We leave that dreadful place in silence, two predators carrying their failure, hoping that maybe, this is a nightmare we'll wake from.
When we get home, I carry her to the back garden and lay her down among the flowers.
"She likes it out here," I murmur, voice hollow.
Asher nods once and disappears into the house, his silence louder than my scream. I stand there for a moment, staring at her—the stillness of her face, the unnatural quiet of her chest. It's too much. It's final. If I look any longer, I'll break.
And I can't break.
Not yet. Not until I find who did this. Not until I tear them apart, limb by limb, scream by scream.
Revenge is the only thing keeping me moving right now. And I swear, I won't stop until every last one of them pays.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
…
The first thing is a sensation.
Thirst.
Throat dry. Head screaming. The need—savage, tearing through me.
Then rage. White-hot, perfect. My eyes snap open. All I see is the face of the one who murdered me.
I know what to do. The thought itself, raw and jagged, slides down my spine like a pleasant shiver.
I blink, try to stand. Ground cold beneath me, the garden blooming anyway. Familiar.
Doesn't matter.
I feel weaker than I should be—too weak for the coil of darkness writhing inside me.
Instinct makes me press a palm to the ground. The green shrivels black, flowers bow and die until I feel the faintest satisfaction. A sip, nothing more.
Not the thirst. That needs something else.
I rise, crack my neck, glance back at the house. They're inside. Voices raised.
Doesn't matter.
The ward still hums—petty little thing. I kick the runes. It shatters, collapses in silence. I laugh under my breath—funny, how easy it is to ruin what takes effort.
But gloating is for the weak.
I dash. The speed intoxicating. Wind tearing past. Direction clear.
The office building looms ahead, gray and dead.
Back entrance. Easy. Guarded. Two faces paling at the sight of me.
They lower their guard, step forward. "Are you okay?"
"We need to call Darius, now," the other mutters.
I glance down—the crimson blotch on my stomach. Right. Doesn't look good.
I shrug. Oh well.
