For the first time, he didn’t see the brother who built this kingdom. He saw a reflection. What he would become. What we’d all become. If we stayed. If we fought. If we bled for ghosts that never bled for us.
I leaned back. Took a breath. Met Wolfe’s stare. Didn’t blink.
“You need to go home, Wolfe.”
A pause.
“Take care of her.”
I rose. Took the bourbon in hand. Swirled it once. Then drank it. All of it.
The glass hit the table with a quiet clink. I didn’t speak. Didn’t thank him. Didn’t ask for time. Just turned toward the window. Let the rain blur the skyline. Let the silence speak the truth.
Behind me, Wolfe turned, boots whispering against the black marble—no ceremony, no parting shot. Just retreat. But not from defeat. From restraint. When the door clicked shut, I didn't move. I just stared through the glass at the city we'd built—on blood, on silence, on the lie that Camille's death was collateral.
But now I knew. She hadn't drowned in carelessness—she'd been sold. And we let her, let her carry our sins like she was made for it. It was easier than looking her in the eye and saying:We'd trade you to keep breathing.
And we did. Like diamonds. Like daughters.
And somewhere under all of it?—
under the bourbon, under the rain?—
something older stirred.
Sharper. Something that sounded a lot likevengeance.
23
CLOE
The apartment was dark.
And still.
The kind of stillness that lives in the air after a storm—before the damage settles.
I stood near the far end of the hallway, barefoot. The last of the moonlight filtered through the high windows, painting the hardwood in cold silver. The hem of my shirt brushed the backs of my thighs. My hands were tucked into the sleeves like a child, like I was still trying to shrink myself.
Wolfe hadn’t come back bloody.
But he hadn’t come back whole.
He’d said nothing when he entered. Didn’t look at me. Just dropped his keys in the bowl near the door and walked straight down the hall, shoulders too straight, silence too loud.
The bathroom door clicked. Then running water.
And I stood there. Waiting.
Minutes passed. Ten, maybe more. Steam crept out from under the door. The kind that softened glass and skin.
Then it opened.
Wolfe stepped into the hall. Hair wet. Towel slung low. Eyes dark, unreadable. His chest rose once. Fell slower. Then hisvoice. Low. Not cold. Not commanding. Just a question wrapped in something that hurt worse than silence.
“Will you join me?”
I blinked. Nodded. Didn’t trust my voice.
