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EDWIN
The world is almost forgiven when I watch Zaiya sleep, curled into my side. It’s the peaceful way her face looks that breaks me, untouched by her life’s burdens. I want to keep her there in that fragile grace where she can be unafraid and unclaimed by anything except the arm I have around her.
The small rise and fall of her chest proves she’s alive. Not a dream. Not a fantasy. She’s here with me.
There’s a lump in my throat that’s difficult to swallow. I’m holding someone sacred that life keeps trying to drag through the dirt.
Her confession of being in danger split open an unimaginable rage inside me. It turned every thought into a blade desperate for flesh. There is nothing elegant about it. Only brutality.
No one touches what’s mine.
No one reaches for her and lives.
I hate myself for staying in that Council chamber as long as I did. Hate that I sat there pretending I was a civilized heir while my mind snagged on the same thought over and over.
Where is she?
I should have felt that she was in danger. The failure still tastes bitter.
My fingers find the knife I keep close. The comfort of a bad habit. A reminder that I can choose pain when I need to feel real. I press the tip into my palm until I get the bead of red I’m looking for.
It isn’t enough for failing her, but it’ll do for now.
My phone buzzes.
Zaiya stirs but doesn’t fully wake. She curls closer, as if she feels my attention pulling away even in sleep.
I snatch up the phone, prepared to take out my anger on whoever disturbs us. Then I read the message, and a low growl rumbles in my throat.
Zaiya shifts, her arm draped across my chest.
I freeze.
She exhales softly, trusting me with the fragile act of rest. I want to ignore the message. Pretend evil isn’t coming after her, thinking it has a right to exist.
But she needs this. If she doesn’t hear the truth out loud, it’ll eat her alive.
I slide the knife into my pocket, then brush her hair back from her face with apologetic fingertips.
She stirs, lashes fluttering before her eyes go wide with awareness.
“What’s going on?” she asks, voice hoarse with sleep.
I kiss the crown of her head. “They got him.”
She stiffens. The change is immediate. As if black ink has entered her blood by needle.
She gets dressed without speaking. Her hands stay steady, but her jaw locks tight. She doesn’t look at me when she pulls on her shoes. Doesn’t ask where we’re going.
The elevator descent is silent. Marble gives way to concrete, velvet to stone. The cold heart of the ritual chamber waits for judgment beneath the building.
We make our way through the dim corridor. My footsteps echo against the floor, but Zaiya’s steps are quieter, trying not to exist.
I take her hand and keep her close. Technically, she isn’t allowed to be here outside of the Trials. Members are unmasked and she’ll see more than she should.
I don’t give a fuck.
Reese meets us at the entrance. His eyes are tired from handling this mess while I tended to my girl. A few other men stand guard nearby, faces hard, hands clasped behind their backs.
