My head buzzes—not just the drugs. This is something deeper. An old ache that’s been chewing at my heart for years that just found a fresh place to sink its teeth. Anxiety has my heart racing.
Micah slides in beside me, hoodie pulled up, hair wrecked, eyes ringed with the same bone-deep exhaustion. Nolan’s in the front seat, barking into his phone. Adriana scrolls beside him,lips tight, then suddenly punches the stereo. Some rap track explodes through the speakers, bass so loud it rattles my teeth.
I can’t make out the words. My head won’t cooperate.
“Ten o’clock,” Nolan says over the noise. “Here we go.”
Adriana laughs. “Play the part, boys.”
They don’t know. Thank fuck for small mercies.
They don’t know the name lodged under my tongue, burning, refusing to leave, no matter how many pills I swallow. I glance down at my phone—missed texts stacked in the group chat from Finnick and Kami. Worry, jokes, check-ins.
Four friends. Stupid chemistry. Stupid luck. And now halfof us are trapped in a nightmare that the other half doesn’t even know exists.
Micah looks at me. He knows I won’t text back. “Hey,” he murmurs. “You okay?” Sympathy flickers in his eyes, and it hurts because I don’t deserve it.
“Yeah, man,” I whisper. The lie tastes familiar. Easy. The truth is too heavy—I don’t have the strength to choke it down. I squeeze my eyes shut and feel the world tilt, like the ground might finally give up on me.
The limo slows. The building looms ahead. It’s a brick-and-glass penthouse stacked on top of the city like a crown made of money and crime. Women in tight dresses. Men wearing watches expensive enough to erase people. It’s beautiful in the way rot always is when it’s dressed well.
The perfect place for monsters like Nolan and Adriana.
And me.
My chest tightens. Emma looked beautiful, just like I remembered. Seeing her out here in this city, where I’ve been used and hollowed and turned into a weapon—
I can’t let her in.
If Nolan or Adriana ever figured out how much power she still has over me, they’d kill her without hesitation.
Micah’s hand finds my arm, steady.
I swallow.I’m not okay. I never will be.
The door opens, cold air slicing across my face. Music pounds somewhere overhead. I step out into the light and the lie, my pulse already stuttering. The elevator doors slide open upstairs, and it hits me all at once—bass thudding like a heartbeat, lights strobing, bodies pressed too close together. The air is hot and slick with perfume, sweat, and the sharp chemical bite of drugs. My stomach turns before I even step inside.
I hate it here.
Micah’s beside me, hands buried in his pockets, eyes scanning like he’s trying to map the exits. Nolan’s already halfway through the crowd with an arrogant grin, Adriana gliding behind him in red silk that catches every light.
We’re led toward a back room separated from the wildness out there. Inside, everything goes quiet except for the bass bleeding through the walls. A man sits at the center of it all. He’s pale and quiet in a way that makes my skin crawl.Alexei Morozov.Salt-and-pepper hair combed back neatly, a dark overcoat draped over broad shoulders, even though it’s warm as hell in there. His eyes are that steely gray you see in old portraits of generals: calm, bored, and capable of terrible things. He doesn’t wear a gaudy chain; whatever money he has is parked behind an invisible wall of taste and menace.
Nolan slides in, hand outstretched. “Alexei,” he purrs. “Good to see you.” The two of them smile, and my stomach drops. I’ve seen that smile on men who decide who lives and who’s disposed of.
“This,” Nolan says, spreading his hand toward us like he’s introducing livestock, “is Jude Graves and Micah Prescott. The voice and the heartbeat, so to speak.”
Alexei’s gaze crawls over us with a clinical calm. He nods once. “I know your music,” he says, his accent sliding over the words. “You boys are very talented.”
“Yeah,” I sigh, the sound hollow.
“We’re able to run a lot of product through their tours,” Nolan continues. “Once we partnered up, their careers blew up and so did our operation.”
Adriana’s smile flashes. “Everyone loves a damaged boy,” she says, her auburn hair cascading over her shoulders. Green eyes glinting like a goddamn predator. “I know I do.”
My jaw clenches. I want to reach across the table and splatter that smile on the wall. “Being Nolan’s dog has had its upsides,” I mutter.
Alexei tips his head, the tiniest of motions. “How so?” he asks.
