And when I’d told him to leave, I hadn’t thought about any of that. Not once. I’d reacted like a man who’d never missed a meal. Like someone who’d always had a roof over his head—even when it was paid for and controlled by a father who treated me more like an investment than a son.
The realization hit me slowly and then all at once:
I had punished Phoenix for surviving the only way he knew how. I pressed my hands to my eyes until stars sparked behind them.
God.
What kind of person did that make me?
Yes, he’d taken the money. Yes, he’d lied by omission. But desperation did strange things to people. Desperation narrowed the world until survival was the only language left. Phoenix had spent his whole life fighting to stay alive. And I’d acted like he’d had the same choices I'd had. Like desperation was some kind of moral failure instead of the reason he was still breathing.
A tightness built in my throat, painful and sharp. I’d told him he “always had a choice.” But I knew better than anyone—some choices weren’t choices at all. If Phoenix had truly believed Ricky’s family was in danger…
He would have done anything.
Anything. And I, who had grown up shielded by privilege I couldn’t escape but still benefited from, judged him like I had any right to. My stomach twisted hard. I’d pushed him out into the cold. And he had nowhere to go.
A second time.
I swallowed, breath shuddering, and stared at my phone again.
No messages. The dragon in me pressed harder, a low rumble beneath my ribs, worried in the way I’d only ever felt when I was small and terrified.
“I screwed up,” I whispered to the empty room. Images of Phoenix kept flashing in my mind—his soft smile when he thought I wasn’t looking, the way he curled into me when he slept, the wound-deep panic in his eyes when the truth came out.
I’d thrown all of that away.
And for the first time all day, the adrenaline finally drained out of me, leaving nothing but a hollow ache. He was out there somewhere. A fresh wave of shame rolled through me. “I should have listened,” I said quietly. “I should have let him explain.” I hadn’t even asked who the man was. I’d assumed. Jumped to conclusions. Made everything about my own wounds.
And Phoenix—God, Phoenix—he had looked so small when he saidI love you.
I let out a long, shuddering breath. I had been cruel. And I would have to own that before I could fix any of it.
Satisfied withnothing—ashamed of everything—I lay back against the pillow, the city buzzing faintly outside the window, and whispered into the dim light:
“I was wrong.”
I leaned over the bed and grabbed my cell. I was stuck in Toronto, but I needed Phoenix safe. Even if he never wanted to see me ever again.
And I dialed Ignatius's number.
Chapter twenty-six
Final buzzer – The signal that the game has officially ended.
Phoenix
Ignatius didn’t speak to me on the hotel elevator.
He didn’t need to; his silence weighed more than any words could. He stood beside me like a marble statue in an immaculate coat, broad and immovable, radiating what I imagined was a dragon’s patience and a dragon’s impatience at the same time.
Cole had called him. That was all Ignatius said before telling me to get my shoes on.
Cole called.
Cole. Even thinking his name felt like pressing on a bruise. I stood in the elevator, numb and swaying, while the floor numbers glowed upward. Ignatius’s presence was solid and grounding, but nothing could stop the frantic thud of my heartbeat.
I had no idea what waited behind Cole’s hotel room door. Anger. Hatred.
