I'll be there, I type and hit send.
Now all I have to do is get past Astrid.
My eyes land on the black dress laid out for the funeral. On instinct, I grab it and tear a seam, then march downstairs with it clutched in my hands, wearing my most annoyed, harried expression.
"You're not ready," Astrid notes, standing by the door, poised to leave.
"My dress got ripped. I need to mend it quickly. Don't wait for me, go ahead. I'll take Kayden's car and meet you there."
She studies me, as if trying to see beneath the words. "You sure? I can wait."
"I'm sure." I don't let her get another word in before I turn, closing the conversation.
"As you will," she says and leaves.
Relief floods me. Valkyries, apparently, believe in agency and free will. If it had been Kayden, he would have chained me to the damn banister.
I bolt back upstairs and change fast into plain dark clothes. Still fitting for the funeral if I make it. When Astrid's car engine rumbles to life and fades down the road, I slip into Kayden's room, swipe his keys, and get a gun from Asher's room, just in case. Then I'm off to the garage.
The road unfurls ahead of me, rain streaking the windshield. My pulse hammers with every mile.
I keep circling the same thoughts:I'm the only one who can get close to Darius without suspicion. The only one who can take the blade, hide it, and use it before he knows what's happening.
But then, a darker question gnaws at me:If it came to that… could I do it? Could I drive a killing strike into the man I once said yes to marrying? The man whose ring burns like radioactive in my pocket?
Logic whispers that it might be the only way. The endgame. The strike that saves us all.
But my heart… my heart splinters at the thought. The pain is sharp, searing, and impossible to ignore.
Whatever happens, I need the blade. I need to be the one holding it. Maybe I can find another way. Something that isn't zero-sum.
My fingers tighten on the wheel. The rain lashes harder. The road narrows, darker and lonelier, while all I can hear is the steady rhythm of my pulse beating out the question I don't want answered.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Asher
The rain falls in a thin sheet when I pull into the cemetery lot. Most of them are already gathered: Donna, Eira, and Tomas stand a little apart from the cluster around Jace. Others I don't recognize. The coyote pack.
Before I kill the engine, Kayden mutters, "You sure I should be here?"
I turn to him. "You want to hide?"
His eyes narrow—anger, defiance, and something more fragile flickering beneath it. Then he smirks. "I never do." He's out of the car first, door slamming shut like a declaration.
Heads turn immediately. Jace's gaze locks on him, fury sparking. He storms forward. "Him? You dare bringhimhere?"
I raise my hands, trying to steady the situation. "He didn't kill Winston. Kayden is on our side."
Of course, my brother doesn't help. He folds his arms, silent, smirking like he enjoys the fire.
"Maybe not his hand, but his actions," Jace spits.
"Oh, come on, pup. I'm not the enemy. The goat-man is," Kayden fires back. I resist the urge to smack him.
Jace growls and shoves him, eyes flashing yellow. The pack behind him shifts forward, their posture a clear warning.
"Call me pup again, and I'll show you what I'm made of."
