“Ilir, how remiss of us not to offer Mr. Kent refreshments. Not very hospitable. Go fetch the bestRaki. To celebrate our new friendship.”
“Wise choice,” I say, sliding my lighter back into my pocket.
Ilir arches his brow and hands me a tumbler. I take a whiff—sweet. Hints of plums.
As I bring it up to my lips, Edon says, “You know the rules of the Rite? No one gets an exception, not even you.”
“A crime of your choosing, documented on video.” That’s how they control you—indisputable proof of your wrongdoing, but power beyond your dreams.
“And?”
My gaze snaps to his. “Once you’re in The Association, you can never leave.”
Alive, that is.
Unless I burn it all down.
“Failure to follow the rules, betray The Association, and you and everyone related to you—your relatives, distant cousins, people you’ve never even met—will be hunted and executed.”
My vision reddens. My parents. Little Beatrice. Their last screams.
He expects me to bow to them. To submit. To kneel. That willneverhappen.
I crush the images with a smile. “Naturally. I’d expect nothing less.”
The old man grins, clearly pleased. “You know, I predicted this day might come. Someone like you can’t be content lurking in the shadows, trading secrets and blackmailing people. You have hunger in your eyes, something I recognize in myself. So I’ve prepared. I’ve contacted the Scheduler in advance.”
Scheduler?
There’s so much I don’t know about The Association, and I don’t like being in the dark.
“All Rites are cleared through him. The bastard thinks he’s all-powerful.” He scoffs, disdain clear in his voice. “For your Rite, break into The Orchid vault and retrieve something for us. Lana Anderson’s box. That’s part one. Complete it on this date and time.” He slides me a piece of paper.
Lana.
Something rattles behind my rib cage. Shewason a list—it was a hunch before but now confirmed.
“Done.” I swirl my drink. “What’s part two? You said two parts.”
“Accomplish part one first, then we’ll talk. Can’t expect me to reveal all my plans.” Edon’s eyes narrow as he lifts his drink. “You know…your relationship with the Andersons will end once they find out.”
The damn knot forms in my chest again, but I keep my face impassive. “What relationship? There are only deals and games.”
I down the alcohol.
He laughs. “I like you, Elias Kent.”
I’ll burn the world for the identity of my family’s killers, even if it means I burn myself with it.
A flash of brown tresses appears in my mind. Soft laughter. Red umbrella. A gentle, untried kiss. Strains of Beethoven’s “Für Elise” linger in the air.
“It’s my favorite piece,” she says, her eyes shining with warmth. “And next week, for my birthday, I’m getting it.” She points to the mahogany music box tucked away in the darkened corner of the antique shop. “Waiting makes it more special.”
I shove those images away.
No cost is too high.
Not even her.
