They’re gone.
Whatever lines existed between justice and revenge?
They’re blurred beyond recognition.
And as I stand there staring at an empty cell that should hold the man who ruined so many lives, I feel it settle deep in my bones—
We just crossed into darker territory.
Not for Mikhail. Not for the enemy.
For us.
For King.
And maybe… For me, too.
Chapter 27
Delilah Barrinheart
At first, I’m just confused.
Confused by the empty cell.
Confused by the smell of bleach that doesn’t quite cover iron.
Confused by the way Jon goes still before he explodes.
It doesn’t hit me all at once. It creeps in, slow and ugly, the realization threading itself through the fluorescent hum and the sterile chill and the hollow wrongness of the room. The cell should feel contained. Controlled. Instead it feels violated. Scrubbed too hard. Quiet in the way crime scenes are quiet when everyone already knows exactly what happened and no one wants to say it first.
He’s gone.
Not transferred. Not moved. Not scheduled for interrogation.
Gone.
And it doesn’t start to fully click until Jon turns away from the cell and storms down the corridor like a man who just lost something irreplaceable. His steps hit the concrete too hard. His shoulders are locked so tight it looks painful. His hands flex onceat his sides, curling and uncurling like he’s trying not to put them through a wall or someone’s throat.
That’s when it sinks in.
Mikhail wasn’t just a prisoner.
He was the end.
He was answers.
He was motive.
He was closure.
He was the man who took pieces of Jon’s life, pieces of mine, pieces of my mother’s and now he’s nothing but a stain on concrete and a silence no one can interrogate.
“Jon—” I start, but he doesn’t slow.
His shoulders stay rigid, his head bowed just slightly like he’s trying to contain whatever’s coming apart inside him. I’ve seen him angry. I’ve seen him violent. I’ve seen him cold enough to make grown men second-guess their own names.
This is different.
