“He and my brother were glued together. Our moms joked they were triplets. He basically lived at our house—sleepovers, holidays, all of it.”
“And you trusted him.”
“Itrusthim,” she snaps, fire sparking in her eyes.
My gut twists. “Mara, has Valen ever talked to you about the Syndicate?”
Her laugh erupts. “No. God, Talon, he hates that world.”
“Hates it? Or learned to navigate it without a ripple?”
“This isn’t funny.”
“I’m not joking.”
She shoots up. “Why are you asking me this?”
“Because his name came up.” I step closer. “And not in a way I like.”
“Valen is safe, always has been. He’s one of the few who never wanted anything from me—never tried to control me, never saw me as a prize.”
Possession roars through me, hot and savage. She’s ours—cracked open, claimed in blood and fire—and the idea of another man holding her trust, her childhood crush? It scorches, like acid on open wounds.
Then she tosses out, “Besides, I had a massive crush on him when I was little. Thought I’d marry him someday.”
“Did you now?” My voice drops low, lethal. Inside, I’m mapping every vein in his body, every place a blade could slip. His blood would look much prettier on the fucking floor...
She waves it off, dismissively. “I was eight, and it doesn’t matter. He’s gay.”
I stare, the revelation landing like a dull thud amid the storm.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Because every person you love becomes leverage in our world.”
“Are you not listening? Valen would never hurt me.”
“I’m not saying he would.” I close the gap, heat pulsing between us. “I’m saying if he’s dirty, he doesn’t have a choice.”
She shakes her head. “This is insane.”
“Then prove it.”
She stills, breath hitching.
“Go talk to him. Ask about his father.”
Her eyes narrow to slits. “You want me to interrogate him?”
“I want you to listen. See if the pieces don’t fit.”
“And if I say no?”
“Then we stumble around blindly.” My hands itch to touch her, to anchor to her skin. “The Syndicate thrives on proximity. Childhood bonds? That’s their favorite trap.”
“You’re turning my past into a weapon.” Her voice cracks. “Rewriting my childhood because you’re paranoid.”
I crowd her space, our breaths mingling, her pulse thrumming under my gaze. “You’re angry,” I murmur. “Why?”
