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Ophidia continues on with no idea of the torment going on below it. The hotel is otherwise quiet at this hour. Normal people are sleeping.

I take the master key card from my wallet with trembling fingers. Tap the lock. Shove the door in.

The suite is dark. Empty. No voices or movement.

Then the smell hits me. Blood.

I turn on the lights. No shoes. No clothes. Nothing left behind.

I move into the bedroom. Every step is a march towards my own execution. The door is half-open. I push it the rest of the way. And stop.

Details register in quick succession.

A spray of blood on the dresser.

A pool of blood at the end of the bed.

My stomach drops through the floor.

Then a flash of white catches my eye. A hood. The cloak she wore for the vote.

I cross the room and crouch, my bad arm straining as I reach down. My fingers close around the fabric. It’s stained red. There’s too much blood everywhere. There’s no way…

My knees threaten to give. I catch myself against the bed before I hit the floor.

I bring the cloak to my face, press it to my nose. There’s a faint trace of her. That melon sweetness cutting through the iron.

A sound cracks out of me. A sob. And it makes me hate myself.

The cloak falls to the floor.

I’m too late.

Patrick is gone. Whatever he did is over.

The stains on the bed blur through my watery eyes, and the old thought returns. The easy exit.

But her eyes appear in my mind again, telling me to live with it.

I walk out of the suite, over to the empty elevator hall. A large window sits beside the doors, looking out over the town.

I press the down button, then stare outside.

The streets are quiet. A few distant headlights slide along the road like drifting spirits.

And up on the bluff, the church is lit. At three in the morning. Brightly standing out against the night.

Breath leaves my lungs until they’re empty.

If Zaiya is gone, then there’s nothing left in me worth saving. Only rage worth unleashing.

And I know exactly where to begin.

CHAPTER 46

ZAIYA

This was always my destiny. Living only to die for a man’s purpose. A match struck in the dark, reduced to a single use.