"Darius, I had to—"
"You acted without my approval." My tone is calm.
I turn at last. There is defiance in her eyes, the ember of argument rising to her tongue, but beneath it—fear.
"You gathered the mercenaries. You stormed a bar. A police officer was present. You left a corpse in your wake." My steps are slow, deliberate, the sound of inevitability drawing near. "Do you understand the mess you created?"
She winces. "It was contained. We wore masks."
I move closer, my voice low. "Is that what you tell yourself?"
"It was for Johnny. For Konstantin. For what that bastard did—"
My fury breaks its chains. The power surges, green light flaring, searing the room. My true form presses through—horns, hooves, a shadow that swallows hers whole.
"Do not speak to me of vengeance," I thunder, my voice layered, primeval. "I am older than vengeance. Older than the scripture that sanctified it. And you dared to disobey me."
She stumbles back, spine striking the wall, her bravado gone. Strong, ruthless Darlene reduced to trembling before the one she has always served.
Her gaze drops. "I'm sorry. I thought… I was doing it for your legacy."
A cold laugh escapes me, stripped of mirth. "You cannot fathom my legacy. You forgot your place."
I close the last distance, my aura pressing her down as if the forest itself leaned upon her.
"You will repair the damage you have made, or I'm finished with you. Am I understood?"
Her voice shakes. "Y-yes, Darius."
I draw the power back, strand by strand, until the glow fades and the mask of humanity settles once more.
I add, "If you ever endangerheragain, I will end you myself. And when I do, it won't be swift, or merciful."
"Understood," she whispers.
"Leave."
The door shuts behind her, and the office falls silent again.
The glass has been replaced. The desk as well. But not the fractures. Not the consequences. Those will take far longer to mend.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Sage
The whole time I'm recovering after the chaos atCole's, my thoughts churn in the same loop:What if I hadn't gone to Darius? Then Kayden wouldn't have snapped, then Darlene wouldn't have retaliated, and Winston would still be alive.
What if I'd gone back with Darius the moment he came here? Nothing would've happened. Winston would still be alive.
What if I'd never stayed? If I hadn't dragged my storm here? Winston would still be alive, behind the bar, smiling at customers and humming old tunes.
My eyes ache from tears that won't fall. My chest is locked in a constant vise of guilt and fear and grief.
Eira comes to patch up Jace, her hands gentle. She checks Astrid too, who grumbles she's fine but sits quieter than usual, her eyes sharp and haunted.
Tomas and Donna arrive not long after, the whole group working together to clean the wreckage. No words, just movement. Broken glass swept up. Blood scrubbed away. A silence so heavy it pressed into the walls.
I offer to stay longer, help more, but Jace's voice is flat when he tells us to go. I don't argue. Not after what happened.
