Insatiable (Inferno Games #3)

27. Captured In Charcoal

27

CAPTURED IN CHARCOAL

JULIETTE

“ W hat the fuck is going on?” My voice shakes, but I don’t care. Nothing makes sense, nothing feels real, and the weight of it is crushing me. I know Rowena doesn’t have the answers any more than I do, but I can’t seem to get a grip on anything.

Tomas might have been a leech, but he was always there. Even when he wasn’t, I always thought he’d find a way back to me. I guess deep down I hoped he’d change someday, that we’d get our happily ever after. Hell, even when he died, I still believed that maybe, somehow, we’d be reunited in heaven. I snort at the absurdity of that thought now. Heaven? Yeah, right? Well, we did end up together in the end, didn’t we? But it wasn’t some fairy tale reunion—it was Hell, and in Hell, he actually changed. He really changed. But now he’s gone. Truly gone for good this time.

No happily ever after. Just a bittersweet end to our messy, twisted love story, and then a brutal, final end to his life. His existence. My heart is a tangled, soggy mess, and I don’t know what to do with it. This grief is different—messier, uglier than anything I’ve ever felt. I ended it with him for good the other night, and I was happy with that decision. I was ready to move on. And still... it stings.

I could’ve told him I loved him one last time. I could’ve said goodbye in a way that didn’t involve sex. But no, everything with Tomas was always about sex. Ha. It was how we connected, how we fell apart, how we said goodbye. I sigh as Rowena drags herself out of bed.

“Where are you going?” I ask between hiccupping sobs.

“I’m going to get you a tissue before you soak my bed sheets through and then I’m going to find Dade.”

That’s what I need. A plan. A sense of purpose, so I don’t have to think about Tomas. I follow her to the bathroom where she passes me a pulled off piece of toilet paper.

“Come on. We have to keep going,” Rowena says soothingly as I blow noisily into the tissue.

The noise is deafening as we step onto the circular balcony, the chaos below swelling like a tidal wave crashing against the stone walls of the atrium. I grip the balustrade tightly, my knuckles white as I peer down at the mass of people. They’re jumping up and down, screaming like this is some kind of celebration, as though my heart and soul hasn’t just been beheaded by a fucking monster.

Hate ignites in my veins, burning for them, for Hell, for every damned thing in this place. I want to scream at them, make them see the raw gaping wound inside me, but all I can do is swallow it down.

“Why are we going down this way?” I ask, eyeing the rounded sets of stairs that spiral below us like some twisted carnival ride. “We should have used the platform at the back.”

“Dade isn’t going to use the platform. Look.” Ro’s voice is barely audible over the roar of the crowd, but she points downward, two floors beneath us, to the elevator doors.

Sure enough, they open, and Dade bursts through them in a flash, Tate in his arms, his wings spreading wide as he bowls over the guards yet again. They scramble to their feet, only to be knocked down like dominoes, barely able to catch their breath before he takes to the air. The crowd goes wild, swarming like insects, desperate to be near him, to touch him.

He’s magnificent. A dark, beautiful demon in flight, wings cutting through the air like scythes. As he passes us, the wind from his wings stirs the air around us, brushing my face with the same icy sharpness of his presence. For a brief moment, I forget the rage tearing me apart—he’s something otherworldly, a force beyond all of this madness. But then the reality crashes back in, heavier than before.

“Come on!” Ro grabs my hand, pulling me toward the stairs with urgency. We race up, my legs burning as we spiral around to the second set. By the time we reach Dade’s floor, my chest heaves with each breath. I’ve never been in his room before, but I know exactly where it is—Quinn has described it enough times.

The door is open, as if he’s waiting for us.

We burst in, the door swinging wide as we enter. Dade is hunched over Tate, who is barely conscious; her limp body sprawled on the bed. The sight of her sends a prickle of hatred through me, sharp and instinctive. My mind flashes to Tomas, to the unfairness of it all—why him and not her?

But the thought is fleeting, disappearing as quickly as it comes. She’s done nothing wrong. She doesn’t deserve my anger. I know that. Still, my reaction to her is visceral, something I can’t explain. It knots in my gut, a twisted mix of jealousy and resentment I don’t even fully understand. But it’s not helping now. She needs help, not my bitterness.

I force myself to look at her as she really is—not as a symbol of everything I’ve lost, but as a person hanging on by a thread. Her face is pale, her breathing shallow. Dade is frantic, his hands trembling as he hovers over her, unsure of what to do next.

Seconds later, Ro is at my side, a glass of water in hand, procured from Dade’s bathroom. She moves swiftly, her urgency palpable.

“Dade, help me get her into a sitting position,” Rowena orders, her voice sharp with tension. The three of us work together, lifting Tate until she’s sitting upright, but her head lolls to the side, her eyes barely open, flickering like a dying candle.

“Drink,” Rowena urges, pressing the glass to Tate’s lips. She manages a few tentative sips, but then her eyes close completely, her body sagging against me. I glance down at my shirt—it’s already soaked through with blood, the crimson staining Tate’s legs and Dade’s bed sheets.

“She needs to go to the hospital wing,” I say, my voice tight, barely concealing the panic clawing at my throat.

Dade finally looks up, his face drawn and grim. “And she will. The Games leaders will be here in seconds, but I needed to talk to you two first before they get here.”

“Wanna start with telling us why you didn’t get Quinn out of there? She looked to be in a worse state than Tate!” The words spill out harsher than I intend, laced with bitterness and frustration.

Dade doesn’t flinch. He’s used to this, I realize. He’s seen worse. Felt worse. We’re all frayed at the edges, barely holding it together.

“Quinn was barely awake when I went in,” Dade says, his voice low, rough with exhaustion. “But she was strong enough to be adamant that I bring Tate back. She wouldn’t let me near her.”

His face is as impassive as ever, but I can feel the despair radiating off him in waves. It’s dark, oppressive, suffocating. This must be what Quinn feels when she’s near him, that heavy sense of doom. I don’t know how she stands it—being near him like this is unbearable.

“I think I know,” Rowena says. “Quick. Help me block the doors!” She runs to the dresser and starts pushing it to the front door before Dade presses a hand to her. “You’re pregnant. Sit. I’ll do this.”

He swiftly moves the dress to block the front doorway and then does the same to the back door, using the side table. It won’t hold for long.

“If one more person dies in the labyrinth, Quinn will go through to the next circle,” Ro says.

Dade and I stare at her. “We know.”

“Don’t you remember what Felix looked like at the end of the last circle? His head was so disfigured he had to wear a mask to Noémi’s party, but the very next morning he looked normal.” She sighs when we don’t get it straight away. “We heal quickly in Hell anyway, but there’s something about moving between circles that makes us back to normal overnight. Quinn knew if you brought her out, she’d spend a week or more in the hospital wing and lose her chance to get to Jenny. Dade. She’s going to be okay. She’s going to survive.”

Dade’s face tightens, his eyes shadowed with doubt. “If someone dies before she does,” he mutters, his voice raw.

As though summoned by his words, all of our Hell Cells beep at once. My heart lurches in my chest as I pull mine out, dreading what I might see. The notification is stark and brutal—the announcement of the last death in the labyrinth. My breath catches, and for a moment, everything freezes. But then I see the name, and my heart squeezes with relief. It’s Tate. She’s not dead. I can plainly see her still breathing on the bed, but I guess they’ve chosen her as the last contestant out.

The feeling is bittersweet, a heavy mix of relief and sorrow. I’m about to say something when a violent banging erupts against the front door.

“Open this fucking door!” Anthura’s voice screams through the wood, filled with fury. The lock clicks ominously, no doubt thanks to her Hell Cell, which can unlock any door. But the dresser buys us a little time—it’ll take her at least a minute or two to push past it.

I rush to the door, throwing my weight against the dresser, my back pressed hard against the wood as I push with everything I have. On the other side, Anthura shoves against it, the force of her blows shaking the entire frame. My arms strain, the muscles burning as I hold the dresser in place.

“What now?” I whisper in anguish, the words barely escaping me.

“Let her in,” Rowena says, her voice calm.

“Are you fucking kidding me? You just asked us to block the doors.”

“Yes I did, but then I realized that Tate is the key to this and having her bleed out on the bed isn’t going to help.

“Key to what? If Anthura gets in here, Dade will be captured and you know what Anthura is capable of. He’s already on his last chance with her after everything that happened in the last circle.” I shouldn’t care about Dade as much as I do, but he’s the love of Quinn’s life and it would kill her to know we were just giving him up.

Rowena looks between me and Dade. I can almost see the cogs whirring in her mind. “Dade. You want to make a run for it? Fly out the back door?”

Dade shakes his head. “No. There is only one way out of this tower and I’ve yet to get to it. Flying away now will only prolong the time until they capture me. Move out of the way, Juliette.”

I don’t move. Anthura is spitting feathers behind me. She’s out for blood after her stupid trial was ruined, first by a rogue murderer and then by Dade sweeping in and stealing one of the contestants away.

“No.”

Dade steps up to me. His sheer presence is overwhelming. “Juliette. I am so very grateful that you are trying to protect me, but in doing so, you are putting yourself in danger. I cannot and will not ask you to do that for me. I will have to face Anthura at some point. It may as well be now, and as Rowena said, I can’t be responsible for Tate dying. It was Quinn’s lat request to me to get Tate to safety. I have to honor that.”

Damn him and damn logic. Why can’t we just all stay here in Dade’s room forever? There’s nothing for me on the outside of it. Not anymore. Still, I move to the side and watch as he shifts the giant dresser to the side.

Anthura slams the door open and glares at Dade, her face almost as red as her outfit.

“Dade Angelis!” she spits. “You are done for now.”

Dade hands his wrists out to her as though he expects her to cuff them. “Do whatever you need to do with me, but take Tate to the hospital wing first. She’s going to die.”

Anthura’s face twists into a grimace, but she glances over at Tate before turning back to Dade.

“Get out,” she hisses. “I’ll have someone come up to deal with her.”

My heart doesn’t stop hammering until a couple of skinny demons come up and take Tate out on a stretcher, leaving me and Rowena alone on Dade’s blood stained bed. It’s silent and suffocating. Ro and I are the only two left.

“Look at all this,” Ro says softly, glancing around the room.

I follow her gaze, and my breath catches in my throat as I take in the drawings covering Dade’s walls. Charcoal sketches stretch across nearly every inch of space, dark strokes mingling with soft shadows to create a haunting beauty that’s just like him—dark, intense, and yet stunning. Most of the drawings are of Quinn, each one capturing a different side of her. But as I scan the walls, I realize he’s drawn all of us. There’s barely any blank wall left, each square filled with faces frozen in moments of stillness.

My eyes land on a drawing of myself, and I feel a bittersweet smile tug at my lips. He’s made me look so much more beautiful than I really am. It’s like he’s taken something buried deep inside me, something I can’t even see, and brought it to life through his art. I feel exposed, vulnerable, like Dade has seen straight into my soul and translated it onto paper.

I stand and gently take the pin holding the picture next to mine. It’s a sketch of Tomas. His eyes glimmer with that familiar, hopeful spark, and his smile is captured perfectly, as though Dade had seen him in one of those rare, unguarded moments. I wonder what Tomas was doing when Dade caught him like this. Looking at me? Thinking about the past?

“I’m sure Dade won’t mind if you take this,” Ro says, stepping up beside me. Her voice is gentle, understanding.

I’ve cried so much in the last half hour that my tears have dried, leaving me hollow inside. I’ve been through every emotion I can name, from anger to despair to fleeting hope. But now, there’s a sense of calm. I had the goodbye with Tomas that I spent the latter half of my life hoping for. And it was beautiful. I feel like he’s finally set me free.

“I think we should go down to the hospital wing and see if Tate is going to be okay,” I say, folding the picture of Tomas and slipping it into my pocket.

Rowena reaches out, her hand warm as she takes mine. “I think that’s a good idea. I have a feeling Quinn wanted us to talk to her.” She squeezes my hand gently before adding, “Before that, we need to find out what’s going to happen to Dade. Quinn would never forgive us if we let Anthura hurt him.”

Rowena’s right, but Quinn will never know. Whatever happens now, Quinn is going to be in another circle and we’re stuck forever in a place where our friends have gone and we can’t eat. I glance down at the Hell Cell in my hand, its once flickering screen now black, as empty and hollow as I feel. The Games are over. There are no more cameras, no more challenges. It’s all over—for us.

There’s no moving on, no next circle. Just this never-ending hunger gnawing at our insides, reminding us that Hell isn’t just a place of fire and brimstone. It’s a place of emptiness, of things you can never have. Food. Freedom. The people you care about. They slip through your fingers like smoke, and no matter how hard you fight, you can never get them back.

I pocket the Hell Cell, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Let’s go,” I say softly, my voice barely holding together. We can’t afford to break down now. We need to see Tate, and we need to protect Dade. For Quinn, even if she’ll never know. Even if it won’t change anything.

As we head toward the door, I cast one last glance at the walls, at the faces that will forever be etched in charcoal—captured, but gone. Just like us.