Anomaly ━━ Matt vs Chris Sturniolo¹

𝖝𝖝𝖛𝖎𝖎𝖎. Anyone Can Betray Anyone

[ tw: violence, death ]

𝖝𝖝𝖛𝖎𝖎𝖎. Anyone Can Betray Anyone

MAEVE CAN BARELY keep up the pace, but the soldier at her back, holding her shackled arms, keeps shoving. Another does the same to Chris, forcing him along. Salem follows them, making sure they can't escape. His presence is a dark weight, dulling Maeve's senses. She can still see the passage around them, empty and far from the prying eyes of the court, but she doesn't have the strength to care. Matt leads the pack, his shoulders tense and tight as he fights the urge to look back.

The sound of gunfire and screams and blood in the tunnels rumbles in Maeve's mind. They're all dead. She and Chris will be dead. It's all over. All of it.

She expects them to descend, to march down to the darkest cell in the world. Instead, Matt leads them up, to a room with no windows and no Sentinels. Their footfalls don't even echo as they enter ━ soundproof. No one can hear them. And that frightens Maeve more than the guns or the fire or the pure rage rippling off the king.

He stands in the center of the room, dressed in his own gilded armor with the crown on his head. His ceremonial sword hangs at his side again, along with a pistol he's probably never used. All part of the pageant. At least he looks the part.

The queen is here as well, waiting for them in nothing but a thin white gown. The moment they enter, her eyes meet Maeve's, and she forces her way into her thoughts like a knife through flesh. The girl yelps, trying to clutch her head, but the shackles hold firm.

It all flashes before her eyes again, from the beginning to the end. Charlie's wagon. The Guard. Weston. The riots, the meetings, the secret messages. Chris' face swirls in the memories, making him stand out against the fray, but Astraea pushes him away. It seems she doesn't want to see what Maeve remembers about him. The seventeen-year-old's brain bleeds at the onslaught, jumping from thought to thought until her whole life, every kiss and every secret, is laid bare before her.

When she stops, Maeve feels dead. She wants to be dead. At least she knows she won't have long to wait.

"Leave us," Astraea says, her voice cutting and sharp. The soldiers wait, looking to Matt. When he nods, they take their leave, departing in a din of clicking boots. But Salem stays behind, his influence still pressing down on Maeve. When the march of boots fades away, the king allows himself to exhale.

"Son?" He looks at Matt, and the Deuveux can see the slightest quiver in his fingers. But what he could possibly fear, she doesn't know. "I want to hear this from you."

"They've been part of this for a long time," Matt mutters, barely able to say the words. "Since she came here."

"Both?" Orion turns away from Matt, to one of his forgotten sons. The only one left. He looks almost sad, his face pulling into a pained frown. His eyes waver, reluctant to hold his gaze, but Chris stares right back, never faltering. He doesn't even flinch. "You knew about this, my boy?"