Two hundred million. He left me an empire.
"It’s yours,"he says."The money. The facility. The network. Nyx answers to you now. The cleaners answer to you. You are the Director of Hallowed Halls."
He pauses. His expression softens. The mask slips, revealing the man beneath."I told you I stole you to protect the land. That was a lie. I stole you because I was lonely in the dark. And when I heard you play... I saw a light that I wanted to keep."
He touches the screen, as if trying to touch my face through time."I didn't want to break you, petite. I wanted to build you into something that could survive me. Something that could survive this world."
He raises the glass."Play for me, Elodie. Play the music that burns cities down. And don't look back."
The screen goes black. Then, a password prompt appears.ENTER PASSPHRASE:
I stare at the blinking cursor. A passphrase. He didn't say it in the video. He trusts me to know it.What is it?Rachmaninoff?No. Too obvious.Hallowed Halls?No.Monster?
I think back to the moments. The cabin. The river. The bed.“You are the Muse.”“Pain is information.”
Then I remember the first night. The bite on my hand.“I hold the pen, Elodie. I write the diagnosis.”
I type.D-I-A-G-N-O-S-I-SAccess Denied.
No. Think deeper. Think like him. What did he call our relationship?A Duet.I type:D-U-E-TAccess Denied.
Panic flutters in my chest.Think, Elodie. Think about the rhythm.The silence between the notes.
I close my eyes. I hear his voice in the helicopter.“Tell me about the cadence.”I remember what I whispered to him in the dark of the cavern. The promise I made.“I forbid you to die.”
No. It’s simpler. It’s the name of the piece. The piece that started it all. The piece I played at the Gala.D-A-N-S-E-M-A-C-A-B-R-E
I type it.Enter.
ACCESS GRANTED.WELCOME, DIRECTOR FRAY.
The screen fills with folders.Assets.Personnel.Targets.Safe Houses.And a map. A live tracking map of the city. Red dots marking Syndicate safe houses. Blue dots marking our assets.
I stare at the screen.Director Fray.He gave me his crown. I am the Queen of a kingdom of ashes and blood.
I look down at the drawer of the desk. It’s slightly open. I pull it. Inside, there is a gun. A custom 1911 with pearl grips. And a new velvet choker. But this one doesn't have a padlock. It has a key.
I pick up the key. I reach up to my neck. I unlock the padlock choker he put on me before the dinner. It clicks open. It falls into my hand. Heavy. Suffocating. I drop it on the desk. I put on the new choker. The key rests against my throat.I hold the key now.
I stand up. I walk to the mirror on the wall. The makeup is smeared. The hair is wild. The dress is torn. But the eyes... The eyes are dry. The tears have stopped. Grief is inefficient.
I open the door. Nyx is waiting. She is cleaning her rifle. She looks up. "Did you watch it?"
"Yes."
"And?"
"And we have work to do."
I walk past her, toward the crates. "Open them," I command. My voice is low. It has the timbre of command. It sounds like him.
Nyx hesitates, then obeys. She pries open a crate labeledtactical. Inside, there are black combat suits. Kevlar vests. Boots. "Get me a size small," I say. "And burn this dress."
"You're going tactical?" Nyx asks, raising an eyebrow.
"I am done playing the victim," I say, stripping off the ruined velvet. I stand there in the lace lingerie, the bite mark on my thigh visible, the bruises mapping my body. "Thorne thinks he won. He thinks he cut the head off the snake. He doesn't know the snake has two heads."
I pull on the black tactical pants. The boots. The tight black shirt. I strap on the Kevlar vest. It feels like a hug. A hard, unyielding hug. I take the gun belt. I holster the 1911. I pull my hair back into a tight, severe braid.
