Behind me I hear the footsteps of Bastion and Wyatt chasing me. I break into a run, down the steps, past the gate, and on to the street. I don’t stop until the manor is gone from sight. Until the world is nothing but me and the taste of regret in my mouth.
I don’t know where I’m going. I just know it isn’t home.
CHAPTER 28
Wyatt
Bastion catches upto me in the foyer. “What the fuck, Wyatt? How long have you had that draft?”
Bastion’s voice echoes up the staircase and into every crevice of the manor. My head is a rattle of leftover adrenaline. I try to respond, but my tongue is thick with the aftertaste of the meltdown. My fingers itch to get online and scour the administration dashboard for Royals Anonymous and find out how this happened and who did it.
“I didn’t write it,” I say. “I mean—I didn’t writethatone.”
Bastion’s jaw flexes. His eyes have gone bloodshot at the rims. “Bullshit you didn’t. It’s right there in your queue. Same login, same IP, same goddamn signature you use for every shitpost. You think you’re so fucking clever? ‘Gas station slushie’? That’s you, Whitlock.”
Every word stabs into me. I’ve done a lot of shit. I’vewrittenloads of gossip trash. But this post wasnotone of them.
“I haven’t posted in weeks.” My voice shrinks.Fuck, this is so bad.“You know that. Ranier’s had me on lockdown since?—”
“Don’t throw him under the bus,” Bastion snarls. “You wrote it. You wanted to see if Emery would break. Well, congrats. She’s gone.”
The words knock the air out of me. I look around the foyer, but Emery is long gone. She’s gone because of me. Because of us.
“It’s not even published.” My voice cracks. “It’s in the drafts. You saw it yourself. Iloveher, Bastion.”
Bastion closes the distance between us in two steps, crowding me until I’m pinned to the banister. “Do you think she gives a shit whether it’s posted?” His voice is a hiss. “She saw it. She read every word. You wrote it about her. That’s all that matters even if you do love her. The event that post talks about wasdaysago, Wyatt.” He hisses. “What the hell changed?”
I want to push him away. I want to apologize, or explain, or say literally anything to make this feel less like the end of the world. Of everything.
I open my mouth to speak but Bastion’s not finished.
“You’re addicted to that fucking phone, Wyatt. It’s not a toy. You can’t just troll people because you’re scared to say what you mean to their face. We’re adults now. You’ve been an adult for a long time. You think just because your brother—” He cuts himself off, but the words hover there, venomous and waiting.
“Say it,” I snap. “Because Christopher what? Died in a car accident becauseyougot him into racing?”
Bastion flinches like I punched him. I feel sick to my stomach, but I’m too far gone to stop now.
“I didn’t write that draft.” My voice and body shake. “But if you want to blame me for everything, go ahead. You always do.”
Bastion steps back, looking suddenly smaller. The next line is supposed to be an apology. Instead, it’s a ricochet of guilt.
“That’s not what I—” Bastion starts, but the words dry up. He rubs his face, like he’s trying to scrub off the entire argument. “Whatever. Doesn’t matter. It’s done.”
The room is cold and wide and empty. Even the sunlight streaming through the windows can’t warm it. I want to crawlout of my own skin, or at least break something expensive. But I don’t. I just stand there in the aftermath ofeverything.
“Where do you think Emery went?” I ask, barely above a whisper.
Bastion laughs, bitter and mean. “Away. We started this whole thing with the plan to oust her, and now that it’s done… I hope you’re happy.”
I can’t look at him. Bastion really thinks I wrote that post. That I would do this after being there for and with Emery for the last few weeks. I don’t know what to do, so I stare at the floor. For a minute, neither of us says anything. There’s nothing left to say.
Then a door slams upstairs, and the tension breaks like a windshield under a cinderblock. Ranier’s footsteps are sharp, precise, not even bothering to be subtle. He comes down the stairs in full battle armor: suit, tie, jacket, the works. He’s already on the phone, arguing with someone—probably his father, or maybe the Council.
Ranier snaps the phone off and turns to us. “Is Emery gone?”
Neither of us answers, but he knows.
“Shit.” Ranier looks almost human for a second. And genuinely worried. A lot more worried than someone who previouslywantedthis outcome.
