My eyes lock with my mother’s. “Think about it. If we can expose Don’s involvement and the identity of his informant, we can take control of the narrative. We can show the people that we’re not hiding anything and are willing to be transparent about our family’s past to build a brighter future.”
“No! Stellan is trying to tear our country apart by discussing my private business. I will not help him by indulging in the gossip mongering.”
I balk. “You are helping him by saying nothing. If you come clean, you can clearmyname and any questions about my rule. You can help me regain control of the Council.”
Mother glares at me, her jaw set. She will weather this storm, holed up away from prying eyes, thinking it will all blow over. Except it won’t.
“I won’t do it,” she says with finality.
“You’re making a mistake.” I rise on jellied limbs.
“You know I love you, L-Leigh.” Mother’s voice cracks.
“Then tell the truth. Regain our people’s trust. Regainmytrust.”
“My silence is protecting you.”
My heart is as heavy as lead as I turn and stride for the front door. Mother doesn’t call after me. Fine. I’ll find my own answers.
My father follows.What are you doing?
I take my belongings from the housekeeper. “Sorting the mess you made,” I reply.
How?Father asks.
Stepping outside, I shrug my coat on. “By talking to the person responsible for ruining all our lives.”
I slide into the back seat of my car and shut the door at my father’s look of horror.
“How’d it go?” Isolde asks, meeting my gaze in the rearview mirror.
“Terrible.”
“What did your mom say about your brother?”
“I need time to process. Please take me home.” The words come out calm, controlled, even as my mind races ahead to Don’s letters and the conversation I need to have with Ravi.
I don’t have to see Don in person if there’s a way to astral project into the prison. Isolde drives along the familiar road to the palace. I stare out the window, watching the world pass by in a blur of colors. How did my life get so wrecked?
Hours after Vyvyan’s dismissal,I shift my duffel bag higher on my shoulder and text Jaxson with one hand, asking him to meet me at Wilder’s loft. If his offer to help me raise the Balam is still good, I will take it. This might be my only shot to prove myself to Vyvyan.
The door to my old apartment groans. As I step inside, the aroma of garlic and ginger wafts over me, transporting me back to the nights Wilder would cook for us when my parents didn’t come home. I drop my bag by the door, taking in Wilder’s changes to the space.
The floral couch I once snagged at a yard sale is gone, replaced by a sleek gray sectional that looks like it belongs in a magazine. An industrial coffee table sits atop a patterned rug, and I notice that the mismatched outdoor table and chairs are absent. I cross my arms. Wilder has developed a knack for interior design, or he’s had help. Judging by the decorative pillows and scented candles strategically placed throughout the room, I’d bet on the latter.
While I appreciate the aesthetic appeal of the renovations, my heart splinters. Nothing reminds me of the life I once had in this apartment.
I bought this place on my own after finishing my residency at the hospital. It was meant to be my first step into the worldas a true adult—a symbol of my independence and hard work. But life had other plans, and I gave it up. After Vane turned me into a vampire, I bequeathed the apartment to my brother, hoping it would serve as a haven for him if he ever needed it. The neighborhood isn’t the best, but the building had recently undergone renovations, and the purchase didn’t put too much of a dent in my savings, which Wilder inherited as well.
The clanging of pans snaps me out of my reverie. I’m not alone. My vampire senses pick up on a heartbeat in the kitchen. I step inside, each footfall measured and deliberate. A witch with striking purple hair stands at the stove, tossing noodles in a sizzling pan. He’s wearing headphones, and the faint strains of melancholic music seep from the buds.
Pallas Lyra is here, in the apartment. The former Nyx member, who helped diffuse the capitol bombing and earned Wilder’s respect—and his friendship. The personal touches around the place suggest he’s living here with my brother. Bursting in unannounced like this . . . I should have called first. The clatter of a pan on the stove draws a smile. While I crave the constant chaos of the Nest, what if Pallas wants his space?
My phone buzzes in my hand.
Jax
I’m in the neighborhood. Be there in ten.
