“Go back to sleep,” he whispers.
His voice is so soft when he’s whispering.
However, sleeping is the last thing on my mind now. This night was too crazy, I guess my body overpowered me for a moment, but I don’t feel tired anymore.
The last few hours replay in my head. I wasn’t even supposed to be out of my suite, but something about that sound—it broke through everything. The sobbing and gagging.
When I saw him on the floor, my heart stopped. The way his skin was cold, his hair plastered to his forehead. For a moment, I thought he’d been shot.
But there was no wound, no blood pouring on the floor. Just pills scattered everywhere. I don’t even know why I cried so much. Adrien is quite something. Maybe it’s because he’s the only one who talks to me like he genuinely likes me and tries to make me laugh in this hell.
When I saw him like that, it felt like watching the last light go out.
There’s something about him. Something broken in the same shape as me. Maybe that’s why I feel this pull, this bond with him. More like recognition. Like we’re both built from the same kind of damage.
I guess falling for one of the Varner siblings does that to you.
When I saw Kasien—the way he held him, the way his voice cracked when he begged him to breathe—it was like watching a ghost flicker back to life.
That washim. That wasmy Kasien.
The one who used to have fire in his chest instead of ash. Finally, I saw the man I thought was gone.
I was terrified that he was going to lose him. And somehow, I realized that maybe, Adrien is the only thing keeping Kasien still himself. As much as I wish it could be me, I’m just glad he still has someone to keep him from turning to stone completely.
“So,” I start, hoping that the atmosphere of tonight’s events softened him enough to have an actual conversation with me. “Are you in the Vermilion?”
“Yes,” he whispers, looking down as if he’s ashamed.
“Was your father—”
“He was never my father,” he interrupts me.
“Was Mr. Varner the head of the organization?” I keep going, feeling I might finally get the answers I was looking for, to understand him better.
“No, he was just a stupid pawn. Masochistic, cruel dummy,” he explains quietly, looking in front of him as if he’s lost in his head.
“Was it Mrs. Varner then?” I ask.
He stays quiet for a moment, still zoned out at the same spot, gulping. Then he just turns to me, his eyes soft, glistening, apologetic. My heart skips a beat and warmth spills over my chest. I want to hug him. I feel my body leaning a bit toward him. But his jaw clenches, so I stop and look away.
“Does that mean—” I really shouldn’t be asking him this, but I just need to know—“that you are the head of Vermilion now?”
He drops his eyes back into his lap, looking ashamed and broken.
Oh God. He is.
“Unfortunately, only in this city,” he answers.
Something suddenly hits me.
“Myortvets,”I whisper.
He shoots me a shocked look at first, then softens again, nods, and drops his eyes, looking away.
I can’t believe I had him right in front of my eyes this whole time. All those documents I got my hands on, all those weird, coded emails mentioning this word. It was all him.
“Who’s Lucien?”
