Surely, there would be no good from this visit. He loved chaos and starting bullshit. He knew I was in the middle of a goddamn war with my father.
This should have been the only thing on my mind while I dressed, but Nyomi was the only problem I yearned to solve.
How can I get us back to where we were?
I paused from brushing my teeth.
That tremble in her hands hadn't been fear alone.
It had been grief.
And guilt.
And love colliding with horror.
The taste of mint filled my mouth as I stared at my reflection in the mirror. The same face that had commanded rooms, ended lives, built an empire from blood and discipline.
But behind it, I saw something I didn't recognize.
Uncertainty.
Goddamn it.
She had rooted herself into me in a way I hadn't anticipated—quietly, deeply—until the thought of her leaving felt less like loss and more like amputation.
I would rather burn every tradition I stood on than watch her walk away believing she was disposable.
I spat into the sink and rinsed.
She wants me to get her permission before I order a mass killing. How would that even work? I answer to no one.
My jaw tightened.
But I'd also never wanted to answer to anyone before.
I returned to the bedroom.
She was gone.
The bed was empty. The closet door stood open, dark inside. The curtain was still drawn across the window, blocking the pyreof burning traitors, but I could feel its heat pressing through the glass.
Could smell the roasted death in every breath.
Where is she?
My chest tightened. She couldn't leave the island—there was nowhere to go—but that didn't matter.
What mattered was that she wasn'there.
What mattered was that she'd looked at me like I was a stranger this morning, like the man who'd held her through the night was someone she didn't recognize.
She wasn't supposed to see that. . .
The thought burned worse than any fire.
I knew how to dominate a room. How to command loyalty. How to burn the world until it bent into order.
I did not know how to fix this.
