I look at Siobhán. At my siren. My salvation. My ruin. And she gives me the smallest nod—calm, certain, unafraid. My stomach settles into steel.
“You’re right,” I say to him.
Darragh blinks. Just once.Suspicious. “You were never meant to lead,” he says.
I step closer. Slow. Measured. The way he taught me. “No,” I echo. “Youweren’t.”
His eyes flash, black with fury. “Watch your tone.”
“No,” I say again, voice dropping into that cold place I only ever visited when I fought for her. “Watch yours. You’re talking to the future of the Red Hand.”
He opens his mouth to snarl something—something cruel, something cutting— But the confession spills instead. “I should’ve killed her mother sooner like I did with yours.”
The world goes absolutely silent. Even Rouge stops breathing. And Siobhán—my fierce, fragile, fire-hearted girl— doesn’t move. Her eyes stay locked on Darragh, steady as a blade.
“Thank you,” I tell him softly, “for telling me everything I needed to know.”
His eyes widen, just a fraction. Then he reaches for his gun. He’s too slow. I’m not the boy he raised. I’m the man he forged in violence. The heir he sharpened like a knife. The son he ruined—and turned into the weapon that will finish him. My gun is drawn before his leaves the holster.
One shot. Clean. Dead center.
Darragh O’Dwyer collapses against my mother’s ruined piano, blood smearing the wood where her hands once danced. His final exhale rattles through the room like a broken note.
Rouge lowers his weapon. “Holy Christ.”
I walk forward. Slow. Deliberate. My father looks up at me, something like disbelief twisting his lips. I crouch beside him.
“Your final word?” I ask calmly.
He chokes. “Bastard.”
I smile. “Good enough.”
His eyes go flat. The last of him leaks out onto the floor. A life. A reign. A legacy—Severed. I stand. The room feels bigger without him. Lighter.
Rouge exhales. “You’re the king now.”
“No,” I say, turning, finding Siobhán watching me with fire instead of fear, with pride instead of pity. “I’m the man who chose her.”
She steps toward me. Not flinching. Not trembling. Not looking away from the body of the man who destroyed her life. She slips her hand into mine.
“Time to build something better,” she whispers.
And I know, everything from this moment forward belongs to us.
1.Fly my dove
