He shifts in the hammock. Cracking one eye open, he fixes that dark brown gaze on me. “I mean it, Ivy. I'm sorry. Did it feel good? Yes. Am I starting to see why they’re using my anger to sever the detachment from my mother and her jobon that fucked up yacht? Yes. But that doesn't mean I don't feel sympathy for all of—” he pauses a moment, studying the bruises and wounds scattered across my skin.”—well. That.”
“It's fine,” I huff, sighing through the soft sway of pain the subtly reminds me that I’m not repeating a code or reciting information I know too much about.
We both shift over our shoulders when footsteps echo behind us. I wince when the stab wound on my side flares.
“It's happening…” I say, a new wave of fear washing through me.
Leon and I lock eyes. Wind cuts through the air and coils around my neck.
My feet land on the grass with a thud, the air in my lungs tightening with each inhale.
A hand finds mine, and I turn to Leon, the race of my heart slowly dying. His expression softens, the dark lashes that fan them swiping his cheek with every blink.
“You've earned this, Ivy.”
I know. I’ve earned it in more ways than I'll ever know.
Flower petals spill their colors through the dark night, vivid slashes of life against shadow.
He guides us toward the back where a barn rises from the earth.
I follow, down the stairs that seem to go on forever, until my legs burn.
By the time we reach the bottom, the air changes. Brine and sand. If summer was hidden beneath the earth.
Stone spreads before me, a cavern carved from rock that breathes with the sea. There's a chair, or throne, that sits right at the center of the cave, and behind it, waves throw themselves against sand.
“Sit, Ivy.” His voice is deep. Deeper than I remember, or maybe that's because I haven't seen him since I was fourteenand he pulled me and Nonna out of Parker's organization. Nonna says he remains off-grid, that he never leaves his house. Over the years, he's become an entity more than human.
Lowering to the throne, I place my hands on my lap.
This is it. Everything I've bled for, every bruise and broken piece of myself—it all leads here. The wanting sits heavy in my bones, undeniable as gravity.
Fingers curl around my hair, sweeping it away from my back. Deep breaths fill my lungs while I force myself not to seek comfort in who surrounds me.
Footsteps.
Hard.
Intentional.
Nothing. Not a word. Not a single word from him. I owe him my own life.
Tension ripples through the air around me, and my attention snaps to Leon, sitting cross-legged directly in front. Flames flicker through the night, warming my skin, but it's the words from the butcher himself that make the hairs on my arms rise.
“Ivanya, it has been many years, my child.” I don't move. Afraid that if I do, I'll break by thanking him for saving me. Thank him for taking me away from the vile things that were happening to me. And then I'd look weak.
I absorb his words and practice my breathing.
“The children will speak of you as they do me. Le Boucher Sans Loi—”
I gasp, but it’s not loud. He’s Le Boucher Sans Loi? I’d heard about him recently, and never thought to put two and two together.
He rounds the chair until shiny loafers appear directly below. Fear follows him everywhere, for good reason. Tales of Le Boucher Sans Loi haunt children on the streets of every European town. They say he lived lawless, killing people whowere in power for the sake of chaos, so the children were never scared he’d come for them. They were afraid he’d come for their parents. Their loved ones.
Some even wrote letters, asking him to murder for them. Le Boucher Loi was the most feared monster that lived on the streets. Leon said he’d heard that he was building an army of assassins that were just like him. Soulless. That he was coming for everyone.
I guess in a way, now that I know this, it's true, and we're his apprentices.
