Thomas looked around at the large space and at his family—his chosen family—feeling stupidly sentimental. The air shimmered with body heat and the faint hum of electricity from the overhead lamps. For a fleeting second, he let himself imagine they were simply gathered for another family meeting, not standing in a makeshift execution chamber.
Not everyone had chosen to participate in Beverly’s untimely demise. Enzo and Seven had left to escort their family members home, stating they’d be back before brunch the next morning. The executive members of Elite had left to catch a flight back to the West Coast, leaving only their agents guarding the perimeter in place of Thomas’s usual staff.
Ever, Shiloh, and Cricket had opted to stay with the littles in the nursery. Lola and Calliope were monitoring from the war room. The twins hovered at the back, Felix squeezed between his two sons, Zane in Asa’s arms. Arsen, Levi, and Cree stood off to one side with Matty’s friend Jordan. Mal and Nico stood beside August and Lucas, the neurodivergent pair like dark mirrors, both fascinated by machinery and ruin.
Mal seemed utterly captivated by August, which didn’t surprise Thomas in the least. He often wondered about the depth of Mal’s own psychopathy, whether it was learned, sharpened, or simply inherited from proximity to chaos.
Noah was fussing over Adam, whose arm was now in a sling. Atticus and Jericho lingered near the doors, the latter fretting that the heat might be too much for Atticus. Archer and Mac murmured back and forth in their own little world while Aiden paced in front of his creation like he was Frankenstein about to unveil his monster. The rhythmic click of Aiden’s boots on the concrete echoed like a metronome, steady and oddly reassuring.
Thomas could only assume Matty and Lake were still…too occupied to join them. Probably for the best. He wasn’t sure how Jordan would handle this, but so far, the kid seemed unfazed by the events unfolding before him. Next to Cree’s quiet steadiness, the boy practically radiated energy, like an over-caffeinated puppy. Cree appeared to find his enthusiasm amusing.
There was a strange energy in the air—not quite anticipation but something closer to resignation. This had been a long time coming. The weight of years pressed down on them, Zane’s trauma transmuted into purpose. Outside, the night was cold enough to freeze one’s breath, but inside the confined space it was warm…and about to get much warmer. The shed smelled of lumber and something slightly burnt, almost metallic, the kind of smell he could taste. Every time someone shifted their boots on the concrete, grit whispered underfoot. The place buzzed with tension, like static right before a lightning strike.
August was fixated on the large tarp now sitting in the center of the room just before Beverly, who had finally stopped screaming behind her duct tape. Her silence was the worst kind of noise. Part of Thomas hoped she’d died from blood loss, but another part wanted to see her understand what was about to happen.
Maybe he was a psychopath. She was going to die in agonizing pain, and he couldn’t muster an ounce of sympathy for anyone but Zane, who shook like a leaf in Asa’s arms. Whether from nerves, fear, or shock, Thomas couldn’t tell.
“Are we gonna get this show on the road or what?” Atticus asked. “Some of us prefer to be in bed by now.”
“Settle down, grandpa,” Adam cracked.
“Yeah, I want to see what’s under the tarp,” Mal said, eyes glinting.
“Take the hood off her first,” Felix reminded. “I let her keep her eyes. It would be a shame to waste my generosity.”
Thomas’s lips twitched. He couldn’t help it. Sometimes Felix was more Mulvaney than even Avi.
Noah walked to where Bev had gone eerily quiet and yanked the hood off. Her hair clung to her face in damp ropes, the skin beneath her eyes mottled and gray. Her makeup had sunk into every crack and crevice making her look like some monstrous creature from a horror movie. The light hit her pupils like a laser; she flinched, nostrils flaring.
“Oh, good. You’re still alive,” he said. He looked at Thomas. “Duct tape on or off?”
Thomas caught Zane’s gaze. The boy’s expression was hollowed out. “That’s his call.”
Zane’s back rested against Asa’s chest, his husband’s arms wrapped around him like steel bars. “Take it off.”
Noah seemed to take great satisfaction in ripping the duct tape from her mouth. The sound tore through the silence like Velcro in a cathedral. Bev’s gasp was wet, her lips splitting again where blood had already dried.
Her wild eyes darted from person to person until she found Zane. “Zane, Zaney. I kn-know that I was…wrong. I know that now. I’ll go away. I’ll go away and never bother you again. Ever.”
Zane just stared at her, gaze distant. Thomas could see the tremor at his jawline, the muscle ticking beneath pale skin, a boy trying not to shatter.
“Zane? Zaney, please? Talk to me. We can talk about this.”
“It’s too late for that, Bev,” Asa said, his voice low, warning.
“Don’t talk to him,” Thomas said calmly. “Talk to us.”
“Yeah, nobody’s coming to save you,” Aiden added. “You’ve used up all your chances. You don’t get to walk away this time.”
“Come on,” Adam practically whined. “I want to see what’s under the tarp.”
Aiden looked to Thomas, who nodded. It wasn’t a dramatic nod, just a quiet command. Thomas didn’t need volume to command attention; his authority pulled obedience out of people.
The others crept forward, gathering in a circle around both Bev and Aiden’s latest masterpiece, still on its wheeled platform. Aiden finally pulled the tarp back, revealing his creation.
The metallic scent thickened immediately, copper and machine oil, the cold surface reflecting the overhead lights in fractured amber. The shape rose from the platform like something dragged out of the underworld.
Thomas smiled, pride blooming behind his ribs. Aiden had worked so hard on this.
