And once you’ve reached that point, it’s no longer a matter of people. It’s a matter of value. And your own worth.
Father used to tell me a bedtime story. A story of his first hunt. It wasn’t anything meaningful—a squirrel, perhaps, or a bird. The target changed every time he told the story. But he stayed on the mountain two days and two nights. He stayed in the same places that his forefathers colonized.
And he learned all about himself.
He showed me his scarred hands. He told me that we pay our price in blood because it reminds us to appreciate sacrifice. That every Konig before him has and that every Konig after me will too. It’s what clinches our success.
He took me hunting on a regular basis after that. It was hardly ever about the circle of life for him—he didn’t teach me to respect the mountain. It was the circle of power, of figuring out who exists as competition and who exists as prey. He taught me to take. He taught me to break.
I hated the sight of blood at first. And the smell of it was worse. It would coat my tongue for hours or days after. Those first nights, I had nightmares about empty eyes and matted fur.
But over time, I got better at it. I honed my skills. I learned to read my environment.
The mountain is hungry tonight, and so am I.
I mirror Finn through the trees, keeping pace with him, but staying out of sight.
A small part of me wishes I hadn’t started this, wishes they were still my friends. But I quench that. I know better than to form attachments. I should know better than to form attachments. It’ll only break me.
“You can’t trust anyone.” That’s the lesson Mother taught me, the lesson, she said, we all should learn early. If given the power, we only end up hurting one another—and ourselves. We try to work together, but one of us missteps and everyone falls. We try to build bridges, but they’re only as strong as the weakest link. And these connections we’ve forged, well…they can be the hand that saves us or the weight that drags us down.
Mother once told me that trusting the wrong people nearly ruined her, and she would do everything in her power to stop the same from happening to me. It took me too long to realize what she meant. It seemed so excessive, you know? She’d had a falling-out with her sister, accusing my aunt of treason. Mother said she’d “used her to get ahead in the world” and “stolen her opportunities.” It wasn’t until my friends threatened to do the same that I knew what she meant: people like them would always be tempted to do this to people like us.
I spent time with Finn, and it made him matter more, but somehow he expected more still.
I invested in Maddy’s social standing, and she had the audacity to go from a sports star to a wreck.
I tolerated Carter, who got into my company and started stealing money. And my former best friend knew about it and let him do it.
And all the while, I got blamed for doing my best.
Then, despite it all, Dad offered to pay Carter’s college tuition.
Finn got scholarships for his game development and saw a career ahead of him, through some kind of gender affirmative action, surely.
The people at school who heard about our game started seeing Ever with new eyes—they got offered that internship—and Ever didn’t even notice or care.
What did any of them do to deserve this?
Still, it’s not that I don’t wish them luck. I would’ve let it go if it had only happened once.
Probably. Most likely.
But it didn’t. It kept happening over and over again. Finn and Ever found each other. Maddy and Carter. I got left behind.
And still, none of them seemed to realize they could only be successful in our game. After all, the game is the epitome of lying expertly. A place where all of them can be so much more than they could be in life. Too much truth would ruin it.
Frankly, that’s a good life lesson too. We’re all playing games. No matter how straightforward someone claims to be, everyone lies. And those of us who understand that? We know you can’t just lose and start over.
We play to win.
I take a step closer to the road.
It does bother me that Finn doesn’t seem to have broken. Not much, in any case. He has his scrapes and scars, but he moves with determination. He’s calmer than I’ve seen all day, almost focused.
I don’t mind that he has a purpose, but I’d like to know what it is.
I scan the environment. The patient mountain, with rocks that could still slip down in a heartbeat. The blocked path was a bit of good timing and exerting the right kind of pressure. I wanted to make life hard for him in all the ways that count.
It was so very easy to do just that. Cruel, too, perhaps, but the hunt never cares about cruelty. Only about power and results. This is my family’s heritage: finding a way to advance despite the odds. Leaving those lesser behind.
Honestly, this was always something I had to do. I knew it the very moment Carter started to succeed at the company, the very moment he stole money and got away with it.
I whistle the tune of the music box, and Finn tenses. With a smile, I fall back into the trees a little. I went walking in these woods nights on end to get a feel for my surroundings. It’s lovely now; I feel at home here.
Briefly, I planned for this to only be about Carter. He was the main threat after all, and the others could still be useful to me. My friends. Or, as Zac called them, my pet projects. I never said he was wrong about that.
I cared about keeping them close. I could’ve kept Maddy closer, but she was such a mess. I didn’t want to burn my hands. There were matters of perception to think of, after all. She could’ve done more. She could’ve worked harder. I worked hard too, after all.
All of them—they could’ve not let their issues hold them back.
Finn hesitates now, and the cracks appear underneath the surface. I feel like a shark, smelling blood, and I can’t help but smile.
A few more steps, friend. Keep walking.
To be fair, being seen with them never was just a matter of perception or pet projects. I did actually, really care about the game. It made me feel like I could be anyone I wanted to be. But whenever we found our way back to the real world again, I knew it would never be that easy. People like me, we don’t have a choice. We have to be on top. It’s the only option.
And when it all started to fall to pieces, I had to take back control.
The highest objective in the world is order, my father once told me. Order is imposed by those people whose duty it is to rein in chaos.
But occasionally, it’s worth it to create chaos. And anger. And fear. It’s pure and unfiltered. It strips everyone down to their core, and there is beauty in that.
It’s curious what a little blood can do.
It’s about the atmosphere too, of course. The right words. The subtlest whispers. Don’t ever let it be said I do not have a flair for drama.
I chose them for a reason. I could’ve fulfilled my duty with anyone who wouldn’t be missed, but there would be no value to that. It would not matter to me. And I want to give this rite of passage the respect it deserves. Not to enjoy it, but to appreciate it. To change my world for the better, and rid it of those who don’t belong. Of the ones who hold me back.
Trust me, it’ll be better this way.
If everything goes according to plan, once the dust settles, I’ll be the sole survivor. The focus of the story. And sure, it’s a bit radical, but it’s also pragmatic. Two birds with one stone. It takes away the threat and it advances my own position, and in the end, isn’t that all that matters?
It almost makes it better that Finn keeps glancing around, like he realizes I—or someone—might be here. That Finn is the last one.
Finn was my first friend. Before Maddy was there, he glommed onto me. Before Ever came around—and even after that—I was the one he told
his secrets to. I met his mothers and I accepted them. I was the one he shared his games with, and I encouraged him to pursue them, even if I wasn’t sure the gaming industry was such a great place to be. I was the one he went shopping with, though I always avoided his thrift stores and took him places with more class. I could’ve helped him become so much more than he is if he would’ve just let me.
I still care about him, and that is a problem.
I hear Father’s voice in my head again. Emotions are distractions, and the only way to grow strong is to break through your attachments.
Finn stops and something rustles in the trees near him. Is there movement there?
I stop too and stare. There might be. It might also be a trick of the moonlight or an animal. Finn looks around, searching. Scared? He finds the same spot amidst the trees, and he smiles. He nods.
And he keeps walking toward the boulders that have so helpfully—with a bit of nudging, perhaps—become a deathtrap. Nature is quite impressive like that.
It looks like we’re not alone here, though I don’t see anyone else. But I’ve learned to read the environment and the body language of my prey. I borrowed a few studies from Maddy on body language, actually. I may not need it the way she does—I’m not broken the way she is—but it was helpful.
And quite frankly, it gives me a rush now. Like a boss fight at the end of a game, when you know you’ve done all you can to prepare and ready yourself, and you know only one of you will walk out alive.
Today, that’ll be me.
This mountain is mine. I’m the hero of this story.
I wait until Finn’s climbed his way up onto the boulders again, as awkwardly as he did when we first arrived here earlier today. I couldn’t let him fall then. It would’ve ruined the game.
Besides, I’m not a bad person. I’m a pragmatist.
Liar.
Thief.
Addict.
Worthless.
“Finn…” I call out to him softly, and watch him tense once more. I reach for the hunting knife that’s strapped to my leg and carefully unsheathe it. My hand throbs, and I welcome the pain. I don’t plan to stab him—nothing so mundane—just to scare him and make him lose his balance.
Traitor.
“Who’s there?” His voice trembles.
I hold my breath and let the silence draw out.
Again, “Who’s there?”
There’s so much fear in his voice. It’s delicious.
“Finn…” I let my voice dance on the night air, as I start to circle around him for the best approach. The rocks are sharp and the cliffs are high, and I want to be careful not to slip.
“I know you’re out there. Stop trying to scare me!” His voice catches and breaks.
I can’t help it; I laugh.
And with that, I step into the moonlight.
Thirty
Ever
Liva.
You’re okay smashes against No.
This hurts. I’m frozen to the ground as she advances on Finn, a knife in her hand. She is only a shadow at first, and there’s a distance between them, but some shadows have sharp teeth and sharper claws. Her free hand is carefully bandaged.
Finn has his back to her, his eyes focused on the boulders, to draw her out as far as he can, but he’s already higher up them than either of us planned.
Unless he recognized her soft whisper, he doesn’t know it’s Liva yet.
Frantically, I try to catch Maddy’s eye, to make sure she’s on deck to stop Liva. She’s as pale as I must be, but her gaze is trained on her former best friend. We move along the trees, using the darkness to our benefit, trying to catch up. She’s holding her cape in both hands, but she has to find a way to get close without being noticed.
Liva’s tread across the boulders is careful. Everything about her is tense and measured: the set of her shoulders, the clenching of her jaw. The way her eyes flick back and forward, and how they glow against the moonlit sky.
Does she know we’re here? She must have an inkling.
How can it be Liva? Or maybe: Were we so oblivious?
It is a weird thing, observing her now. It’s hard to consider her an enemy in the most rational sense of the word, because I’m convinced none of us feel it. Emotionally, she’s still our friend. She’s alive. Of course she is. I know we need to save ourselves, but I want to save her too. From herself, if need be.
What happened to her?
She walks closer to Finn still, and he must hear her, but he keeps his back to her.
A few steps away from me, partially covered behind a tree, a flash of movement. Maddy. Gravel crunches and the sound echoes through the night air.
Liva freezes. Her head snaps toward the sound. Her hands go to her belt, and she crouches into an almost defensive stance. As far as I’m aware, she hasn’t done any martial arts, but she’s certainly trained somewhere. She seems comfortable with these movements. She handles her knife with ease.
Finn comes to the most uncomfortable bit of the climb, and Liva has started to climb the boulders too. She gains quickly now, even if she keeps her pace steady and her eyes everywhere around her. She can’t know for certain we’re here, but she has her guard up.
I have to protect him.
“Liva!”
I dash out from the tree line toward the boulders, revealing my hiding spot. The single shout has a dramatic effect on Finn, who spins around and nearly falls over. It has a less dramatic effect on Liva, who simply turns.
There’s a moment of realization that crashes over her. Of resignation. Then a smirk. A smile. And it’s one I’ve seen a thousand times before. It’s so familiar, but it was never yet so deadly. “So you managed to get out. How impressive.”
I start walking toward her but slowly, like one would approach a wild animal. “You need to stop this, Liva.”
“You were always smarter than any of us gave you credit for. You know that, right? You could’ve been the best of us.” She takes a step back, to keep the distance between us. “With the right upbringing, the right people around you…”
Her words lash out at me. “You don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”
“You pieced it all together, didn’t you? Clever Ever.”
That’s why the note was there, in her room. It wasn’t to throw us off her trail, or not only that at least; ironically, it was the only truth she told. Liar. She lies. She always lied.
I haven’t pieced the rest together yet. I don’t want to.
I climb the boulders to approach her, and she backs away, keeping a careful distance between us. We circle around each other like predator versus prey, and I honestly wouldn’t be able to say which is which. Perhaps we’re all predators. Or perhaps we’re all prey. If the latter’s the case, we’re fighting for our lives.
“We’re your friends.” I try to stay on the side of the path, keeping Liva cornered, with her back to the cliff’s edge and away from Finn.
Liva laughs. “You should hear yourself. You don’t believe that.”
I don’t. I do. “Lay off. Let us help you.”
“I didn’t want to hurt you. Not much at least. I didn’t want to harm any of you. But you brought this on yourself. You’ve pushed me, and I have nowhere else to go.”
“What is the matter with you?” I lean in, try to force her down from the rocks. We need to get her to the ground. We need to disarm her, push the cloak over her, and tie her up.
Liva’s mouth splits open in a toothy grin. Her free hand twitches. “I am making things right.”
The tension of the night flows between us, and with it, it seems time slows down and speeds up at intermittent intervals. She jumps down, slashes her knife at me. I’m too slow to step back, but she hasn’t got the reach to wound me.
“I don’t know what happened with Carter, but
we want to be here for you,” I shout. “Lay down your dagger, and we’ll figure out where to go from here.”
She may be right that I don’t believe we’re friends, but I do want to help her. It’s the only way Finn, Maddy, and I have come so far.
The words seem to pass by Liva. If she hears them, she doesn’t acknowledge them. Instead, she keeps glancing between Finn and me. An angry girl of my own age, who has the world and thinks it is against her.
Every time she looks at me, Finn takes a step down—and away—while to his side, Maddy takes a step closer. Her face is a mask of pain.
“I know it must’ve been an accident. But it doesn’t have to be like this,” I try again. When Liva looks at Finn, I glance past him at Maddy, who nods. Ready.
Five.
Four.
“An accident? I would’ve made it look like an accident. Victims of a haunted mountain,” Liva says, with a singsong quality to her voice. She takes a step toward the boulders again, elegantly, like a danse macabre. “The night is dangerous terrain after all.”
Three.
Two.
Then she smiles, and she shoves at the boulders, making the entire path into the deathtrap Finn so feared. And while Liva keeps her balance, Finn starts to slip.
“No!”
I dash forward, my steps loud and fragile, and everything around me happens in slow motion. The crackling of the path sounds like gunshots. Liva turns, her knife out.
One step behind me, Maddy leaps at her and throws her cloak.
It doesn’t cover her, but it wraps itself around her face. And from then on, we both pounce.
Maddy dives in to try to wrestle the knife away, while I reach for Finn, who reaches for me. So close, so close.
I’ve found that even when you’re falling, there are always hands that help you. People who understand and who make sure you can stand up straight before you have to walk again.
I grab onto Finn’s hand. Or at least, I think I do. I miss, the first time. Thin air.
I try again. This time, I feel the comforting touch of Finn’s fingers wrapped around me. He’s trembling.
Even If We Break Page 19