Page 99 of Shackled By Shadows

“You just . . . kill?” I whisper, my breath catching in my throat. “No remorse? Nothing?”

Zander’s eyes darken, his gaze turning colder, harder than steel.

“I don’t always have the luxury of remorse, either,” he says, his voice so quiet it is almost a threat. “I don’t get to choose who lives or dies. I do what’s necessary. What I’ve always done.”

I don’t know what to say. There is nothing left to say. I turn away, my mind racing, but all I can hear is the hollow sound of Zander’s voice echoing in my head, a constant reminder of the price of survival.

Zander leads us through the thick trees until we find a small clearing just off the main path. A fire will be too risky, we have blankets and enough supplies to get through the night.

As we settle in, I wrap my arms around myself, trying to shake the lingering fear coiled inside me. My power has never done that before. It has never felt so raw, so violent.

I clench my fists, shoving the thought down. There is still work to do.

We have more supply lines to hit before the real fight begins.

We settle into the camp, taking seats and preparing for the night, when Ash digs into his pack and pulls out a bottle of liquor with a triumphant grin. The weight in my chest eases, just a little.

“Well, I’d say we earned this,” Ash declares, popping the cork with a quick flick of his wrist.

“And you—” he points at me, “probably need it the most after . . . whatever the hell that was.”

I roll my eyes, but take the bottle when he offers it. The burn of alcohol slides down my throat, warming my insides, but it doesn’t quite chase away the unease curling inside me.

I swallow and smirk. “How do you always seem to have this on you?”

Ash gives me a smug look. “I’m always well prepared.”

Zander scoffs, reaching for the bottle when I pass it over. “Prepared? More like a drunk.” He takes a swig, wincing slightly before handing it back to Ash.

“Excuse you, I am a survivalist.” Ash leans back against a tree, stretching out like he has no care in the world.

“Alcohol is essential to surviving miserable nights in the woods with the two of you.”

“Oh, how will we ever repay you for suffering through our company?” I deadpan, rolling my eyes again.

“Free drinks when we win this war,” Ash shoots back, flashing a grin. “And maybe a statue in my honor.”

Zander lets out a rare chuckle. “The world doesn’t need a statue of you.”

Ash presses a hand to his chest in mock offense. “I think the world needs exactly that. A heroic figure, bottle in one hand, blade in the other, charming smile that could melt hearts—”

“You’re an idiot,” I mutter, but a small smile tugs at my lips despite everything.

Ash just grins wider. “And yet, you love me.”

I huff, shaking my head as I take another drink. For the first time since the battle, since Oberon, the weight on my shoulders feels a little lighter. The fear is still there, but at least for tonight, I can push it down.

The next day, we are off on another mission, another supply run. My body moves on instinct, but my mind is elsewhere, tangled in the events of the night before. Nerves twist in my gut, but this time, it isn’t the thoughts of Oberon that hold me captive.

This time, it is fear.

Not of the enemy. Not of failing.

Fear of myself.

I didn’t know my power could do that. I didn’t even know it was possible. And worse, I’m not sure if I want to be able to do it again.

They were hurting us, all of us, and we couldn’t fight back. I felt the panic clawing at my throat, the helplessness crushing me. I imagined them falling, imagined us winning, and then it had just happened.