"What the hell was that?" Jenna asked, her voice still trembling.
It was morning, yet the three of them remained near the tent, resting in the warmth of the rising sun. Though their wounds had long since vanished, thanks to the fruit from the oasis, the memory of the battle, and the pain that came with it, still lingered like smoke in their bones.
Damien glanced at her. Even beneath the sweltering heat, her frail body was shaking. Of the three, she seemed the most affected by what had transpired.
He didn't answer.
Not because her question irritated him, though it did, a little, but because he had no answer to give.
Why had there been a mimic of him in the First Circle?
It would have been one thing if everyone had been confronted with their own copy, but that hadn't happened. Only he had been singled out, and it wasn't just the existence of the mimic that troubled him; it was the markings that burned across its skin, the crown of thorns that pulsed with ember light, the impossible power it wielded.
Those weren't mimicry. They were something more.
Something that raised questions he had no means of answering.
Across from him, the monk sat motionless, legs folded beneath him, hands clasped in silent prayer. His green eyes were closed, and his smooth, bald head shimmered under the harsh sun.
Damien stared at him for a long moment, something unfamiliar stirring in his chest.
The monk could see things, things others couldn't. He never spoke, rarely moved, and yet there was a quiet, deliberate care in the way he watched over Jenna. That was all Damien really knew about him.
None of it was damning. And yet, something about the man felt… off.
Maybe it was paranoia, or perhaps it was the fact that the monk had saved him the moment he arrived in the first circle. That alone was suspicious.
'What does he want from me?'
Damien didn't have an answer. All he knew was that the monk had kept him alive, and not out of some pure-hearted sense of righteousness. He had let the purple-haired girl die without hesitation, choosing Damien instead.
That meant there was a reason.
A calculated purpose.
'I'll keep my eyes on him more carefully from now on, and if I ever find out that whatever he's planning puts me in danger... I'll kill him slowly. I'll snap each bone in his body one by one, peel the skin from his face while he's still breathing, and carve the truth out of his skull if I have to.'
His gaze narrowed ever so slightly.
No matter how calm the Monk looked now, Damien would make damn sure that if he turned out to be a threat, his end would be nothing short of biblical.
Then, an irritating voice cut through Damien's twisted thoughts.
Jenna.
She sounded angrier this time.
"Hey, I've had enough of your shit," she snapped. "Stop ignoring me when I talk, douche, and answer my question."
Damien let a silence stretch between them before replying, his voice calm and cold.
"Don't talk to me like you're in any position to demand anything. If I recall, I saved your meaningless life. You should be praising the ground I walk on."
Jenna stood in a sudden fit of rage, fists clenched at her sides.
"Praising the ground you walk on?" she shouted. "Did you forget that Baldy and I already saved your ass once? As far as I'm concerned, we're even. No—actually, we're not. Because a flaming version of me didn't stab you through the damn chest!"
She paused, panting, her sunburned skin flushed red with fury.
"Just answer the question," she said more evenly. "Do you know anything about that mimic?"
Damien shook his head, expression unreadable.
"I don't," he said. "All I know is that it only appeared after nightfall… and vanished when the sun came up. Which means it's probably coming back tonight."
Jenna's eyes widened at Damien's words. Fear flickered across her face, tightening her jaw and draining the color from her cheeks.
Damien turned toward the Grey Monk, who was no longer clasped in silent prayer but now watching them with quiet focus.
"What about you, Monk?" Damien asked. "Seen anything new with that virtue of yours?"
The Monk gave a slow shake of his head before murmuring a few words in that low, cryptic voice of his.
"Continue east. One more night."
Jenna snapped at that.
"And another thing—what the hell happens after tonight?" she demanded, her voice rising. "You barely speak, and when you do, it's always vague. What exactly are you seeing?"
For once, Damien had to admit, she raised a fair point.
But the Monk simply shook his head again. "I cannot say," he replied, his tone quieter than before.
Jenna let out a groan and pulled at her hair in frustration. Then she threw her hands up and shouted, "Okay, then I vote we travel without Damien!"
Her words did not upset Damien; in fact, they sparked a plan of his.
Jenna continued. "If we go our separate ways, the mimic will probably follow him." She then turned and looked at Damien. "No offense, but I want to survive, and if that thing chases us again, we will all die."
With a dramatic sigh, Damien rose from his seated position. He grabbed the two water bottles and the last of the bread.
"Fine with me," he said flatly. "I'll be going then."
Jenna stared at him, stunned by how easily he accepted her betrayal.
But Damien didn't even glance her way. His attention was locked on the Grey Monk. A sharp pulse of pain suddenly reverberated through his entire being; his shackle had activated.
He clenched his jaw.
It wasn't that he truly wanted to leave. In fact, the thought of abandoning two people with virtuous abilities when he had none was a death sentence.
No, this was a test. A ploy to get a read on the Monk.
And just as Damien hoped, he got his answer.
The Monk's calm expression faltered. His green eyes widened, and a sharp cough escaped him. For the briefest of moments, panic flashed across his face like a crack in stone. Then, he finally spoke.
"No. Damien is strong. We need him."
A slow smile curled at the edge of Damien's lips.
'I see. So you do have plans for me. You called me strong, even though you know nothing about my virtue—hell, you don't even know if I have one. The only thing you've seen is that I can hold my own with a blade. You used that as an excuse, something convenient to justify keeping me around.'
He said nothing, but in his mind, the pieces were beginning to fall into place.
Jenna rolled her eyes. "Fine. Then we need to plan for tonight, because if we don't…"
Her fingers drifted to her chest, brushing the ragged hole torn through her black top where the mimic's katana had pierced her. The memory alone seemed to steal the strength from her voice.
Damien lowered himself back onto the scorching sand with a deliberate sigh. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the subtle shift in the Monk's expression. The man relaxed slightly as Damien took his seat.
"Finally, something we agree on," Damien muttered.
Jenna turned toward him with a scowl. "So what's the plan, douche?"