The voice slices through the extractor’s hum—clean, precise. I don’t flinch. I just lift my head like a wolf catching a shift in the wind.
Lucas stands in the doorway, hair slicked back, face carved from stone. My second at the academy. Reliable. Deadly. The kind of man who erases problems so efficiently you wonder if they were ever real.
“What,” I say. No need for extra breath.
He steps into the light, hands tucked in his pockets. He never wastes words. Waste is for people with the luxury of safety.
“It’s the new hacker,” he says. “Jason has news.”
The lab shrinks around me, the hum of machines fading to a murmur, as if even the walls are holding their breath. My pulse thuds in my ears. Information from a kid who can make cameras blink and doors sigh open isn’t just news—it’s a weapon, and I can feel the weight of it pressing against my ribs, promising leverage.
“Talk,” I say, though my voice doesn’t ask. It orders.
Jason’s voice on the line is jittery. Good. Nerves sharpen people’s mistakes. “Sir, I did what you asked. I got into Amaya’s inbox.”
“Speak.” I don’t bother with pleasantries. I keep my eyes on the vial, thumb tapping the glass like a metronome.
“There’s…there are plans,” he says. “She’s coordinating something aimed at one of your strongholds- eastern Shandytown. Detailed movements, times, names. She’s been in contact with a group nearby- probably bribed them for information. It’s all time-stamped.” His words tumble out quick, like he wants them off his tongue before they rattle.
I let a slow exhale drag the syllables out. Amaya. Predictable as a leaky roof and twice as annoying. She isn’t subtle—never was. She’s been vying for Shandytown since I took it over. “So she’s going after Shandytown again?” I say, bored and sharp. “Figures. She’s a creature of habit.”
I hang up before he can babble an assurance. Lucas’s shoes are a soft echo behind me when I say, “Bring me the family cell.”
The cell phone I despise using. The only form of communication I use with this viper nest I call family.
He produces it without hesitation, like he’d expected the request. That’s Lucas—predicting me makes him indispensable and dangerous in equal measure. I flip the heavy phone open and let Amaya’s face fill the screen on the second ring. Her smirk is accustomed to being adored. She answers with syrup and poison. “Little brother. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Cut the shit, Amaya.” My tone is bitter. “I hear you’ve been busy in Shandytown. Again. Curious?”
Her laugh is sharp. “Maddox, always so dramatic. I’m merely doing some small research to insure a valuable partnership. I had a venture proposal for you, but you had to ruin all the fun.”
“You know I don’t like other hands scratching at our borders,” I say. “Even for research.”
“Why are you so interested in old ruins, anyway? You have territory enough to keep your hands busy.”
This is business. Bloodlines and brick. “You move on Shandytown, you move on my people. I will come after you, full force, Amaya. Don’t mistake my presence at the academy for weakness. I’d never leave my territory undefended.” I say.
Her tone sours the air. “You call me and threaten me in my own home?”
I let it hang. “Consider it a friendly reminder that my patience is thin and my reach is long. Drop your toys at Shandytown. Pull your people back. Or you can move this game to my doorstep, and we’ll fight it out for territory. You’ve seen firsthand how that ends.”
There’s an anger she doesn't hide. “Cut the theatrics, Maddox. Fine. For now. But remember—there’s only so far you can shove before everyone shoves back.”
I let the line go dead on her parting breath. The dial tone hums like a hunting insect.
I look at Lucas. “Prep an extra team to go to Shandytown. Just in case. Clean, small, surgical. No banners, no grand processions. I want them there tonight.”
Lucas nods. Moving quickly, I can tell he already has the list in his head.
This has to get to Arwen, then back to the rest of my plans. Stepping out of the lab, the path to her dorm stretching ahead. The vial slides into my jacket, warm against my ribs, a small humming promise. I made this. Did the impossible for one girl. For Arwen.
Funny how a person grows on you. Not in the soft, sentimental way—no—like an irritation that becomes necessity. Her mouth that never shuts, the way she flings a barb like a thrown knife and then gets on with the day. The fire in her bones. The first time I met her in that classroom—Universe — she had the nerves to go toe to toe with me. She didn't plead or hide. She didn't melt and flirt. She spat and tried to punch me. I admired that. I still do. She's a creature who refuses to be small, even when the world insists she should be.
The last flight of stairs creaks under my boots, each step measured, like moves on a board I’ve studied a thousand times. Two… three… then freeze. On the landing, a strike I didn’t hear coming.
I press back against the wall, shadowed, eyes locked.
Atticus drapes an arm across her shoulders, perfect calm etched in every line of him. Arwen meets his gaze, soft, nodding at something he says—and it cuts through me sharper than any blade. They’re a rehearsed scene of tragedy: him, the ordered protector; her, the thing he’s polished, the fragile piece he parades. Fists clench at my sides, nails biting into skin.
