I order a coffee. Black.
Eve wastes no time. “We went through the archives last night,” she says. “Amara’s in.”
Dahlia cocks an eyebrow. “In…?”
“To destroy them with us,” Eve says. “She’s gunna help us take them down.”
Dahlia sips her espresso, thoughtful. “Wild that you trust her so quickly, Eve.”
Isolde picks up a napkin and starts sketching, her nails clicking on the table. “Well, I think it’s fantastic. The more the merrier.”
She draws three circles and connects them with lines, writing a name in each. “Plus, we have to bring them down somehow.”
I watch her diagram grow, a snarl of names and numbers, until my own is at the very center.
Dahlia leans in, her voice low. “My family—well, let’s just say I grew up seeing how the sausage gets made. Everyone has secrets. Everyone has a price.”
She glances at Eve. “We already have access. But what we need is leverage.”
Isolde nods. “And someone who can walk through the front door without raising suspicion.”
They all look at me.
I choke on my coffee, a spatter landing on the table.
Eve laughs. “You’re not alone anymore. We’ve all been through it.”
Dahlia shrugs. “My Hunt was a joke compared to yours. I can’t even explain how fucked up it all was, but Bam was there, helping me through. Now we’re partners in crime, literally.”
Isolde’s smile fades. “My sister didn’t make it. She fought too hard, and the Board erased her. Said it was an accident. I never bought it. I came here to kill them all and ended up falling for Rhett, running in the Night Hunt and well… listen. Amara. We are in a siege, not a ground war. We are building our defenses and planning our offenses. We’re just about ready to take them all out.”
Her eyes burn with quiet fury.
“So what do I do?” My voice sounds small, but I’m not sure it’s weakness anymore.
Dahlia leans back, folding her arms. “You do what you always do—smile, nod, and get close enough to find their pressure points.Meanwhile, we work the outside. My father’s people can dig up dirt on half the Board.”
“Glad he’s talking to you again, Lia.” Isolde pushes the napkin to me. “Every system has a flaw. Yours is your last name. Use it.”
Eve grins. “And if you ever need a safe house, our place is open.”
I look at their faces, at the tired hope in their eyes, and realize I want what they have—a cause, a reason, a pack.
“I’m in,” I smile.
The rest of the morning blurs into warmth—too many refills, half-cocked jokes, plans drawn and redrawn on the surface of cheap napkins. For the first time in my life, I don’t feel alone.
We trade numbers and make a pact, inked in the dregs of our drinks.
When we finally step back into the cold, Eve throws her arm around my shoulders. “Welcome to the resistance,” she says.
Dahlia snorts. “Don’t say that out loud, you dork. They probably tap our phones.”
Isolde laughs, head back, a full sound that shakes her shoulders. “Yeah, well, hopefully they enjoy the sounds of my screams when this baby finally decides to pop.”
Their chatter fades out as we all part ways.
I walk back to Westpoint with a new fire in my chest, the kind that doesn’t burn you up, but lights the way forward.
