Bastion laughs, short and sharp. “He’d be disappointed in Ranier. And he’d be pissed at me for letting you get dragged into this.”
I almost smile. “He’d probably tell you to fix it.”
“Yeah, maybe I should.” Bastion stands and stretches. The movement looks painful, like every joint is full of sand. I watch him gather himself and head for the door.
“Bastion.”
He stops, half-turned. “Yeah?”
“If you see Ranier, don’t let him make the call alone.”
He grins, the old Bastion back for a split second. “Not planning on it.”
He disappears down the hall, footsteps fading fast.
I sit alone, staring at the empty mug and the spot of paint. The sun’s coming up, barely a glimmer at the edge of the windows.
I wonder what the world will look like in an hour, or a day, or a year. I wonder if we’ll all still be here, pretending not to care while we orbit the same impossible omega, or if someone willfinally pull the trigger and make the choice none of us are brave enough to make.
CHAPTER 23
Bastion
One good thing about Ranier—althoughmaybe not for his own sake—is that you always know where to find him. Especially on a day like this, when the house is quieter than a graveyard and the sun’s not even up. If he’s not in the gym torturing himself, he’s in the study, doing a power pose behind that gigantic desk his dad imported from somewhere even more obsessed with status than he is.
I don’t even knock. I just walk in. The door’s already cracked, and the smell of black coffee and campfire-apple cologne hits me before I clear the threshold. Ranier’s there, of course. He’s reading two newspapers at once and working his phone with one hand. The multitasking is a flex, but the subtle twitch in his jaw gives away that he’s actually not as chill as he wants me to think.
Ranier glances up. His blue eyes read every intention on my face before I even open my mouth.
“Silverwood,” he says, like it’s both a greeting and a warning.
I lean against the sideboard, arms folded, and let the silence do its thing. If there’s one thing Ranier hates more than a breach of etiquette, it’s dead air.
He tries to fill it. “You’re up early. Thought you’d be with your—” he hesitates just long enough to sell the disdain, “omega.”
I smirk. “She’s still sleeping, actually. It’s exhausting, not dying of shame every time you’re in the same house as her.”
Ranier folds the newspaper with military precision and gives me his full attention. “Let’s just get to it, Bastion. What do you want?”
I match his tone. “Straight to business? All right. I’ll make this fast. We’re not going through with the plan.”
He blinks, one that says “you’re not serious” and “I’m about to kill you” at the same time. “What plan?”
“The one where we freeze Emery out until the Council yanks her and we all go back to being three miserable assholes.”
Ranier sets his jaw. “The plan was to do what was necessary. If that means making her uncomfortable?—”
“She’s been nothing but uncomfortable since she got here,” I cut in. “And you know it. You act like we’re doing her a favor, like we’re the ones being forced, but she’s the one the media’s torching. Have you seen the headlines this morning?”
Ranier picks up the phone, flicks his thumb, and tosses it on the desk. “I saw. ‘Commoner Omega Ruins Royal Legacy.’ ‘Bloodless Pack Weakens Council.’” He snorts. “Standard clickbait.”
“Standard clickbait that’s trending in four provinces. Do you think the Council’s just going to let that slide? They’re circling. They’ll pull her if we don’t do something.”
“Maybe that’s for the best,” he says, too quickly.
I narrow my eyes. “You want her gone that bad?”
He leans back, steeples his fingers, and looks at me with the measured indifference of someone who’s practiced this expression since birth. “I want what’s best for the pack. You know that.”
