Fatality ━━ Matt vs Chris Sturniolo²

𝖝𝖑𝖎𝖝. New Town

[ tw: death, violence ]

𝖝𝖑𝖎𝖝. New Town

Maeve

THERE ARE NO STARS this close to New Town. The sky around the slum is permanently choked with a haze of pollution. It smells foul and poisonous, even on the outskirts, where the noxious fog is thinnest. Maeve draws up the handkerchief around her neck, breathing through the fabric instead.

The other soldiers around her do the same, pulling faces at her toxic air. But not Blake. She's used to it.

Relief washes over Maeve every time she looks at the younger girl. She's never too far, scattered along with the soldiers just as Weston and Nick are. Maeve keeps an eye on all of them. Still, when her eyes land on Blake, her relief quickly melts to shame.

Blake escaped the Piedmont base, fleeing into the swamps with her brother and a few dozen more survivors. Many died where she did not. Red soldiers of the Dagger Legion, children Maeve and the rest of the Guard swore to keep safe. Newbloods of Montfort. Newbloods of the Notch. Silvers. Reds. So many dead it makes Maeve's head spin.

And now she's sending Blake right back into danger.

"Thanks for doing this," the Deuveux murmurs, her voice almost inaudible. As if a simple thank you means anything.

With a grin, Blake glances over her shoulder at Maeve. Her teeth gleam in the weak light of the soldiers' lanterns. In spite of the dire circumstances, the electricon has never seen the sixteen-year-old smile like she does tonight.

"As if you could get this done without me," Blake whispers back, almost teasing. "But don't thank me, Maeve. I've been dreaming about a day like this since I was a little girl. New Town is not going to know what fucking hit it."

"No, it won't," Maeve mutters to herself, agreeing as she thinks of the morning ahead of them.

Fear and nerves carve her up, as they did on the flight from the Rift. She and the others are about to storm the tech slum Blake was born in, a place hemmed in by walls and guards and decades of oppression.

And they're not the only assault on the move. Miles to the east, the rest of their coalition is heading toward Harbor Bay.

Matthew's with that arsenal. Not Maeve's. She tries not to think about it.

The Rift soldiers will attack from the sea, with the Brekker fleet ready on the wing. Cyrus and Matthew must be in the tunnels by now, ready to lead the main bulk of the army up into the city. Maeve tries to picture the three-pronged assault in her mind. It's nothing like any battle she's survived before. Neither is this, separated from the fire prince, from Cyrus. From so many dear to her. At least she has Weston and Nick at her sides. She supposes there's some symmetry with the aforementioned and herself being here together. They've returned to who they were before. Creeping in alleys, clad in dirty clothes. Their faces obscured and unfamiliar. Shadows. Rats.