I breathe slowly. The ocean roars beneath a sky full of possibilities. The sand lands hard on my back as he draws me closer. I can taste his promise in the air.
I lift my head. I look at him.
He meets me: haunted, hopeful, unwavering.
I look at the stars.
I think of what I’ve lost—my badge, my office, my carefully built life of black-and-white justice.
Then I think of what I’ve gained—him. A scarred godfather, broken and rebuilt beside me. The kind of man who kills for me, while longing to protect me in every breath.
The constellations drag my gaze upward again. The sky is indifferent to my sacrifice, but it remembers.
My heart thunders. I swallow. My voice, when it comes, is steady with truth:
“I will.”
Time catches. Aebon’s breath goes still beneath mine. His hand tightens over mine, and he pulls me even closer, as if drawing my soul into his chest.
We stay that way—two shapes under the cosmos. Sand in our hair. Salt on our lips. Possibility swirling around us like seafoam.
He presses his forehead to mine, voice hushed:
“Welcome back, my equal.”
I close my eyes and rest my cheek against him. My ribs ache, but this—his promise—risks reshaping every pain into power.
For the first time since I walked away from the office, I believe I’m not empty.
I believe I’mchosen.
I believe that together, under endless stars, we’ll rewrite the rules.
CHAPTER 23
AEBON REXX
The elevator glides downward in silent anticipation. Soft hum of magnets beneath us. No chatter. No guards. Only Aria’s hand in mine, cool and steady against my palm, grounding me even as my heart thunders. We descend through layers of superstition, syndicate, and steel—into the bowels of the Supernova Casino, where the Centauri Sect does more than gamble. Tonight, we gamble with the future.
I feel her shift beside me—she’s contained excitement, but I know the tremor in her spine. I squeeze her hand and whisper, “Ready?”
She nods once. Her breath tastes of salt and fear, and something deeper—hope. Yes, hope. In this place, hope is the most dangerous gamble of all.
The doors open. We step into the sanctum—my sanctum.
The chamber stretches before us, vast and vaulted, illuminated by braziers burning violet flames. Purple-tinted shadow flickers over carved basalt walls etched with our ancestors’ deeds. A giant circular council table dominates the center, ringed by high-backed chairs—reserved for my core Inner Circle. There is reverence. There is power. There is expectation.
Aria glances around, gaze trailing over lean statues in niches: bone-spurred Reapers in mid-charge, the goddess Athena in serene vigilance. She catches my eyes, says nothing. I nod forward, and she walks beside me. Not behind. Not beneath.Beside.
My lieutenants stand as we enter. Bruna, Haarvik, Ellex—each bears a blade and the weight of their loyalty. Their silence is solidarity. As we pass to the front of the table, their chairs remain empty—out of ceremony, not absence.
The room hums quietly. I take my place on the high seat at the head. My throne is angular, carved obsidian inset with glowing runes of authority. I stand before it, reach for the ceremonial cloak—deep indigo velvet, edges embroidered chromatically, bone and blood runes marking rank, lineage, promise.
I hold it out to Aria.
She hesitates, breath flickering. But she steps forward, and I wrap it around her shoulders with solemn care. The fabric whispers. She’s enveloped in our history, wearing more than cloth—bearing my trust.
In that moment, the sanctum shifts.
