Like the last time, all the arrangements were handled with the precision of a man who’d spent years orchestrating covert movements. His transport network had been built to ferry high-profile clients without leaving a trace, and now, we benefited from his expertise and infrastructure.
No direct routes. No paper trails. No obvious patterns. This time, a train versus a private jet. We were hiding in plain sight, as Belvedere loved to say.
And we all know—whether we say it aloud or not—that word of our movements will slither its way back to Maximillian. It always does. Secrets don’t stay buried long in this world. The only comfort I can find is knowing Victoria is on our side. If anyone can help us figure out the mind of a vampire, it will be her.
But even she never saw this coming. The shock in her eyes when the truth hit—that Maximillian would turn his fangs on his own coven—still lingers like a bruise in my memory. Family is supposed to be a line you don’t cross. He shattered that line without hesitation.
For now, though, we have a sliver of an advantage. He doesn’t know that we suspect there’s a mole among us, that the betrayal he counts on is not actually an advantage at all. It’s not much, but it’s something, and right now I’ll take anything.
I scan the cart and see how everyone else is doing. Minerva is busy knitting a purple square. About an hour ago, she was busy with a red one. I guess that’s how she keeps calm, although there is a nervous energy emanating from her right now. She mustfeel me staring, because she looks up at me and gives me a weak smile. I shoot one of my own back, wishing I could reassure her, but I’m too nervous to actively pull it off.
Belvedere is out cold, his head tipped against the rattling window. Across from him, Serafina stares through the glass, lost in the wash of colors bleeding across the horizon. Sunset. Almost dark. Relief loosens something tight in my chest. We’re always more exposed in daylight, even with Belvedere’s glamours.
And then there’s the inconvenient detail of Marcus’s glamour—and mine—failing. I shove the thought aside before the nerves can sink their claws in. I can’t afford that spiral. Not now. Not for two very specific reasons:
1.I refuse to relive the humiliation of being exposed like that again.
2.I absolutely cannot give Leonard the satisfaction of being right about this “true love’s kiss” nonsense.
Ridiculous. That’s what it is. No matter how steady Marcus makes me feel—or how incredible the sex is, and gods, it is incredible—I can’t let myself believe it’s anything more than chemistry. Anything else is far too dangerous.
For now, I’ll take the simple comfort of dusk settling over us. The fading light makes me feel safer, even if it’s only an illusion.
“Min,” Marcus calls, lifting his brow. “You’ve made at least five knitted squares a day. What are you doing it for? Are you making something?”
Min shakes her head, needles flashing in the lamplight. “No. I don’t want to think about what I’m doing the squares for, or else I’ll get overwhelmed by the commitment.”
I smirk from her chair. “That’s not true, you’ve committed your life to my shit.”
“Isn’t that the truth.”
I’m pretending to look for something to throw at her when Leonard sweeps in with Victoria on his arm. He lookstheatrically exhausted, hair slightly mussed, shirt collar undone. He plops down opposite Minerva and shuffles along to make room for Victoria to sit next to him.
“Speaking of addictions, has anyone else noticed that our dear Minerva knits through the night without pause? Click, click, click. My beauty sleep is in ruins. Do you know how much effort it takes to maintain this face?” He gestures dramatically to himself.
Victoria arches a delicate brow, lips curving. “You know, Leonard, you could always change your sleep schedule. Sleep during the day, like me.”
He snorts. “Ah, there’s just that small detail of the pesky sun. Not to mention my body’s utter refusal to manufacture melatonin properly on command. Believe me, darling, I’ve tried.”
Her smile tilts wryly. “Well…you could always share my coffin.”
The words hang in the air a beat too long. Then realization floods her expression, and her eyes widen. “I—I didn’t mean it like that?—”
Leonard’s grin is instant and wolfish. “Oh, but I heard exactly what you said, sweetheart. And I’m flattered.”
Marcus smothers a laugh. Min finally looks up from her knitting, eyes glinting. “Careful, this one suffers from delusions. One small mention of sharing a space, and he’ll be naming your kids.”
“Pffft, how do you know? It’s true, but how do you know?”
Min doesn’t look up from her knitting. “You talk in your sleep.”
Leonard looks horrified. “I do not.”
“Yeah, you do,” Marcus sides with Min.
Leonard throws his hands in the air. “Not in front of my new roommate. She’ll never let me top and tail with her if you fill her head with nonsense.”
We all laugh, the sound tumbling out too loud, too bright for the cramped carriage. For a heartbeat, it feels foreign on my tongue—like I’ve forgotten what it means to laugh and mean it. The tension that’s been coiled so tight inside me loosens a fraction, enough to remind me I’m still human, not just a bag of nerves and dread.
