My hands are slick with sweat.
The third man—a soldier with a cocky grin—is leaning against the barracks door, blocking my only way out.
Gu Chen is watching from the shadows of the porch, his eyes cold and expectant, like he's waiting for the fuse to blow.
"You look like you've seen a ghost, Lin Yue," the soldier says. His name is Zhao. He's one of Gu Chen's subordinates, and he's clearly too stupid to be afraid.
I step back. My heels hit the uneven dirt. Body: Nausea rising. Lungs tight. "Move, Zhao," I say. My voice is thin, trembling.
"Why the rush? The Commander is busy. I thought you might need some... company." He reaches out, his fingers skimming the fabric of my sleeve. He's young, maybe twenty, with a scar on his chin that he probably thinks makes him look tough. To me, it just looks like a bullseye.
Thought: This is bad. This is happening again. He's flirting with the trigger.
"Don't touch me," I hiss.
"Lin Yue."
Gu Chen's voice cuts through the air like a whip. He's standing ten feet away, arms crossed over that military coat. He doesn't look angry; he looks bored. Destabilizingly bored. Like he's watching a boring documentary about a train wreck.
"Commander," Zhao says, straightening up, but he doesn't move away from me. He wants to show off. He wants to be the guy who isn't scared of the village witch.
"Get inside, Lin Yue," Gu Chen orders. He doesn't look at Zhao. He keeps his gaze pinned on me, heavy and suffocating. "Stay in the office. Don't come out until I tell you."
"But—"
"Now."
I should listen. Gu Chen is a threat, but he's a shield. But the way he's caging me, treating me like a biological weapon he's just waiting to see explode, makes my blood boil. He's not protecting me. He's containing me.
I don't go inside. Instead, I turn back to Zhao. I see the way he's looking at me—the curiosity, the heat. He thinks this is a game. He doesn't realize he's standing on a trapdoor.
Choice: I have to warn him. If I can stop one death, maybe the rules aren't absolute. Maybe I'm not a monster.
"Zhao, listen to me," I whisper, stepping closer to him, ignoring Gu Chen's darkening expression.
"I'm listening," Zhao grins, leaning down. He smells like cheap tobacco and sweat.
"Get away from here. Go to the stables. Go to the village. Just get away from me."
"Why? You afraid I'll catch whatever you've got?" He laughs. It's a loud, booming sound that grates on my nerves. "I like a little danger, Lin Yue. Makes life interesting."
"I'm serious! If you stay near me, something will happen. Just go!"
"Lin Yue! I said inside!" Gu Chen is moving now. His boots are heavy on the wood, a rhythmic thud-thud-thud that sounds like a countdown.
I ignore him. I grab Zhao's hand—a desperate, impulsive mistake. My skin touches his. It's hot. Too hot. I just want to pull him away from the door, to force him to move, to break the circuit.
"Run, Zhao! Please!"
The air doesn't just turn cold. It freezes.
The ringing in my ears is so sharp I stumble, my knees hitting the dirt. My vision blurs into grey static. Zhao's grin falters. He looks up at the roof of the barracks, his eyes widening.
"What's that noise?" he asks.
Above us, a heavy iron pulley used for hauling supply crates groans. It's been there for years, rusted and silent. Now, it sounds like it's screaming. The rusted chain snaps with a sound like a gunshot. Crack.
"Move!" I scream.
I push him. I push him as hard as I can toward the open yard, my palms stinging from the force.
Consequence: I pushed him the wrong way.
Zhao stumbles, his boot catching on a loose stone. He falls backward, directly into the shadow of the falling iron block.
CRUNCH.
The sound of metal hitting bone is sickeningly wet. Like a hammer hitting a ripe melon. Zhao doesn't even have time to scream. The heavy block smashes into his shoulder and chest, pinning him to the dirt. Dust billows up, tasting of copper and old earth.
"Help! Someone help!" I'm on my knees, hands hovering over the mess of red and iron. I want to pull the block off him, but I'm terrified that if I touch it, it'll get worse.
Soldiers are running now. Shouting. The panic is immediate. Lanterns sway, casting long, jagged shadows.
Gu Chen is there in three strides. He doesn't look at Zhao. He grabs me by the back of my tunic and hauls me up, throwing me toward the office door. My feet barely touch the ground.
"You stupid girl," he growls. His face is a mask of fury, his jaw set so tight I think his teeth might break. "I told you to stay put."
"I was trying to save him!" I sob, the salt of my tears stinging the scratches on my face.
"You triggered it! You touched him! You spoke to him!" He slams me against the doorframe, his arm across my throat, pinning me there. "You wanted to see if you could beat it, didn't you? You wanted to feel like you had control. How does it feel, Lin Yue? Does it feel like victory?"
"I just didn't want him to die!"
"Well, look at him!"
Zhao is gasping, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth. It's bright, frothy red. Lung blood. His collarbone is shattered, the white bone peeking through the raw meat of his shoulder. He's not dead—not yet—but the agony in his eyes is worse than the silence of the others.
"He's still alive," I whisper, my voice trembling. "Maybe the curse—"
"The curse isn't finished," Gu Chen says, his voice a dark, cruel rasp.
He lets go of my throat and turns to his men. "Leave him. Don't touch the block. Don't touch the man."
"Commander?" a soldier asks, horrified. "He's bleeding out! We have to lift it!"
"If you touch him, you're next," Gu Chen barks. The authority in his voice is absolute. "Look at the chain."
We all look. The chain didn't just snap. It's twisting. It's moving like a snake in the dirt, coiling around Zhao's remaining good arm, tightening with every shallow breath he takes. It's impossible. It's physics defying itself.
Zhao looks at me. Through the pain, through the blood, he wheezes out a single, jagged sentence.
"You... you tried to... help..."
The moment the words of gratitude leave his lips, the iron pulley—already heavy—suddenly doubles in size. The metal groans, expanding, a massive, impossible weight crushing the life out of his lungs. I hear his ribs snap. One. Two. Three.
Gu Chen looks at me, his eyes devoid of any pity. He looks at me like I'm a hurricane he's trying to map.
"You warned him," Gu Chen murmurs, leaning close to my ear. His breath is warm against my cold skin. "And that was the kindest way you could have killed him."
Outside, the chain continues to tighten, pulling Zhao's broken body into the dirt until the gurgling stops.
The other soldiers are staring at me now. They aren't just afraid anymore. They're hateful. They see their friend's blood on the dirt, and they see me standing next to the man who let it happen.
"Commander," one of them says, his voice shaking. "We can't keep her here. She's killing us."
Gu Chen doesn't blink. He grabs my arm and pulls me into the office, slamming the door shut on the grieving crowd. He turns to me, his face inches from mine.
"You wanted to be a hero, Lin Yue," he says, his voice dangerously soft. "But in this village, heroes just provide the bodies."
"I hate you," I hiss. "You let him die just to prove a point."
"I let him die so I didn't have to bury five more of my men trying to save a corpse," he snaps. He reaches for a bottle of whiskey on his desk, his hands steady while mine are still vibrating. "Now, sit down. The village head is already on his way, and this time, he's bringing more than torches."
I sink into the wooden chair, the smell of Zhao's blood still thick in my nose. I look at my hands. They're clean, but I can still feel the heat of his skin.
"Why are you still keeping me?" I ask. "Your men hate you for it. The village wants me dead. It would be easier to just give me to them."
Gu Chen pours a glass, his eyes never leaving mine. "Easier? Yes. But I've never been interested in easy."
He walks over and sets the glass in front of me.
"I'm keeping you because you're the only thing in this hellhole that isn't predictable," he says. He leans over the desk, his presence looming. "And because I want to see what happens when the curse finally runs out of victims."
He reaches out, his fingers hovering just inches from my cheek. He doesn't touch me. He knows the rules. But the look in his eyes tells me he's tempted to break them.
"You're a monster," I whisper.
"Maybe," he agrees. "But I'm the only monster standing between you and a rope."
Outside, the first heavy stone hits the office window, shattering the glass into a thousand jagged pieces.
And this time, the scream from the crowd doesn't sound like fear.
It sounds like a hunt.