He looks at me, there’s a flicker of hesitation in his expression, the kind that makes my stomach tighten. “If I had to bet my life and I might, it’s him. I mean they want you dead for a whole new reason now.”
Silence.
Then Marco mutters, “Fuck.”
Milo lets out a low whistle. “Their machine?”
Leo nods once. “The killer from Ireland. The O’Briens didn’t just raise him, they built him. Cold. Calculated. They’ve been saving him for something.” He locks eyes with me. “You’re that something.”
My mouth is dry, but I force myself to speak. “What do we know about him?”
Leo exhales slowly and starts pacing. “He doesn’t fight to win. He fights to destroy. No rhythm, no technique, just… carnage. He doesn’t stop when the bell rings. He doesn’t stop when you fall. He stops when he thinks you’re not getting back up.”
For a moment, the room tilts.
I’ve fought monsters before. I’ve fought with blood in my mouth and rage in my chest. But this feels different. This is personal, and they’re going to make sure I suffer to the point I can’t walk or even might end up in hospital for a long fucking time.
“They want you humiliated,” Leo continues. “Broken. This isn’t about the Ring. It’s about making a point, telling you, you can’t take what’s theirs and walk away without anything happening to you.”
I nod slowly, jaw tight. “Have you spoken to Father?”
Leo gives me a grim look. “About five minutes ago. He agrees. We train harder. We go darker. He said if we want to survive this… we have to unleash something worse than whatever they send.”
I look at my brothers, both of them tense, quiet. Milo cracks his knuckles. Marco’s chewing the inside of his cheek.
We spend time working on my training plan, and the game plan I’ll be using going into this fight.
I sit back and light a cigarette, even though my hands are already shaking. I don’t let them see it, but inside, there’s a whisper of fear. Not because I’m scared to die.
But because for the first time… I don’t know if I’ll win.
By the time we leave Leo, the sky is already turned to ink. Thunder grumbles like an old grudge over Blackstone's turrets, and the wind is pushing against the academy like it's trying to get inside and warn us.
We head straight back to the dorm. I push open the door to find Rosa perched on the arm of the couch, scrolling through something on her phone.
I look around for Aoife, but don’t see her anywhere. Fuck. She knows it’s not safe for her to be alone at the moment.
“Where is she?” I ask.
She doesn’t even look up. “Roof.”
Of course.
Leaving the room without saying anything to my brothers, I take the stairs two at a time. The wind is sharper up here. Colder. Salt lingers in the air, from the ocean.
Aoife’s silhouette is outlined against the storm. Hair blowing like wildfire. She’s sitting on the ledge again. Always on the edge of something.
“Are you planning on jumping, little lamb?” I call out to her.
She turns, a small smile ghosting across her lips.
“Not tonight,” she says. “Just needed air. A break from all the eyes, all the words.”
I walk over and sit next to her, balancing my elbows on my knees, cigarette between my lips. The waves crash far below. The lighthouse blinks, steady and defiant.
She exhales slowly. “I don’t know if I can take another whisper behind my back.”
I know it’s been hard on her, she’s never been a fighter, never had to go to war. But now she needs to learn how to hold her head high and show people she’s not scared of anyone, or their fucking words.
