The Night We Met Pt.3 [Edited]

August opened his mouth but no sound came out.

Good. Silence was easier than whatever half-thought plea he might’ve come up with. And I needed a moment—a quiet one. To catch my breath. To remember why I'd just threatened to bash my skull open like a dropped egg.

Not because I was unwell, thank you very much. Though I suppose I might've looked the part—Blood dribbling down my chin. Swaying. Smiling in a way that made people reconsider standing close to me.

You’re not thinking straight.

That was what I imagined he'd say.

But he'd be wrong. Cracking my skull wasn’t the beginning of madness, but rather the end of planning.

The plan was born in that silent minute before I’d let go of his wrist.

First came the urge.

Stab him.

Not with words. But the very real, very physical act of driving something sharp into his gut.

I had the needle in my sleeve.

He was the gatekeeper. My ride out of this Ward was a literal heartbeat away, waving softly in the breeze, and he was about to set it on fire.

That's when I remembered.

“If I stabbed you...”

I'd said it to him, hadn’t I? Earlier, when I pressed him about Alfred.

At the time I was trying to provoke him. Push his buttons.

Then, the urge became a question: If I stabbed him—really stabbed him—what would happen? Maybe hurting him would hurt Alfred somehow.

August was Haleborn—no, not quite. He was an Ascended Hale. Built from the pieces of a true Hale. In terms of organ ownership, they weren't his. And what was even more important... they still weren’t.

What if, hypothetically... Alfred was not only the originator of the organs, but their sustainer? What if the organs functioned solely because the original source, Alfred, was still alive?

It would explain everything. Why he was Alfred's bodyguard. Why he obeyed. It wasn't loyalty. It was life support. If Alfred died, so did the organs.

And if that was true... they needed me alive too. They'd had plenty of chances. I was short, I had no experience in combat, I was a scrawny, unremarkable thing.

August, Fia, Alfred. Any of them could've killed me at any time if they really wanted to.

I was useful, sure, but the need to keep me alive ran deeper than that.

Jonas.

Why? If I was nothing but a walking organ bank, they surely would’ve hacked me open, taken what they needed, and dumped the rest.

But they needed me, for him. For the transplant meant to “save” him.

So—by that train of thought—they wanted something that still needed my heart to beat.

That would make me... important. Neither valuable nor special. Simply necessary.

And that terrified me.

If you were valuable, you could be traded. If you were necessary, you got used until you broke.

There.

That was the logic. That was my leverage.

So I made a decision. A stupid, risky, but entirely rational decision. I'd chosen to be the type of hostage no kidnapper would want to have: one who was fully aware of her importance.

And that was when I stood. And walked. And bashed my skull into the Wall.

It was a gamble. And a gamble—from the current look on August’s face—that had worked.

I wiped the blood from my mouth with the pads of my fingers. “You’re being annoyingly quiet.”

...

“I can do it again, you know.” I cheerfully tapped my temple, right at the spot I’d previously cracked it. “My skull’s tough, but I’m sure I can get through it if I keep trying.”

He blinked, once. “I-what. You’re not thinking straight.”

And there it was. The predictable response.

He reached for me.

“Touch me,” I warned, “and the shards from my skull go right into my brain.”

He stopped, hand still outstretched.

We stood like that for another second.

I held my nerve. I held eye contact.

But what if he didn’t buy it?

What next?

Then, slowly, very reluctantly, he dropped his hand.

I was expecting a reaction of some sort. Anger, maybe. Fear, definitely, since it wasn’t every day your hostage smashed their brain to smithereens.

Instead... “You weren’t supposed to figure that out.”

He didn’t sound surprised, or impressed. Just those empty words.

I didn’t answer. Mostly because I didn’t trust myself not to wobble. But also because I wanted to see where he’d go with this.

“At first, I didn't know.” He kept his eyes on the wall. “When I got Ascended… I thought being Hale meant I'd be stronger. Better. But I wasn't. I wasn't any of those things. I just got weaker and weaker.”

His free hand bunched into a fist. It trembled, and quivered, like it was resisting the urge to punch something.

“Hales don't get to keep anything. We don't get to keep a single Blight. We're always warring with our own bodies. Always detoxifying, always fighting. No matter how hard you try, it never gets better.”

I didn’t realize I’d gone silent until he continued.

“There's a price to pay for everything. We have to do things that we shouldn't, things we regret, all just for a few more days of not being helpless.”

There was a certain kind of despair in his voice. A hopelessness that was almost too familiar.

“Back then, I had it good. Compared to now, at least.”

August's fist relaxed into an open palm.

“I think I miss it. Sometimes. Living in a body that never got better. Weak, but somehow strong. I was just like everyone else.”

And then, without even realizing, he said it—

“Yori, I miss being a Wasting-born.”

I felt something twist in my gut. Stronger than pity, than empathy, though both of those were there. What he said... it hit too close to home.

He wasn’t trying to sympathize with me. He was just mourning.

And what made it worse—he didn’t even realize he was repeating something I’d screamed until I’d been hoarse. He didn't know that I'd sobbed over a detox screen, or that my version of praying was simply wishing to be less divine.

Why was I born like this?

All those times spent cursing my body for tossing away its power so callously. And here he was. Proof that the grass was, indeed, greener on the other side.

Our eyes met. He looked tired.

“You're sure you want this? You understand what it means?”

I did understand.

But… did I want it?

“Once the transplant is done, those organs will no longer be yours. They'll go to him. You'll drop to Wasting-tier. You should consider it. Alfred'll cover your suppression tonic costs, probably for life. You'll never have to worry about detoxicating again. And you'll be...” his eyes dropped down to a spot on the side. “Like I used to be. But in a better place.”

“You think it's better?” I was surprised at how soft my voice had gotten. “Being... Wasting?”

Briefly, he stared at me with eyes that seemed to say he'd rather be in my shoes. Or maybe I was misinterpreting his look.

“Not necessarily. But better in some ways. You know your limits. When the Blight hits you, it stays. It doesn't just pass through you like wind.”

I managed a weak smile. “You sound like someone who envies parasites.”

“Maybe I do.”

“Suppression tonic costs,” I tried out the words on my tongue. “For... life.”

I smiled—properly this time—at this statement, but it wasn't nice.

“You must think I'm really stupid.”

His jaws tensed like he was bracing for a well-deserved slap.

I continued, with all the emotion of someone reading facts from a textbook,

“Alfred's bathhouse has been on the decline for a few months now. Well water prices have dropped drastically. Customers realized they don't need fancy soaks now that there are cheaper ways to reduce Blight Load. They stopped coming, and I bet they won’t be coming back soon.”

He didn't try to deny it.

“Let’s be generous and pretend he’s still making a trickle from the regulars. You think a few coin-purse change is going to be enough to cover a lifetime’s worth of tonics?”

I dropped my voice.

“If Alfred could afford a lifetime's worth for me, August, then he wouldn't need me in the first place. You don’t keep a pig around if the pantry’s full.”

For a second, neither of us spoke.

His Adam's Apple bobbed. Whatever excuse he was about to give died before they made it past his lips. Expected, really. There was nothing he could respond to.

I pointed lazily at my head. “Alfred will hear of this. And he'll know exactly how the whole thing went down.” I added weakly, already feeling regret, “knowing him, he'll get pretty creative in his way of punishing me.”

August stepped closer, then thought better of it. Good.

“He'll probably have me restrained. Chained, even. And drip-fed just enough suppression to keep the organs alive.”

I let that settle for a moment before adding dryly, “If he's feeling generous.”

“If not... he'd just cut open my temple and rip out the spark that made me me.”

I bent forward, slowly, so he had no choice but to meet my eyes.

“He'll turn me into a vegetable, August. I'll spend the rest of my life lying in a bed, mouth wide open, drool sliding off my chin as I stare into the ceiling while you all go about your lives.”

I waited for him to deny it. Reassure me. Say it wouldn't be that bad, that Alfred was a reasonable person. He wouldn't go that far.

But he just stayed silent.

All the while, he still had one hand on the rope ladder. All he had to do was will it, and the ladder would be nothing more than a charred lump on the grass. And with it, any chance I had of climbing out of this filthy Ward.

However, he hadn’t done that. Yet.

So I watched him. I watched the whiteness in his knuckles, the little tremors in his hand that showed the self-control he must've been exercising.

He looked ready. Not to ignite the rope. But to be asked why, in spite of all the good reasons to do so, he still hadn’t done it.

“You said Alfred did it for a friend, right?” I kept my voice level, as if I were testing the temperature of a bath instead of my own odds of survival. “That he didn’t mind.”

“...Yes.” August said nothing more than that.

“Then do it for a friend too.”

I didn’t emphasize the word “friend.” He either got it or he didn’t.

This wasn't for him to feel sorry for me, and he didn't have the luxury to do so, even if he wanted to.

This was purely accounting.

“Don’t take my way out. Let me have this.”

His eyes were on me, taking me in. He didn’t seem to be looking for anything in particular. He was just... confirming, placing this moment in the folder titled 'Later.'

There was a second of total, quiet silence. The space between one heartbeat and the next.

Then, with the smallest movement of his lungs, August exhaled and let go of the ladder.

Slowly, I turned my eyes skyward.

The top of the ladder disappeared into the inky blackness above.

There had to be a catch.

And yet...

Before my brain finished running through its cost-benefit analysis, my body had already made the decision for me. My hand closed around the rope. My foot found a rung.

And then I was climbing.

Not knowing what awaited me at the top.

The rungs were cold under my fingers. Slippery, too—hard to tell whether it was my blood or sweat.

I didn’t look up. The climb was just a steady, consistent pattern with no emotion in it at all.

Left foot. Right hand. Repeat.

Over and over again, until I got somewhere else entirely.

The moment continued.

And I was waiting for it. A voice calling me back. A hand reaching for my ankle.

A trick.

But nothing came. So I climbed. Five more rungs. Then six.

I was almost starting to believe, hope. And then, I caught a subtle whiff of it.

Smoke.

My body moved before I had a chance to think. I twisted around and peered down the length of the ladder.

In a breathless second, I found the source.

August.

He had his back turned, one hand in his pocket, walking back the way he came, step by step into the dark.

It took me a full minute to register—a single cigarette dangled from his other hand.

He took a slow drag. The smoke wafted over to me by the time it left his lips.

I blinked at the sight. Then, I laughed. But it wasn’t out of relief. Just... I laughed because it was so ridiculously stupid.

So that was it. All of that had been over nothing. All that fear, all that anxiety—over nothing. He was just smoking. Because of course he was. It was the last thing I was expecting, and it made me laugh and cry, loud and bright, until my stomach cramped.

I watched him for a second longer. Long enough to be sure. Then, I let out one last long breath and started climbing again.

He'd let me go. And I... I took the moment for what it was. Relief, but not freedom. Because now I was in his debt. And sooner or later, the cost would come due. What form it'd be... that was what'd keep me up at night, now.