Welcome to the Innocent World - Chapter 62

Chapter 62: The Arno’s Passing

I stared at Arno’s picture, the gruesome image frozen in my mind. The blood, the look of terror on his face—it was almost a message. I couldn’t stop the questions flooding my mind, each one pushing me closer to the edge.

How could this have happened? Who would go to such lengths, and why? Did the Shadow Mystics do it? No. They wouldn’t leave traces behind. They were loyal, precise, and understood the importance of keeping our actions hidden from the knights and anyone else who might meddle in our world. Besides, they would have informed me if they’d planned something like this, especially with Athlea now tied to me. She wasn’t just another enemy to them.

But if it wasn’t them, then who?

I felt a weight at my side, the faint tremble of Athlea clinging to me, her body wracked with sobs that seemed to shatter the quiet around us. She held on tightly, her face buried in my shirt, her breaths uneven as she gasped between choked whispers.

“Austin… please… please save him… I-I can’t…” Her voice was fragile, each word tinged with desperation. She clutched my shirt as though it was the only thing grounding her, keeping her from breaking entirely.

“He…was my only f-family….”

My heart twisted painfully, seeing her like this. I wanted to offer her comfort, but what could I say? The truth was harsh, unyielding. Arno was gone, and no amount of comforting words would change that.

“Athlea…” I said softly, placing a hand on her shoulder, steadying her as best I could. “We have to get you out of here. Staying here won’t help.”

She lifted her head slightly, her tear-streaked face filled with confusion and pain. Her voice was barely a whisper, raw with grief.

“But… I… he’s…” Her words faltered, her gaze dropping as fresh tears filled her eyes.

“Come on,” I murmured, keeping my tone as gentle as possible.

“We need to get you to him.” I wiped a stray tear from her cheek before bending to gather her belongings—her bag, her phone, anything to keep her steady. I placed a hand on her shoulder again, guiding her out of the dark, unsettling scene.

We walked in silence toward the waiting taxi. Her steps were slow and hesitant, like she was moving through quicksand, each step dragging her down. I helped her into the back seat, sitting beside her, keeping one hand on her shoulder to remind her that she wasn’t alone.

The ride was somber, every second weighed down by the tension between us. I stole glances at Athlea, her face pale, her hands gripping her knees as she stared at nothing. Each moment brought more questions and doubts to my mind. Who could have done this? And what message were they sending by taking him?

Finally, the taxi pulled up to the hospital, and I gently nudged Athlea, who seemed lost in her own world. She looked up, her eyes vacant, before she nodded and stepped out of the car.

As we approached the entrance, a crowd of people had gathered, their voices a low murmur of speculation and curiosity. Knights were stationed at the hospital doors, their presence only adding to the gravity of the situation.

I heard snippets of conversations around us.

“Did you hear? Two people… they killed him…”

“They say there was a strange mark on the body. Something no one’s seen before.”

I clenched my fists, every whispered word fueling the anger simmering just below the surface. Whoever did this wanted attention—they wanted the rumors, the speculations, the fear.

Athlea took a shaky breath, looking at the hospital doors with a haunted expression, as though she feared what lay beyond them.

“Athlea…” I said, my voice gentle but firm. She didn’t respond, didn’t even seem to hear me. Her gaze was fixed on the doors, as if pulled by some invisible force.

She took a step forward, but the knights at the entrance blocked her path, holding up their hands in a gesture of restraint.

“Only family members are allowed inside,” one of them stated, his tone unyielding.

Athlea’s face went pale, and she didn’t even glance back at me. With slow, deliberate steps, she moved past them, walking through the doors.

I took a step forward, only for the knights to hold out their arms, stopping me. Their expressions were stern, daring me to try and push past them.

“Wait here,” one of them ordered, his voice a warning.

I gritted my teeth but held my ground. There was no point in arguing. This was her moment, her grief, and I had to respect that.

Turning on my heel, I walked away, slipping into the shadows cast by the building.

I scaled the side of the structure, making my way up to the rooftop. When I reached the top, a familiar figure was waiting, her presence calm and composed in the dim light.

“Alpha,” I greeted her, my voice barely concealing the frustration simmering beneath the surface.

“You’re late,” she replied coolly, crossing her arms as she looked at me with an expression that was equal parts curiosity and concern.

“Alpha, who did it?” I replied, my tone sharper than intended.

She regarded me with a steady gaze, her face unreadable.

“It was an outside enemy,” she said finally. “From what we’ve gathered… it was someone from the Alliance…like Fluga.”

Her words hit me like a physical blow. The Alliance? The idea was absurd, unthinkable. Why would they kill one of their own?

“Within the Alliance?” I echoed, my voice barely above a whisper, struggling to comprehend what she was saying. “Are you sure?”

She nodded, her gaze unyielding. “Yes. The evidence points in that direction. But there’s something more to this, something that doesn’t quite add up.”

I took a step back, the implications sinking in. Why would the Alliance kill one of their own? And in such a brutal, public way, leaving a mark that was bound to draw attention?

“Are they… turning on each other?” I asked, trying to wrap my head around the thought.

“I don’t know that yet.” Alpha replied, her voice thoughtful. “Or they could be sending a message. Either way, this was intentional. Calculated.”

I ran a hand through my hair, the tension twisting in my chest like a vice.

“But what would they gain from this?”