Chapter 18 — The Last Day, Part 2
—into a boy in torn clothes, scarred and steady.
"Avon?" Laura said, voice small.
He turned, human now. No armor. No helm. Just a jaw set the way she remembered from the orphanage yard when he'd told a tower-born brat that rats learned to bite.
"I wasn't about to let you die," he said. Not a boast. A fact.
On the ship, murmurs cracked open. "The orphan survived." "He jumped the Abyss." "He's standing right there."
Bill didn't smile, but he loosened his grip on the rail. "Welcome back, kid," he breathed.
A noble found his voice. "You—how—You should've—"
"Been eaten?" Avon said, already moving. He kneeled at the Chimera's chest.
"Wait." Laura stepped forward, breath catching. "What are you—"
He slid his hand along scorched mane and burned flesh, found the seam between plates, and pushed. Bone groaned. With a practiced motion, he reached into the cavity and came up with a heart the size of a man's head, veined with gold, still hot enough to steam in the cold air.
The canyon tilted around Laura's vision. Chimera hearts crowned guild masters. People died for less.
Avon looked at the heart. Then at her. He tossed it—easy, as if weight meant nothing.
She caught it with both hands and nearly dropped it. "Why?" The word crawled out of her. "Why give this to me?"
"You fought it first," he said. "You finish it."
Her squad made a sound—protest, awe, envy, all knotted. Laura barely heard them. The heart thumped once in her grip, a dying rhythm. Power threaded her fingers, heat crawling up her wrists. Bite it, call the System, bind or bank—one movement and her future tilted.
"Avon," she said, lifting her eyes. "I—"
"Don't," he said gently. "Just live."
On the ship, Kael's eyes softened. "He handed her a noble-grade heart."
Veyr snorted. "A waste."
Bill shook his head. "An investment."
Laura pressed the heart to her chest. "I won't forget this," she said. It sounded like an oath.
Avon's gaze swept the squad—counting injuries, exits, angles. If he felt the weight of the gift, he didn't show it. If he remembered boys with poison laughing in another canyon, it didn't touch his face.
Betrayal was normal when you were powerless. He wasn't powerless anymore; that needed no speech.
Engines thundered closer. Floodlamps speared dust as the transport ship descended. Survivors across the valley began to move, dragging the hurt, gathering the dead, lifting their chins toward home.
Rumor ran ahead: The orphan's alive. He killed a Chimera. He gave the heart to the mayor's daughter. Who is he now?
Back at camp, a runner found Tyler. "Avon Standfeild's alive," the boy blurted. "He killed a Chimera—gave the heart to Laura. People saw."
Tyler stared at the map on his table until the lines blurred. Marcus drifted closer. "We should finish it," Marcus muttered. "Before it becomes a story."
Tyler said nothing. The memory of a boy falling into black refused to stay dead. A new line drew itself in his head, thin and dangerous.
On the canyon floor, Laura stood beside Avon as downdraft whipped their clothes. She clutched the heart like a promise. He kept his hands open and empty.
"Come back with us," she said, because she didn't know what else to say that wasn't a vow or a prayer.
"I intend to," he said.
He did not mention the Abyss. He did not mention knives and laughter. He let the strange pull inside him go quiet—power off, nothing to see—so no one noticed how Essence liked him too much. No one saw anything but a boy who bled, fought, and, for reasons beyond them, gave away treasure.
The ramps clanged down.
"Move!" an overseer shouted through a horn. "All survivors to the pickup zone!"
Avon fell in with the living. Laura matched his pace, the heart hot against her ribs.
High above, Director Bill watched a small figure keep his head down while the world changed its mind.
"Bring them home," he said.
And for the first time in seven days, the Rift began to let go.