The weight of three pairs of eyes that could end me if they figure out I’m truly bluffing.
No one’s coming for me. There is no plan. No backup. No extraction team. Just me, my lies, and the dangerous truth that every one of them wants something from me—and maybe, god help me, I’m starting to want something from them too.
I sink back into the chair, staring at the ceiling until the pounding in my blood slows. The house creaks around me. I can hear faint movement above — footsteps, voices, doors closing.
They’ll be talking about me. Arguing, most likely. I’m the fracture line now. The distraction. And that means I’ve done exactly what I set out to do.
I should feel victorious…
But, Idon’t.
All I feel is the echo of three mouths on mine and the sharp, hollow knowledge that whatever happens next, none of us are walking out of this untouched.
I don’t leave the room again that day.
The house feels alive around me—too quiet, too observant. Every creak of the floorboards sounds like someone listening through the walls. I can’t tell if it’s paranoia or proof.
No one comes knocking for lunch. No one checks that I’m still breathing. By the time the sun starts to sink, I stop pretending to care.
I lie on the bed, staring at the ceiling as the rain starts to fall. A light drizzle first, then steady. The sound wraps around the townhouse like a heartbeat, soft and endless. The air smells like wet brick and iron.
It’s easy to think in this kind of silence. Too easy.
Rook’s eyes. Wraith’s breath against my throat. Vale’s mouth—his laugh after, sharp and sinful.
Every thought loops back to them, and to the part of me that doesn’t know if I’m surviving or surrendering.
The light outside dies to ash. My stomach growls, but I don’t move. I’d rather starve than sit at their table, pretending to belong to this strange, broken family.
Hours crawl by. The clock downstairs chimes ten, then eleven. I start to drift, half-asleep, when I hear it—a sound.
Soft. Close.
The boards outside my door shift under their weight. Then another step, slower this time, more hesitant. Then another, and another.
Someone’s there. Have they finally decided to kill me, then?
My pulse spikes, fast and uneven. I sit up, every muscle tight. The rain covers most noises, but the faint scrape of a boot against the floor cuts through it like a blade.
They stop on the other side of the door. There’s long pause that leaves me utterly breathless. Then—one quiet knock that nearly makes me jump out of my skin.
My throat goes dry. I don’t answer at first. If it’s Vale, he’ll let himself in. If it’s Rook, he’ll demand. If it’s Wraith… well, he doesn’t knock.
But the silence holds. Then, a voice.
“Ember.”
It’s softer than I expect, careful, and measured.Ash.
Something in my chest unravels and knots again at the same time. I hesitate, my hand hovering above the handle. “It’s late,” I say through the door.
“I know,” comes his reply, almost a whisper. “Can I come in?”
I shouldn’t. I already know what happens when I let them get too close.
But it’s been hours since anyone spoke my name like that—without threat, without demand. Just… quiet concern.
I open the door, and drink him in. He stands there, tall and pale in the hall light, shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, tattoos ghosting up his arms like scripture half-erased. His green eyes catch the low light—too sharp, too alive.
