“Then, brother,” he says quietly, “we burn.”
The door shuts behind him, leaving me alone with the rain and the ghosts of my own design.
For a long moment, I just stand there, staring out at the city I built, wondering how long before it all falls apart.
And wondering, not for the first time, if Ember Calloway is the weapon sent to finish what Owen started.
Chapter 15
Ember
The walls in this house aren’t as thick as they think.
Sound carries —softly, like secrets. I learned that the first night, when I heard footsteps above my room and realized no one ever truly slept here.
Tonight, it’s worse.
The rain’s heavier, a slow percussion against the windows, and I can’t sleep. My head’s too full — of Saint’s quiet voice in the garden, of Rook’s stare in the hallway, of the way they orbit me like I’m some bright, dangerous thing they don’t know how to touch.
I tell myself I’m imagining the shift. The tension. The way their conversations falter when I walk into a room.
But then I hear it — low voices, down the hall. Rook’s office door isn’t fully shut. Curiosity’s a vice I’ve never been able to kick.
I slip closer, barefoot, the old floorboards muffling under my weight. The air smells faintly of rain and smoke, the kind that lingers in velvet and skin. I press my ear just close enough to catch the cadence — Rook’s voice, smooth and steady, and Wraith’s lower growl threading through it like thunder.
“…you’ve beenoff,” Rook says.
“Define…off,” Wraith answers.
“Distracted. Less disciplined. Less loyal.”
There’s a pause — long enough that I imagine them facing each other, the tension thick enough to taste.
“You’re paranoid,” Wraith says. “That girl’s got your head twisted.”
That girl.
I freeze.
Rook’s voice drops, quiet but sharp enough to cut through the rain. “My head is fine.”
“Then why are you asking me questions you already know the answers to?”
The tone changes — harder now, deeper. This isn’t a disagreement. It’s something older. Worn. Familiar.
I lean closer, careful not to breathe too loud.
“Because I don’t likeloosevariables,” Rook says. “And she’s becoming one.”
My heart stutters.
“You think she’s dangerous,” Wraith mutters.
“I think she’s not what she claims to be.”
There’s silence again, and then Rook’s voice — colder, heavier. “You’re the one who pulled the trigger. You sure you got the right man?”
Wraith’s answer is a quiet snarl. “Owen was dirty. We had proof.”
