Page 94

I flex my fingers, once, twice. Not nerves. Energy. The kind that hums under the skin when the target sharpens. Those corrupt bitches have my sister. That’s the only thought that sticks. Everything else slides off.

Shadow’s tongue brushes my cheek, warm and rough. I huff a breath through my nose. He doesn’t need to check on me. I’m steady. Clear. Clear in a way that feels dangerous, like the world finally snapped into focus and forgot to blink.

Malek gives Lucas a short nod before picking up a blade from the block and wiping it clean. Lucas peels away from him, shoos Shadow aside with a quiet motion, and comes to stand at my shoulder. Close enough that I can feel the heat off him. We don’t speak. We just watch.

He packed like he was preparing for war and expected me to mirror it—tight movements, no wasted space, everything reduced to what would keep us breathing. I let him. Watched him move through the room with that familiar, efficient violence, as if order itself might hold the world together if he stacked it right.

I slapped the essentials in a canvas bag and called it good.

For a minute, I considered tearing through Cass’s room—flipping mattresses, yanking drawers, looking for some secret map she might’ve hidden away like this was ever that kind of story. The thought almost makes me laugh. Sharp. Bitter.

As if Cass would’ve left breadcrumbs.

As if I’d need directions.

Maps are for people who don’t know what they’re walking toward.

I don’t need one.

I can feel her.

Not memory. Not hope. Something tighter. Something hotter. Like a wire pulled straight through my chest and anchored somewhere far away, humming every time I breathe. Whatever took her didn’t just take her body—it rang me like a bell.

And I’m already moving toward the sound.

“You trust him.”

Lucas doesn’t raise his voice. Doesn’t look at me. Just lets the words sit between us.

“He’s the most consistent thing left.”

It’s the truth. Simple. Ugly. Reliable.

I can feel Lucas’s eyes on my face then—not judging. Measuring. Like he’s gauging how deep the ground is before the drop.

“He’s also the most dangerous bastard I know,” Lucas’s mouth twitches like that’s putting it mildly. “But when the dark starts pulling, there’s no one better at dragging you back by the throat.”

The dark. I almost laugh. I keep my eyes on Malek’s hands instead—steady, efficient, already moving like this was always how the moment would end.

“Why are you telling me this?”

The words leave my mouth steady, but something in my chest is already drawing tight, slow and deliberate, like a wire being pulled one notch closer to snapping.

Lucas doesn’t look at me when he answers. His gaze stays forward, on Malek’s hands, on the blade, on the work—on everything except my face.

“Because, problem child,” he says quietly, voice low enough it almost disappears under the hiss of rain and the wet, meaty sound of something giving way, “once he steps back into that place, who he has to become comes before how you feel about him.”

The air feels heavier after that. Thicker. Like it’s picked up weight.

Something tightens behind my ribs—sharp, reflexive, unwelcome. I keep my shoulders loose. Keep my breathing even. Don’t give it anywhere to land.

“I don’t feel anything.” My voice stays even, which is how I know I’m lying.

Lucas exhales—not a laugh, not a scoff. Just a short, dry release of air that smells faintly of iron and cold. Recognition, not doubt.

“Yeah.” Lucas looks at me like he hates being right. “You do.”

Silence stretches. Not empty—loaded. Long enough for the cold to sink through my boots. Long enough for the copper stink of blood to coat the back of my tongue, for the damp earth to breathe up into my lungs. Long enough for the truth to pace once around the inside of my skull.