Let it reflect what I felt.
Every heartbeat without her was a scream beneath my ribs. Every breath she spent apart from me felt stolen, wrong—and I would make sure the people who took her felt that in their fucking bones.
I stepped back, glass crunching under my boots.
Callista had made her move.
Now it was my turn.
I punched in Gideon’s number with bloodied fingers, glass still embedded in my knuckles. I didn’t flinch. Didn’t care. The ringing felt like a countdown to something violent.
He picked up on the second ring.
“Bring the others. Now.”
A beat of silence. A shift in his breath. “What happened?”
“Just fucking move.” I ended the call before he could ask anything else. I wasn’t here to explain. Not to him. Not to anyone. My rage didn’t have room for questions—only answers. Only action.
Minutes passed like lifetimes.
I paced the wreckage of my foyer like a caged animal. Every shattered object underfoot was a reflection of the storm building in my chest. Blood trailed behind me, but I didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop.
She’s out there. Without me. Because of Callista.
The front door burst open.
Gideon walked in first—his trademark grin flickering and dying the second he saw the destruction. Behind him came Jafar, silent and assessing, and Scar, who paused like the breath had been punched out of him.
“What the hell—” Gideon began, his voice lower than usual.
“I told you to bring everyone,” I snapped, stepping forward, rage simmering just beneath my skin. “We don’t have time.”
“Clearly,” Jafar muttered, eyes scanning the broken glass, the blood, the devastation. “Looks like you lost a fight with the house.”
“I didn’t lose anything,” I snarled. “But I will end someone.”
Scar crouched beside a cracked photo frame, flicking a shard of glass aside. “You’re leaking all over the place, man. Might want to patch that up before you bleed out.”
“Tell that to Persephone,” I bit back. “She’s the one bleeding now.”
That shut him up.
Gang Lu entered next, calm and unreadable, but there was a sharp edge in the way his eyes landed on me. “What do you need?”
“Someone to track. Someone to burn.”
“Name,” Lu said.
“Callista Moore.”
Stillness.
Then Hook strolled in last, sleeves half-pulled up, skates slung over his shoulder. His smirk didn’t last a full second before his gaze dropped to my hand. The blood. The wreckage. My face.
“Fuck,” he muttered.
“Exactly,” I said. “Get ready. We don’t wait. We hunt.”
