My phone rings, mercifully loud. Ella’s name flashes across the screen, and relief washes through me.
“Hey, kiddo,” I answer, pushing my voice into something casual.
“You’re not going to believe this,” she gushes, her voice practically vibrating with excitement. “We started bio today, and we dissected a fetal pig.”
I let out a small laugh, relaxing slightly. “Yeah? And?”
“And I got the brain out in one piece, Vi. One. Piece. No one else in the class managed it, but I did.”
My lips tug into a real smile, the kind only Ella can pull from me. “Damn, that’s impressive. I bet everyone was jealous.”
“Oh, so jealous,” she says dramatically. “Mr. Parsons even said he hadn’t seen anyone get it that clean in years.”
“I’m proud of you,” I tell her honestly, warmth settling in my chest. “I knew you’d be good at this.”
“I knew you’d get why it was such a big deal,” she says, her voice softening slightly. “No one else really cared that much.”
I swallow past the lump forming in my throat. “Of course, I get it. You’re amazing.”
She hums in agreement. “Okay, I gotta go, but I just had to tell you. Love you.”
“Love you too,” I say, holding onto the warmth of her voice as the call ends.
I look back at the cold coffee, the quiet apartment, and the pieces of my life I’m trying to keep from slipping.
Zephyra sits heavy in my mind, a promise and a threat wrapped in the same chemical lace. It works. Too well. Watching it take over people last night—God, it was like watching fire catch on dry grass.
Part of me was proud. The other part was afraid. Both parts were right.
Ella’s future is right there—almost within reach. And all I have to do is walk a line that doesn’t exist.
A future for her. A cost for me.
And somewhere tangled in all of it—him.
Asher’s smirk flashes behind my eyes. His touch. His voice. The way he looked at me like he was testing every part of me without lifting a finger.
Last night didn’t just shift something in the world around me. It moved something inside me too.
Chapter 13
The Watcher and the Storm
Asher
Control is the cornerstone of the Order.
My father drilled that into me long before I understood what it meant to hold a city by the throat. Controlled supply, controlled demand, and controlled risk. You don’t survive long in my position if you start believing you can ride chaos like a wave. I’ve watched men try—men who thought a little disorder would make them feel alive again. They always end up the same way.
Dead, disgraced, or owned by someone who understands control better.
That isn’t going to be me.
At least, that’s what I tell myself as I sit in front of the monitors, watching her move through the grainy frame like she doesn’t have a knife pressed to the throat of my entire operation.
Violet Cole’s apartment is small, worn at the edges, but there’s a kind of order to it—dishes stacked neatly, counters wiped clean, and everything in its place. She moves like someone who has learned to live with limited space and limited options. Efficient. Precise. Nothing wasted.
But there’s a softness that slips through no matter how hard she tries to bury it. The way she nudges Ella with her hip as she passes. The curve of her mouth when the girl makes her laugh. The quiet tilt of her head when she’s listening instead of talking.
