“I’m not done.”
She goes quiet.
“You don’t leave this manor without me or Rook,” I continue. “If you’re in the garden, I’m in the garden. If you’re in the kitchen, I’m in the kitchen. If you’re in the shower, I’m outside the door. You don’t open a door that isn’t one of us. You don’t answer a phone that isn’t ours. You don’t go anywhere near a window without telling me first. You don’t breathe outside fresh air unless I can touch you.”
Her eyes search mine. I let her.
“It’s not because I don’t think you can fight,” I say quietly. “You can. You proved it. It’s not because I think you’re going to run. You’re not. Not anymore.”
Something flickers in her at that. Pride. Warmth. Possession. Good.
“It’s because Damien won’t send street dogs,” I finish. “He’ll send cleaners. He’ll send black-bag boys. He’ll send men who lift you in daylight and make it look like you tripped and then you’re gone and we don’t get you back. I can’t —we can’t— let that happen.”
Silence stretches between us, rain falling softly in the background. Her voice is soft when it comes. “You’ll sleep here, then.”
It’s not a question. I swallow. “Yeah.”
She nods one, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Okay.”
Some of the iron in my shoulders eases. I didn’t realize how tight it was until it starts to let go.
She shifts slowly, sliding closer. Her knees press to my hip, and then she climbs into my lap like she’s done it a thousand times and not once, tucking herself in under my chin, hands fisting in my shirt.
My arms go around her automatically. Natural as breathing. Like this is where she fits. Her voice is a whisper against my collarbone. “We crossed a line today.”
“Yeah,” I murmur.
“Good,” she says.
My mouth tips up, a small smile ghosting across my face. “Yeah,” I say again.
I feel her smile against my skin—satisfied. She’s not scared. She should be, but she’s not.
She’sready.
The realization settles in my chest like a vow. No turning back now. Not for her, Or for us.
Not for anyone who thinks they’re coming. I press my mouth to the top of her head. “Sleep,” I tell her. She exhales slow, herwhole body softening in stages — shoulders, spine, fists, jaw. I feel it happen around me, like the manor exhaled and took me with it. “I’ve got you,” I say into her hair.
Her voice is already fading. “I know.”
Her breathing evens out, and I keep holding her tightly against me. Downstairs, Rook is building exit plans, Saint is fortifying the grounds, Ash is digging up the bones of anyone who’s ever breathed near Damien, and Vale is already whispering fear into Syndicate lines.
Up here, I’ve got Ember in my lap, and my gun on the table, and a promise in my throat…
Anyone touches her, Iendthem. Anyone tries to take her, I burn the city.
They wanted a war.
They’ve got one.
Chapter 44
Rook
By morning, the rain has turned to mist.
The kind that hangs low across the grounds, clinging to the hedges and stone walls, curling over the gravel drive like breath. The manor looks almost soft in it. Almost unassuming.
