The cold inside my chest spreads, until I feel nothing at all.
There is comfort in that.
I pick at the seam of my jacket, peel it apart, watch the threads unravel.
When I am hollow enough, I get to my feet, cross the room, and stare at myself in the mirror.
I am still here.
I am still Amara Marcus.
But there is less of me now, and more of what they wanted.
I look away, then back again, daring my reflection to move.
It doesn’t.
It never will.
Chapter 12: Julian
Myhandsarefusedto the wheel. I’m too amped up to walk to the cabins, so I’m taking the back road around. It’s a short drive but one that’s needed in order to keep me from storming into her dorm and protecting her from everything she experienced today. Unfortunately, solidifying how we’re going to destroy the Board is more pressing. The car’s engine is as smooth as my heart is not, but I keep my foot steady and let the cruise control do what I can’t: maintain a straight line.
I left the campus with a headache and an ache in my jaw from clenching it. Every time I close my eyes, I imagine Amara on the medical bed, her knees forced apart by strangers who think breeding stock is a compliment. I see her father’s eyes glazed andcold, a man who measures legacy by the health of his daughter’s cervix.
I want to crash the car just to feel something different, but I don’t.
She needs me.
And I need her.
Rhett’s cabin sits back from the main road, invisible unless you know where to look. Pulling into the side road, I park next to the row of cabins.
I kill the engine and let silence fill the car. My pulse is a slow, angry drum in my neck.
I don’t waste time with dramatics. I grab the bag from my trunk and make my way to the door, gravel crunching under boots. There’s no wind, no animal sounds, just the low hum of electricity running to the security system that Rhett had installed after the debacle with the Castillo’s.
When I open the door, the smell of whiskey, smokes, and cologne washes over me. It’s comforting. Reminds me of the days we all slummed it in the dorm.
Now everyone’s all grown up, and my turn is coming.
Can’t come fast enough, in my fucking opinion.
The first thing I see is Bam, barefoot in the kitchen, pouring brown liquor into a glass that’s got cracks running up the sides. He looks up, grins, and slams the glass on the counter.
“Julian fucking Roth,” he says. “You look like shit.”
Behind him, Colton sits at the long farmhouse table, hands folded, eyes as blank as moonlight on ice. There’s a chessboard in front of him, but the pieces are arranged in no order I recognize.
On the couch, sprawled like a king who never abdicated, is Caius Montgomery.
He hasn’t changed. If anything, he’s sharpened—cheekbones hollow, hair darker, suit tailored so tight it looks like he’s sewn into it. He holds a tumbler in one hand and a phone in the other. His eyes flick up at me, then back to his screen.
I shut the door, drop my bag, and say, “Hey fuckers. I almost didn’t come tonight, so thank your lucky stars I decided to slum it with you lot.”
Rhett appears from the back hall, sleeves rolled, eyes bloodshot and wild. He’s wearing the smile of a man who’s just survived a duel and can’t stop replaying the taste of victory.
He walks up, slaps me on the shoulder, then pulls me in for a hug. “Never doubted you’d show,” he whispers. “But I did take bets on whether you’d kill a Board member on the way.”
