“Heard Leo didn’t make it,” I say, voice low.
Victor’s jaw ticks. “No. He didn’t.”
I nod, but the weight in my chest tightens. Leo didn’t just die. He took a bullet that wasn’t meant for him. Something about the way Arden vanished with him—too fast, too clean—doesn’t sit right. The truth is, I’m not sure he’s gone. Not really.
But Arden’s here now. At Victor’s house. Calm, quiet, too composed for a man who supposedly carried a dead body out of a collapsing building. He’s not grieving. He’s watching. Waiting. And I clock it. File it. Because that kind of silence doesn’t come without a secret.
“Thank you for showing up,” Victor says. He doesn’t say more. He doesn’t have to. We’re brothers. Sometimes silence speaks loud enough.
I step toward the back door, needing air. Nash follows without a word. When we’re out of earshot, he looks at me; silent, steady.
“We keeping that between us?” he asks.
I nod once. “For now.”
He nods once, not needing more. He saw the blood. The way Donovan’s pulse refused to die. He saw Candace. Saw what she looked like after they came for her at the house, wearing bruises that hadn’t even finished blooming, war paint made of survival. Knows we can’t drop that weight on Victor. Not tonight.
Instead, he leans against the railing, arms crossed, voice low. “You think he’ll survive long enough to talk?”
“If Sloane has anything to do with it, yeah.” I grind the heel of my boot into the concrete. “She’s doing everything she can. Candace is watching him like a hawk.” Like she needs to make sure he doesn’t disappear before he gives her the names. Before someone else tries to silence him.
Nash nods again. “You trust Arden?”
“No.”
“Thought so.”
We fall into silence again. But it’s not heavy. It’s focused. Both of us waiting for something to rise out of the dark and show its teeth.
“We loop Victor in when we’ve got more,” I say finally. “He’s been through enough. No sense handing him another ghost unless we know it has teeth.”
“Copy that.” Nash pushes off the railing. “Let me know when it’s time.”
Inside, laughter drifts faint from the kitchen. It doesn’t match the tension rolling in my gut. Alice Brighton. The name hasn’t stopped echoing since the day Chuck confessed she was Candace’s mother. She’s here. In town. Working the strings.
My chest tightens. A hundred memories flash at once—her face, her fire, the way she said “I didn’t know where else to go.” Every instinct I have is screaming that we’re not just chasing ghosts anymore. We’re walking into the belly of something ancient. Something dark.
The queen always moves first.
I light a cigarette, barely register the taste as I inhale. It burns hotter than usual since my nerves are frayed straight down to the bone. My thoughts drift, unwilling. Cornelius. The night he died. The siblings he died protecting. My siblings.
I still don’t know where they are. But Donovan does. He knew that night. If Alice was part of it, then this goes deeper than I thought. Than any of us thought.
There’s a sound behind me. Soft footsteps, then a voice that doesn’t belong in shadows. Victor’s.
“I don’t even know how you knew to come there,” he says.
“We heard the bomb,” I say simply. “James called me before the line got cut. I sent out a text and told everyone to meet me there.”
Victor nods, then adds, “Is James alright?”
“Broke his ankle, but he’s fine,” I answer.
He nods again and turns back to the others. The room shifts as the attention falls to me. I speak. Steady. Even.
“I’ve heard of Donovan and the things he did. I didn’t care so much about the weapons he moved or even the money laundering until it affected one of my own.” I glance at Victor, letting the implication land. “Then he was on my radar. That’s when I found out about the human trafficking. I wasn’t aware of him doing that, but when he disappeared for a while, he became a back burner problem for us.”
I gesture to East and Nash beside me.
