Page 225

EDWIN

The ritual chamber has been waiting for us to return and finish something. Marcus takes us back to the alcove.

The voting box still stands innocently where it did hours ago. The scale inside is visible now that the ceremony is over. It’s tipped to the left, giving more weight to the Connellys.

My first instinct is to grab the entire box and slam it against the floor until it’s as wrecked as I am.

A reasonable impulse, I think.

Marcus leans in and looks at it.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

He holds up a finger without looking back at me. I wait impatiently until he points to the center of the scale.

“This. Look at it.”

I lean in, eyes narrowed. It appears normal. Black iron, worn by age. The Elders love it because it makes them feel like they’re participating in something sacred from another time.

“What am I looking at?” I ask.

“Exactly,” he says. “You’re looking at it and you’re not seeing it.”

My patience frays. My arm throbs from where it’s been abused all night. My body is being held together by spite and Zaiya’s hand.

“Get to the point.”

He gives me an exaggerated nod. “I knew something was off.”

He scoops the stones out with both hands, letting them clack into a pile on the floor. Then he places a single stone on the right side. It dips a fraction, the way it should.

“Watch.”

He sets a stone on the left side. Equal weight should mean the scale levels. But it doesn’t.

The left side sinks lower. Nothing dramatic. But as Marcus adds more stones, the imbalance becomes undeniable.

A rigged goddamn vote.

Reese steps in and crouches, his face close to the mechanism to study it.

“Yeah,” Reese says, voice flat with rage. “That screw isn’t seated right. The bracket’s been filed. Just enough to bias the pivot.”

“Another reason to use paper votes, for fuck’s sake,” Tristan mutters.

Zaiya swallows. Her grip tightens again. “So it was never real. I was going to die for nothing.”

My jaw clenches. “I’ll make this right.”

Reese stands. “Patrick wouldn’t risk doing this himself.”

“It had to be his bitch boy,” Marcus says.

He’s right. Michael latched onto Patrick the moment he joined the Order, hungry for proximity to power. He’d ride that dick to the grave. And, conveniently, that’s where he’s going to end up.

My fingers flex. I almost forget Zaiya is still holding my hand until she squeezes once, a tiny reminder not to lose my mind.

Lucian turns away abruptly, leaving the chamber in a huff. Tristan follows him, knowing how fast things could become lethal.