure taking away her immunity, the only thing that saved the foolish girl she once was in Kathryn's cabin. She curls her hand into a fist, feeling sick and knowing exactly why.

This might not even work. They could still die when they destroy the heart. Oliver could still die.

She clenches her fingers in her wet hair, wincing at the various aches in her body, but they feel so unimportant compared to the ache in her chest.

Indecision plagues her. She won't give him up, she refuses to give him up. She watched her father die in front of her, her aunt, her brother, she won't watch Oliver die too.

The crunch of footsteps behind her makes her jump and she spins around, glaring at the oncoming figure through the trees like it's wronged her. She's trying to sort through the chaos in her head, she doesn't have time for anyone else. But the broad shoulders and sharp jaw betray who's disturbed her.

Oliver's silvery gaze trails over her, flickering like stars in the night sky with the limited light coming from the lanterns behind him. Alicia's eyes go to the bottle in his hands and her chest squeezes.

"Whiskey?" he asks with a tilt of his head, a gentle smile beginning to curl his defined lips. He offers the bottle to her and she reaches for it with trembling fingers. Memories of the last time they did this flood through her and he must remembers too as he lets his grip linger around the bottle, his fingers brushing hers. A simpler time, another life.

She thought her struggles were crushing then. She barely knew the meaning of the word.

"Thank you," she manages to push past her lips on a breath. She'd been bruised then too, bruised and broken and unable to pick herself back up. He'd gathered the pieces for her and had helped her without expecting anything in return beyond learning how to help herself. She'd kicked him out, not even realising how much he meant to her even then.

Alicia steps towards him and gets a better look at him, dressed in fresh clothing. His soft sweater replaced with the sharp angles of a suit once again, tailored to his muscular shoulders and his narrow hips. His sleeves are rolled up after his own injection, revealing the scars on his arms. He looks ready for their arrival in the capital tomorrow morning, his mask back in place, the menacing mercenary that she met beneath the twisted streets of Muovea.

"How are you feeling?" he asks, leaning against the trunk of a tree, keeping distance between them. She doesn't want that distance but... they need it, especially with the burn in her lungs and the fact she's already begun coughing blood. She doesn't tell him that.

"Better," she lies instead. If these are to be their last days, then let blissful ignorance be the final weapon she uses.

Oliver lets out a breath, twisting his ring on his finger and staring down at it. "You know you can speak to me, Alicia, let me in on what's going on in your head every once in a while. I'm the last person who would judge you."

Alicia sits on a fallen log, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as she nods. "I know," she murmurs, fiddling with the cork of the bottle in her hands.

"Do you?"

His question makes her blink and Alicia glances up at him. His sterling gaze is on her, seeing more than he should, but she wants to be seen by him. He's the only person who's ever made her want that.

"You know more than most."

Oliver glances away from her, pressing his fingers to his lips, and it's her turn to wonder what's going on inside his head. "Recently, I feel like I don't know you at all."