"Blake?” I question her.
“He went to the east wing,” she reveals with a worried look on her face. “To meet Silas. I’m not going to leave him.”
"We need to evacuate," Helena interrupts, already moving.
"No, Blake's in there." Then I stop myself. He lied to me. Betrayed me. Why do I still care about his well-being? Because I bet, he's in that burning wing of the estate, still trying to protect me.
"Peyton, we don't have time.”
"I'm not leaving him." I pull away from Helena and start moving against the crowd toward the east wing with Talia.
"Peyton, don't be stupid. He wouldn't do this for you.”
“Maybe,” I tell her. "But I'm not him. I don't leave people behind."
“That’s some bullshit what you just said,” Talia says as we push through the panicking crowd. “You’re being too hard on my brother.”
As we trudge toward the east wing, the smoke is getting thicker, and panic starts to settle in my chest. What if Blake is in real trouble?
Even if he doesn't deserve to be saved, even if this is the stupidest thing I've ever done, I'm finishing what my mother started, and that means saving the man who failed to save her, because that's what justice looks like when you're the one playing by the rules to a new playbook.
The smoke gets thicker. The heat is more intense. Somewhere in the building, Silas's plan is working exactly as he designed it.
But he didn't plan for me.
That's my advantage.
And hopefully Blake’s salvation.
* * *
BLAKE
The east wing corridor is empty when I arrive.
Too empty. No staff. No guests who've wandered off from the party. Just expensive art, thick carpet, and the kind of silence that says someone's cleared the area deliberately.
Silas is here. I can feel that particular charge in the air that comes from facing someone who wants you dead but needs to talk first. I know it well. It’s a common Delano state of mind.
I keep my hand near my Glock, scan for threats, and move deeper into the shadows of the hallway.
"Blake." Silas's voice comes from a doorway to my right. "I wondered if you'd actually come."
"You said we needed to talk."
"We do." He steps into view, and he looks different than the last time I saw him. He looks older, harder, like the mask he wears in public has finally cracked. "But first, empty your pockets. Gun, phone, anything else you're carrying."
"Not happening."
"Then this conversation is over, and I proceed with my original plan." Silas's smile is cold. "Your choice. But if you want to save those assholes downstairs, you'll comply."
I weigh my options. Fighting here accomplishes nothing. I need to know what he's planning, and I need to buy time for Talia to get Peyton out.
Slowly, I pull out the Glock and set it on a side table. I take out my phone next and my knife from my ankle holster.
"Good." Silas gestures to the room behind him. "Inside."
It's a conference room, windows overlooking the gardens, a long table dominating the space. And sitting at the far end is a person I was hoping not to see.
