Chapter 24: I Didn't Hear Him
Crimson Song.
Eliza Darrow.
Like most Wasters, she was an unfortunate case. But what made her stand out more than most, before she became one, she was famous.
"You ever seen her perform?"
"Hell no. Wouldn't catch me in some damn opera house. Picture shows are more my taste."
Levi and Rufus sat by the fireplace, drinks in hand. The house was quiet, the warmth of the dying fire flickering over them. The kids were in bed, bellies full from the pot roast Edmond made.
Levi took a sip, then glanced toward the staircase.
"Edmond gonna join us?"
Rufus took a slow swig of his whiskey.
"Not likely. Think he's already turned in."
Levi hesitated. Then downing his drink, he leaned forward slow.
"What's up with the shake in his hand?"
Rufus' eyes locked onto him, hard enough to almost make Levi regret asking. A beat passed. Then, Rufus sighed, took another drink, and let the tension slip.
"You know who he is, don't ya?"
"Kinda. Some war hero?"
"Don't let him catch you sayin' that. Edmond don't take kindly to that title."
Rufus reached for the bounty notice on the table, turning it over in his hand. Crimson Song's face stared back at him, that same cold, crazy expression.
"He's always had issues with bounty huntin'. Never sat right with him. We only took to it 'cause killin's all we know. After Edmond took over this place, we needed money—and there's always someone needin' collectin' on."
Levi turned his empty glass in his hands, watching the firelight catch the rim. His question still hung in the air between them.
Rufus just stared into the flames, swirling his drink, the ice clinking against the glass.
"Used to be, a man's hands told his whole story. A rancher's got calluses, a gambler's got smooth fingers, and a man who's done too much killin'... well, sometimes they can get the shakes."
Frowning, Levi watched Rufus take another slow sip. The way he said it—it wasn't just words.
"You mean the war?"
Rufus scoffed.
"War ain't the half of it."
He leaned back in his chair, stretching out his legs, eyes distant.
"You ever heard of the Black Hand Massacre?"
Levi shook his head.
Rufus exhaled through his nose, shaking his glass like he was deciding if he wanted another pour before launching into something heavy.
"Figures. Church don't print stories that make 'em look bad. Truth is, we were there, right in the thick of it."
"You served together?"
"Sure did. Seven years, side by side. I was his orderly."
Levi would've choked on his drink if it wasn't empty. He coughed out half a laugh before he could stop himself.
Fixing him with a glare sharp enough to cut glass, Rufus pointed a finger at him.
"I'll have you know, thousands would've cut off a damn limb to be in my position. That's how famous Edmond was."
Levi raised his hands, more amused than apologetic. He leaned over, grabbed the bottle, and poured himself another drink.
"Alright, alright. No disrespect. So what happened at this Black Hand thing?"
Rufus snatched the bottle back, refilling his own glass with a quick splash.
"I'm gettin' there. And it weren't just a 'thing.'"
He sat back, swirling the glass between his fingers, his gaze turning distant.
"Before I met him, Edmond wasn't much more than another green officer with a sharp sword. But he'd earned his name in a few fights—Fanged Reaper—and the brass took notice. That's when they promoted him. That's when I got assigned to him."
Levi sipped his drink, waiting.
"We fought together, ate together, bled together. Death wasn't somethin' we talked about, it was just there—like breathin'. And because of that damn name of his, we always saw the worst of it. Whenever the Guard needed a mess cleaned up, we were the first they sent in."
Rufus rolled the glass between his palms, staring into the fire like it held the memories itself.
"And Black Hand was the worst fuckin' mess of 'em all."
Levi sat up a little straighter. There was something in Rufus's voice—something heavy, something he wasn't used to hearing.
"We were told a few war bands were gatherin', holdin' some kind of ceremony before they planned to raise hell. Orders were strict—wipe out everythin' that moved."
Rufus continued, rolling his drink between his hands.
"Even before we got there, we knew somethin' was off about the whole thing."
"What'd ya mean?"
"Command didn't usually send us in to stop somethin' before it starts. And they sure as hell didn't slap a kill-on-sight order on it. That ain't how we worked."
Rufus let out a humorless chuckle.
"Sending an extra unit with us is what sealed it. They sent us with another battalion, bigger than ours. And we weren't familiar with 'em. Didn't train with 'em. Didn't know a damn thing about 'em."
He knocked back his drink, shaking his head.
"Felt less like reinforcements... and more like we were bein' watched."
Levi leaned in, the heat from the whiskey burning in his chest, but it was nothing compared to the slow, smoldering fire in Rufus's voice.
"Where were they from?"
"Never found out. Some specialty outfit, supposedly. Top brass hush-hush kinda shit. But they weren't soldiers—I could tell that much."
"Then what were they?"
"Spooks. Shadows."
He took a slow pull from his drink.
"Didn't talk. No real personality. Just… killers. Only time they showed emotion was when the killin' started."
Levi was fully locked in now, the flush in his face no longer from the drink alone.
"So what happened?"
Rufus didn't answer right away.
He was already back there.
The whiskey wasn't warming his gut anymore—it was draggin' drunk-down ghosts up from the dark.
"When we got there, didn't even get time to scout proper before that demon of a captain barked the order. Whole damn lot of 'em charged in, like rabid hounds."
He stopped. His throat was dry.
The screams—they were still there, after all these years.
"We didn't realize 'til it was too late. Like I said—bitch didn't give us time. The whole thing turned into a fever. Maybe there was magic in it, I don't know. But men… men became devils that night."
He took another drink. Didn't taste like anything.
"There wasn't no warband. Just a tribe. A few braves, yeah, but no shamans. No real warriors. Just the old. The women. The kids."
His knuckles whitened around the glass.
"And we slaughtered them all."
The fire crackled, filling the silence that hung between them.
Levi sat still, the whiskey in his gut feeling sour. His earlier curiosity, his excitement—gone. Like someone had thrown a cold bucket of water over it.
He looked at the man across from him, saw him a little differently now. Not worse. Just clearer.
There was a reason the man was the way he was. A reason he laughed too loud, drank too much, and didn't flinch at anything.
Rufus tossed the last of his drink into the fire, the flames hissing as the alcohol burned off. He leaned back, pulling a smoke from his coat.
"If I'm bein' real honest? We were soldiers. We were given orders. And we followed 'em."
Snap.
A flicker of flame at his fingertips. He brought it to his lips, taking a long, slow pull. The bags under his eyes seemed heavier in the dim light. He exhaled, letting the smoke drift, like it could carry something away with it.
"Never did touch no kids or women. Kept my killin' clean. So I ain't got shame for that. Not for followin' orders."
Another drag. Another slow exhale.
"But I lost him."
His voice dipped lower. Like he wasn't sure if he was talking to Levi anymore.
"We went in on foot for the element of surprise. Edmond didn't have his horse. I shouldn't've lost him—I was his orderly. But I couldn't see past the blood."
The fire cracked, but Levi barely noticed.
"My arm near melted from overheatin' that night. Smell of everthin', worse than the heat. All of it just… poolin' to the center."
His gaze was far away now. Not here. Not in the orphanage.
"Ankle deep. Wadin' through taken life."
Levi swallowed, but his throat was dry. He could feel it, somehow. Could see it without Rufus saying another word.
"Don't know how long it took, but I found him."
Rufus's voice had turned flat.
"It was loud. So loud, no one could understand nothin'. I didn't hear him."
Levi felt the weight in those words.
"I didn't hear a word he said."
Rufus was staring into the fire. Like he could still see it, playing back in the flames.
"All I saw was an arrow stickin' out of his gut. And that damn kid, drawin' back to shoot him again."
His hand curled around his drink. The knuckles went white.
"I didn't hear him."
Another drag. Another exhale.
"I just saw my friend 'bout to die. So I shot."
Levi barely breathed.
"Didn't hear Edmond screamin' at me not to. Didn't know 'til after. I didn't understand why he was lookin' at me like that."
A slow shake of the head.
"Wasn't my fault it all went to shit."
But there was something Rufus wasn't saying. Something he never would admit.
The look.
That's what haunted him. Not the killing. Not the blood.
But that look. The one Edmond gave after the bolt hit true.
Eyes that screamed betrayed.
The words had run dry. Rufus sat quiet, staring into the fire, the weight of the past hanging thick between them.
Levi didn't push. He knew what it meant to lay a burden down in front of another man. People liked to say it was freeing. Maybe, in time. But words didn't heal a damn thing. They just split you open, made you look at the wound fresh.
A beat passed. Then another.
Rufus cleared his throat, shaking himself loose from whatever had grabbed hold.
"Sorry, kid. Got lost there for a second."
Flicking the spent cigarette into the flames, he pulled out another, lighting it with steady hands.
"Edmond was never the same after that. Soon as he healed up, put in his resignation. Didn't get no pushback, not with his record. Hell, they let me walk with him, but that's tradition. An Orderly follows his officer when he retires."
Reaching for the bounty notice, he idly flicked the corner, eyes scanning over the ink.
"That's why we only take bounties on cutthroats, rapists, and the occasional Waster. Edmond's real particular about Wasters, though. Feels sorry for 'em."
That tracked.
Levi figured he sided closer with Rufus on this—orders were orders, and a man didn't need to drown in every damn thing he'd done. But he didn't need much imagination to see what Edmond carried. The weight of it. The shame.
The kind that don't just sit in your gut but creeps in your bones.
They say a man can break from killing too much. That it hollows out a piece of your soul.
Maybe that was true.
But he understood why Edmond was particular about who he put in the ground, or sent to the hangman.
Levi flexed his blacksteel fingers, watching the light catch along the edges. He knew what this arm meant. Knew what road lay ahead.
Rufus's story didn't deter him. But it made something stir—just for a second. Didn't matter. He was too far gone to be turned back by another man's regrets.
Only blood could settle the things inside him.
And right now, that blood cost time. Cost money.
Money to pay Maggie. Time to connect the rest of his augments.
He looked back down at the bounty.
'I won't end up like either of them.'
Crimson Song. Eliza Darrow. That was what mattered now.
There wasn't time for regret.