Alejandro’s expression hardens as the implication settles. “So the Guild’s blind.”
“And exposed,” I add. “For the first time in its history.”
I lift my hand slightly, fingers brushing the scar. “This isn’t about taking it over. There doesn’t get to be another Kenji. Another Tex. Another man deciding who lives and dies from the shadows.”
He nods once. No hesitation. No doubt.
“We hunt what’s left,” he says. “The ones who corrupted it. The ones who hid behind the creed.”
“And when we’re done,” I say quietly, “there won’t be a Guild like the old one ever again.”
Alejandro studies my face, then gives a slow, dangerous smile. “You’re talking about ending a legacy that’s lasted centuries.”
“I already ended about a dozen tonight.”
That earns a low laugh from him.
“I’m in,” he says. “All the fucking way, baby.”
The desert wind lifts around us as the sky lightens, carrying smoke, dust, and the last remnants of a world that thought it could survive us. Somewhere behind us, bodies cool, and systems collapse. Somewhere ahead, names are already surfacing.
Targets.
I lace my fingers through his and squeeze.
“We don’t ride off into the sunrise,” I tell him. “We walk straight into the fucking fire.”
Alejandro tightens his grip, eyessharp and unafraid.
“Good,” he says. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
And together, we leave the garden behind?—
not as fugitives,
not as pawns,
but as the reckoning that’s been coming forthe Guild all along.
I’ve walked into active war zones with less resistance in my chest than this.
Saint stands beside me, shoulders loose but eyes sharp, popping two pieces of bubble gum into her mouth like she’s bracing for impact. She chews once. Twice. Fast.
That’s never a good sign.
“You don’t need to look like we’re about to breach a compound,” I tell her quietly, adjusting my grip on the stack of oversized, brightly wrapped boxes in my arms. “It’s a birthday party.”
She doesn’t look at me. Her jaw tightens just a fraction.
“I don’t do family.”
I glance over, softer now. She’s healed. Mostly. Scar lines pink against her dark skin, confidence back where it belongs, but this—this is different. There’s no blade for this kind of threat.
“You’ll do great,” I say. “You’ve survived worse.”
She snorts. “That’s not reassuring.”
We step out of the car together, all business. She carries the pasta salad like it might explode. I balance the gifts,shifting them higher against my chest as music thumps through the tall wooden gate ahead of us. Laughter. Too much laughter.
