Masks. He used masks to hide himself from everyone, even those closest to him. Ezekiel thought of his sister for the first time in days and dismissed the thought. He thought of Kastra, and found himself once more lingering on those late-night discussions they had held. He thought of the way she had looked when he gave her the necklace, of her sharp tongue and savage eyes, and how sometimes (and rarely) he saw them soften for him. These were people he had come to know without masks, just as he knew Max now. The boy was a hunter, a warrior, a man who would kill for him. That much was clear.
“Soon,” Ezekiel said, and looked eastward. It was darkening with the retreating sun, though dusk was not yet upon them. A dull drone of insects and birds filled the space between their land and the forest. “This isn’t just our war.” At this, he rubbed at the bandage over his arm. He thought of Sirius’ words, of the blood spilled between them, and knew it was the truth. God had brought them together for a purpose, and in his heart, Ezekiel knew what that dark reason was.
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