His brows draw together. I stiffen. Of course he sees it. Lily always said Titan smelled danger the way some people smell smoke—an instinct sharpened by surviving a fire that took half his body and should’ve taken the rest of him.
Half his face is still a blur of damaged flesh, raw and uneven, the scars pulling the skin into shapes that refuse to soften. I can’t tell which side draws the eye more—the ruined half, or the other, still unmistakably handsome in a dark, brutal way. There’s no attempt to balance it. No effort to hide either version of himself.
The mask is gone. The one I grew used to seeing, the barrier he kept between himself and the world.
Now he wears his own skin without apology. Open. Uncovered. Comfortable. The scars aren’t treated like something to conceal or explain; they’re simply there, claimed rather than endured. He stands at ease with what marked him, with what shaped him, as if the damage didn’t diminish him at all—only clarified exactly who he is.
“We needed a story the city would believe,” I admit. “And VOC needed a new home. It made sense.”
Titan’s gaze sharpens. “Are people questioning?”
Lily shifts beside him, uneasy.
Fuck.
I exhale slowly. “Yeah.”
“How deep?”
“Deep enough.”
Too deep. Deeper than anyone realizes. And it all started with Rowan.
Titan studies me for a long moment. There’s no accusation in his eyes—just expectation. Heavy. Unforgiving. The kind that doesn’t need to raise its voice to be heard.
“We’ll talk later,” he says at last, tone low and final. “Tonight.”
Lily reaches out and squeezes my arm gently, and something old and tender twists in my chest. It feels like the ache of watching someone you loved survive their ghosts—and choose someone strong enough to kill them.
“How can we help?” she asks.
I hesitate before I answer.
“Are you sticking around for a while? Bethany misses you.”
Her smile is soft. Certain. “We’re staying for a while.”
The knowledge lands hard—equal parts fear and relief. Fear, because I don’t know how I measure up in Titan’s eyes anymore. He handed me the throne, trusted me with it, and I’ve made a mess of things. Relief, because this road has been long and lonely, and having him back—having an older brother in the room—changes the weight of everything.
Even if he isn’t my blood. Even if we began on opposite sides, circling each other with suspicion instead of loyalty. Titan Ward is still the closest thing I’ve ever had to a brother.
Not by name. Not by law. By choice. By shared history and unspoken rules. By the way he shows up when it matters and stands where others would step back. Whatever we were at the start doesn’t erase what he became. Whatever he is now, he’s mine in the only way that’s ever counted.
Bethany actually squealswhen she spots Lily. Full-bodied, unapologetic joy. I watch as they collide in a flurry of movement—shoulders bumping, hips swaying in that ridiculous little dance they used to do back in college, like muscle memory never forgets the shape of happiness. They finish it off with asynchronized fist pump, laughing like the absence between them never happened.
Rowan stands beside me, hands loosely folded, posture careful. Her smile is bright, genuine—but there’s an edge to it, the faint hesitation of someone who doesn’t quite know where to put herself. She looks beautiful like this. Open. Slightly overwhelmed. And painfully out of place.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Rowan Hale, it’s that she’s been starved of connection. For nearly a decade, she’s kept herself apart—no friends, no relationships, no safety in numbers. No sisterhood. She’s survived alone, by force of will and sharp edges, and how she managed that without breaking entirely is something I still don’t understand.
So the noise, the laughter, the easy affection filling the church hits her sideways. She absorbs it quietly, like someone stepping into sunlight after years underground.
When the initial reunion burns itself out, Bethany hooks an arm through Lily’s and steers her back toward us. She gestures to Rowan with a grin. “This is Rowan. My friend.”
Notmine.
I clock it immediately, the subtle distinction, and almost smile. Girls do that. Claim each other gently. Protectively.
Rowan glances up at me, a shy smile flickering across her mouth, like she’s asking permission without actually asking. Then Bethany and Lily fold her in without ceremony—arms around her shoulders, bodies warm and close—and guide her down the aisle of the church, already talking over one another as they search for a quiet corner to disappear into.
