The Past Hunts the Living

Evelyn barely slept.

Her mind churned over Damien's words, over the revelation that Alistair Veyne had been there when it all happened.

Velthorne had set him up.

The girl from Damien's past had died because of it.

And instead of being seen as the survivor of a betrayal, he had been locked away, buried, forgotten.

She watched him from where she sat near the dying embers of the fire. He had fallen asleep in the chair across from her, one arm draped lazily over the armrest, the other resting lightly against his chest—right over the place where he hid the necklace.

The one she had glimpsed once before but hadn't given much thought to.

But now… she wondered.

What if the girl had given it to him?

What if that was the last thing she had left behind?

Evelyn's jaw clenched.

This wasn't just about their fake relationship anymore.

This wasn't even about the mission.

She needed to know the truth.

And Alistair Veyne had it.

The first hints of dawn crept through the curtains. Evelyn pushed herself up, stretching her stiff muscles. She hadn't meant to stay up all night, but she doubted she would have been able to sleep anyway.

Damien stirred, exhaling softly as his silver eyes cracked open. They flickered to her immediately.

She met his gaze.

"We need to talk to Alistair."

Damien blinked slowly, then let out a groan as he sat up. "Really? I was hoping to avoid him."

Evelyn folded her arms. "He was there. He knows what happened."

Damien stretched, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the weight of sleep. "Yes, and I imagine he'd rather put a dagger in my back than talk about it."

Evelyn narrowed her eyes. "Then we make him talk."

A slow smirk curled Damien's lips. "Now you're starting to sound like me."

She scowled. "Don't flatter yourself."

He chuckled but didn't argue.

The plan was simple: Find Alistair. Corner him. Get answers.

But nothing was ever that easy.

When they stepped out of their chambers, the first thing they saw was a guard waiting for them.

"Lord Velthorne requests your presence," the man said stiffly.

Damien sighed dramatically. "He does enjoy keeping us busy."

Evelyn ignored him, nodding at the guard. "Where?"

"The west courtyard."

That was strange.

Velthorne preferred to meet in the dining hall or his private study, places where he had control over the environment.

So why the courtyard?

Something wasn't right.

As they followed the guard through the twisting halls of Velthorne Manor, Evelyn stole a glance at Damien. He was relaxed, hands in his pockets, gaze flicking lazily over their surroundings.

But she knew him well enough now.

He was reading every hallway, every exit.

Preparing.

Just in case.

The west courtyard was empty when they arrived, save for Velthorne and Alistair Veyne.

Evelyn's pulse quickened.

She had wanted to find Alistair—but not like this.

Velthorne smiled as they approached, gesturing toward a stone bench. "Join us."

Damien didn't move. "I prefer standing. More dramatic that way."

Velthorne chuckled, but his gaze was sharp. "I imagine you have questions."

Evelyn folded her arms. "You imagine correctly."

Velthorne nodded toward Alistair. "Then ask them."

Alistair stood stiffly beside him, his usual mask of calm unshaken.

Evelyn didn't hesitate.

"You were there," she said, watching him closely. "On the mission. Weren't you?"

Alistair's eyes flickered. Just for a moment.

But it was enough.

Damien exhaled through his nose. "Ah. So you were."

Velthorne leaned back against the stone ledge, watching them like a cat watching mice.

Alistair didn't confirm or deny it.

Which meant Evelyn was right.

Damien tilted his head. "So tell me, was I meant to die in that trap? Or was I just the convenient scapegoat?"

Alistair's expression didn't change, but his hands curled into fists at his sides.

Evelyn took a step forward. "She died, didn't she?"

That time, Alistair flinched.

It was barely there, just a twitch of muscle, but it was enough to make Evelyn's blood run cold.

"She mattered to you," Damien murmured, watching Alistair carefully. "Didn't she?"

A thick silence stretched between them.

Velthorne watched the exchange with interest, but he didn't interfere.

Finally, Alistair spoke, his voice low, sharp.

"She shouldn't have been there."

Evelyn's stomach twisted.

Damien's smirk vanished.

Alistair's jaw clenched. "Neither of you should have."

Evelyn's heartbeat pounded in her ears.

Damien exhaled slowly, his silver eyes dark with something unreadable. "And yet, here I am. A little worse for wear, but still breathing."

Alistair's gaze flicked to Velthorne.

That was all the confirmation Evelyn needed.

Velthorne had known.

He had known all along.

Evelyn turned to him, her voice colder than ice. "You sent them to die."

Velthorne didn't flinch, didn't deny it.

He just smiled.

"I sent them to test a theory," he corrected smoothly. "One that proved to be… most interesting."

Damien let out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. "Oh, that's rich."

Evelyn barely heard him.

Her blood was boiling.

She had served this man.

Had taken orders from him.

Had trusted him.

And now—she saw him for what he truly was.

A man who played chess with people's lives.

Her fingers itched to reach for her blade, but she forced herself to breathe.

Not yet.

Not here.

Velthorne spread his hands. "Come now. Surely you can appreciate the necessity of sacrifice?"

Evelyn's grip tightened. "Sacrifice," she echoed. "That's what you call it?"

Velthorne's smile never wavered.

Alistair, however, was still watching Damien.

And Evelyn could see it now—the guilt, the anger, the weight of something unspoken.

He hadn't just been there.

He had been part of it.

Damien knew it too.

For once, his smirk was gone.

And in its place was something far more dangerous.

Cold, quiet rage.

Evelyn swallowed.

This wasn't over.

Not by a long shot.