The others were vessels. Temporary containers. They served their purpose, carried the Flame until they cracked beneath its weight. And when they failed, I let them fall. Tools don’t grieve when they break.
But she wasn’t built to carry the Flame.
She was born from it.
Zach thought that meant she was dangerous. But what he never understood was that danger wasn’t something she wielded, it was something shewas. A constant. An element. And she didn’t need to raise her voice or lift her hand to prove it. She just had to look at you. Just had tobe.
He thought he was part of this. That sharing her was implied. That his loyalty, his silence, had earned him something more than continued existence. He thought he’d be allowed to touch her again, once she’d been “settled.”
I let him believe that. Because belief kept him obedient. Hope made him manageable.
But there would be no sharing. Not of her. Not ever.
And when I finally took that from him, I would take it the way I should have taken her resistance the first time—carefully. Slowly. With purpose. Not through rage, but with precision.
She felt the place before she saw it. I could see the change ripple through her, the subtle shift of her breath, the way her spine aligned like a blade being drawn, the silence she stepped into like she recognized the bones beneath it. There was no need to speak.
And yes—she was afraid.
Good.
Fear didn’t diminish her. It refined her. She’d always been fiercer when cornered.
She still thought survival was her victory. That outlasting me, enduring me, was some kind of triumph. She hadn’t yet understood that survival wasn’t her escape. It was the threshold I walked her through. The beginning of something far more complete.
Breaking her was never the end.
It still isn’t.
Understanding her is.
And this time—I won’t fail.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
WE WERE JUSTgettin’ ready to roll when the soundof tires screamin’ across gravel tore through the lot.
Every head snapped toward it at once.
Briar’s car came in hot, skiddin’ sideways like she’d lost control or didn’t care if she did. Dust and stone exploded up under the tires as she wrenched the wheel hard and killed the engine. The door flew open before the car had fully settled, and she stumbled out, blood streaked across her shirt, eyes too wide, chest heavin’ like she’d outrun somethin’ mean and hungry that still hadn’t quite let her go.
Engines cut off one by one. Men were off their bikes before the echoes faded, boots hittin’ gravel, hands already curlin’ into fists.
I don’t remember decidin’ to move. One second I was straddlin’ my bike, the next I was crossin’ the lot at a run, heart slammin’ so hard it hurt behind my ribs, every instinct I had screamin’ wrong, wrong, wrong.
“They took her!” Briar screamed, the words rippin’ outta her raw and broken. “That asshole set her up. He fuckin’ set her up!”
The world narrowed down to her face and the blood on her shirt.
Daddy reached her first, hands comin’ up to grip her jaw, forcin’ her eyes to his. His voice dropped into that dangerous calm I’d grown up knowin’ meant somebody wasn’t leavin’ this upright. “Who hit you, baby?”
“I’m fine,” she snapped, shovin’ him off even though her hands were shakin’ so bad she could barely steady herself. “I got him back.”
“Where’s Lark?” I demanded.
It came out rougher than I meant it to, sharp-edged and ugly, like it had scraped its way up outta my chest. I barely recognized my own voice.
Briar turned toward me, and the look on her face twisted, guilt and fear tanglin’ together until my stomach dropped out. “They took her, Calder.”
