shaking his head.
“What the hell were you thinking?”
I looked away. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Bullshit.” Tristan stepped forward, looking like he might punch me in the head if there weren’t iron bars between us. “Three years we’ve been partners. Three years we’ve fought together, killed together, nearly gotten ourselves eaten a couple times. I’ve saved your hide countless times, and yes, I know you’ve done the same for me. You owe me a damn explanation, partner. And don’t you dare say something stupid, like I wouldn’t understand. I know you better than that.”
When I didn’t answer, he clenched a fist around a bar, brow furrowed in confusion and anger. “What happened in Crescent Beach, Garret?” he demanded, though his voice was almost pleading. “You’re the freaking Perfect Soldier. You know the code by heart. You can recite the tenets in your sleep, backward if you need to. Why would you betray everything?”
“I don’t know—”
“It was the girl, wasn’t it?” Tristan’s voice made my stomach drop. “The dragon. She did something to you. Damn, I should’ve seen it. You hung out with her a lot. She could’ve been manipulating you that whole time.”
“It wasn’t like that.” In the old days, it was suspected that dragons could cast spells on weak-minded humans, enslaving them through mind control and magic. Though that rumor had officially been discounted, there were still those in St. George who believed the old superstitions. Not that Tristan had been one of them; he was just as coolly pragmatic as me, one of the reasons we got along so well. But I suspected it was easier for him to accept that an evil dragon had turned his friend against his will, rather than that friend knowingly and deliberately betraying him and the Order. You can’t blame Garret; the dragon made him do it.
But it wasn’t anything Ember had done. It was just… everything about her. Her passion, her fearlessness, her love for life. Even in the middle of the mission, I’d forgotten that she was a potential target, that she could be a dragon, the very creature I was there to destroy. When I was around Ember, I didn’t see her as an objective, or a target, or the enemy. I just saw her.
“What, then?” Tristan demanded, sounding angry again. “What, exactly, was it like, Garret? Please explain it to me. Explain to me how my partner, the soldier who has killed more dragons then anyone his age in the history of St. George, suddenly decided that he couldn’t kill this dragon. Explain how he could turn his back on his family, on the Order that raised him, taught him everything he knows and gave him a purpose, to side with the enemy. Explain how he could stab his own partner in the back, to save one dragon bitch who…”
Tristan stopped. Stared at me. I watched the realization creep over him, watched the color drain from his face as the pieces came together.
“Oh, my God,” he whispered and took one staggering step away from the bars. His jaw hung slack, and he slowly shook his head, his voice full of horrified disbelief. “You’re in love with it.”
I looked away and stared at the far wall. Tristan blew out a long breath.
“Garret.” His voice was a rasp, choked with disgust and loathing. And maybe something else. Pity. “I don’t… How could—”
“Don’t say anything, Tristan.” I didn’t look at my ex-partner; I didn’t have to see him to know exactly what he felt. “You don’t have to tell me. I know.”
“They’re going to kill you, Garret,” he went on, his voice low and strained. “After what you said today in the courtroom? Martin might’ve argued clemency if you’d admitted you were wrong, that you had a brief moment of insanity, that the dragons had tricked you, anything! You could have lied. You’re one of our best—they might’ve let you live, even after everything. But now?” He made a hopeless sound. “You’ll be executed for treason against the Order. You know that, right?”
I nodded. I’d known the outcome of the trial before I ever set foot in that courtroom. I knew I could have denounced my actions, pleaded for mercy, told them what they wanted to hear. I had been deceived, lied to, manipulated. Because that’s what dragons did, and even the soldiers of St. George were not immune. It would paint me the fool, and my Perfect Soldier record would be tarnished for all time, but being duped by the enemy was not the same as knowingly betraying the Order. Tristan was right; I could have lied, and they would’ve believed me.
I hadn’t. Because I couldn’t do this anymore.
Tristan waited a moment longer, then strode away without another word. I listened to his receding footsteps and knew this was the last time I would ever talk to him. I looked up.
“Tristan.”
For a second, I didn’t think he would stop. But he paused in the doorway of the cell block and looked back at me.
“For what it’s worth,” I said, holding his gaze, “I’m sorry.” He blinked, and I forced a faint smile. “Thanks…for having my back all this time.”
One corner of his mouth twitched. “I always knew you’d get yourself killed by a dragon,” he muttered. “I just didn’t think it would be like this.” He gave a tiny snort and rolled his eyes. “You realize my next partner is going to feel completely inadequate taking the Perfect Soldier’s place, and will probably have a nervous breakdown that I’m going to have to deal with. So, thanks for that.”
“At least you’ll have something to remember me by.”
“Yeah.” The small grin faded. We watched each other for a tense, awkward moment, before Tristan St. Anthony stepped away.
“Take care, partner,” he said. No other words were needed. No goodbye, or see you later. We both knew there wouldn’t be a later.
“You, too.”
He turned and walked out the door.
* * *
“The court has reached a decision.”
I stood in the courtroom again as Fischer rose to his feet, addressing us all. I spared a quick glance at Martin and found that he was gazing at a spot over my head, his eyes blank.
“Garret Xavier Sebastian,” Fischer began, his voice brisk, “by unanimous decision, you have been found guilty of high treason against the Order of St. George. For your crimes, you will be executed by firing squad tomorrow at dawn. May God have mercy on your soul.”
Fifteenth floor and counting.
The elevator box was cold. Stark. A pithy tune played somewhere overhead, tinny and faint. Mirrored walls surrounded us, blurred images staring back, showing a man in a gray suit and tie, and a teen standing at his shoulder, hands folded before him. I observed my reflection with the practiced cool detachment my trainer insisted upon. My new black suit was perfectly tailored, not a thread out of place, my crimson hair cut short and styled appropriately. A red silk tie was tucked neatly into my suit jacket, my shoes were polished to a dark sheen and the large gold Rolex was a cool, heavy band around my wrist. I didn’t look like that human boy from Crescent Beach, in shorts and a tank top, his longish hair
