calson / cursedluck / chudson WHATEVER ITS CALLED
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Callum finally met his gaze. His heart hammered against his ribs, and he felt like he would die from some freak heart attack at any moment. He wanted to pull his gun, to point it at that pretty face and end the deception, to prove to the Town that he was the hero they needed. But his hand wouldn't move. His fingers refused to curl around the trigger, even if his morals protested for him to shoot. Instead, he says:
“Do you know who’s the mafia?”
Hudson’s smile falters and he goes silent.
Callum is the oh-so righteous vigilante, yet he can't even bring himself to shoot the witch.
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Hudson’s mind raced. He knew Callum was the bodyguard for Luke, who was the Saboteur. That meant Callum was neutral, right? The Saboteur was playing nice with the Mafia lately. That meant Callum might be playing nice with them too, right? But he might be the one who walks straight to the Town and tells them everything too! He could try killing Callum theoretically if he uses the remaining of his energy to kill him, but Luke could turn against him if he did that and he’s already pretty tired from the fight Chanel put him up to when he stabbed her. Ugh, why is everyone so complicated to understand!
Hudson gets caught with a body by the saboteur's bodyguard. What he does to make sure his identity doesn't get leaked is quite embarrassing.
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Hudson found himself leaning closer. "What kind of odds?"
Callum's smile was a slow, dangerous curve. "Where the stakes are real." He tapped his glass against Hudson’s with a soft, definitive clink. "Where losing hurts like hell… and winning feels like being rejuvenated."
Hudson swallowed. The room was spinning, but Callum's voice stabilized him. "I don't know how to play."
"I'll teach you."
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