Jonas blinked at that and locked it away; the rest could wait while he held what mattered: Clara, alive and furious and whole enough to bite back.
There would be time for the rest, the unspooling, the prosecutions, and the shadow cleanup with Eidolon arranged so no outside agencies were called in. For now, he stayed on his knees, hand warm on Clara’s shoulder, listening to Savannah steady the room and to Duchess ordering the team so that everything would be preserved on their terms.
He had her. She hadn’t fallen. That was what he needed to hold in the dark, steady rush that came next.
Chapter 38
The house smelled of smoke,blood, and lemon polish. A contradiction that made her stomach roll every time she drew breath. The carved panelling of the study, so carefully preserved over centuries, felt wrong now, like a stage set torn open by violence.
Oliver’s body lay sprawled across the rug, half-covered with a discarded blanket. Her father groaned softly from the sofa where Savannah Decker bent over him, efficient, calm, her hands red to the wrists, the woman she’d met earlier commanding the room. And her mother…
Penelope Sutton sat perfectly upright, a bloodied pistol still loose in her lap. Her face was pale, rigid, eyes staring at nothing. The shake of her hands was the only sign she hadn’t turned to stone entirely.
Clara’s whole body trembled. She hadn’t realised Jonas, Watchdog, still held her until she tried to move and his hand flexed on her shoulder, grounding her. His voice had been the only thread through the storm, the only thing that had kept her from screaming when Oliver’s fingers closed around her throat.
“You’re safe,” he murmured, not for the first time. His tone was steady, unshakeable, even as his pulse still hammered hard against her side.
Safe. She didn’t feel safe. But she felt him, and that was enough for now.
Lotus crouched in front of her, eyes steady, voice low. “Lena’s secure. Damon has her on comms. She’s scared but unhurt.”
Clara nodded, relief washing through her like a tide that almost knocked her over. She swayed, and Jonas’s arm caught her tighter.
Her gaze drifted unwillingly to her father. His shirt was crimson, his face ashen, yet he was alive. Alive after conspiring, after trading her future like currency, after letting a man like Oliver hold a gun on her.
“Why?” The word tore from her before she knew she was speaking. “Why would you do this?”
Her father’s eyes cracked open, unfocused, but his lips twisted in something too close to a smile. “For you,” he rasped. “For all of us. Sutton bloodline… untouchable.”
“No.” Clara’s voice broke. “Not for me. You nearly destroyed me.”
Her mother flinched, pressing the heel of her hand against her mouth, as though Clara’s words were more unbearable than the gunshot ringing in her ears.
Duchess’s voice cut in, brisk. “We need to move. Savannah will stabilise him for transport. Eidolon will take custody from there.”
Clara turned sharply. “Custody? You’re not taking him to hospital?”
“No.” It was Bás, his voice like iron. “No police, no authorities. He goes to Eidolon. They’ll handle him and everything he’s tied to. This doesn’t touch daylight, Clara. Not if you want to walk free of the mess he dragged you into.”
“What or who is Eidolon?”
His lips gave a small lift. “I’ll explain later.”
“Okay. But he won’t be hurt, will he? I know what he did was wrong, but he’s still my dad.”
Jonas cupped her cheek, and she closed her eyes at the feeling of safety this man gave her. “Clara, he’ll be treated fairly, but he will receive the justice he deserves.”
She stared at him, acknowledging the quiet finality in his tone, then at her father’s slumped figure, her mother’s vacant eyes. A weight pressed down hard in her chest until she could barely breathe.
Jonas bent his head, his breath warm against her temple. “You’re not alone in this,” he whispered.
And she believed him. Even as her world fell apart, even as she stared at the ruin of her family, she believed him.
Valentina came in with Monty and Scout at her heels, the dogs instantly alert to the tension in the room. Monty nosed at her knee, whining softly, and Clara let out a broken laugh, burying her fingers in his fur.
The tears came then, sudden and hot, spilling over as the dogs pressed close. Jonas held her while she cried, while the team orchestrated the aftermath like a machine around them, packing evidence, securing bodies, setting the next chain of movements in place.
It was chaos. It was order. And in the middle of it, she knew something had shifted.
