Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
No one talks. Silence weighs heavy on all of our shoulders, but it’s not until the adrenaline of the night wears off that everything will feel real.
We do not run. We do not hide. But if you find yourself targeted, proceed with protocol. Don’t stay where the message was delivered. Do not grieve. Grief is a contaminant. Treat it accordingly.
The Codex can go fuck itself.
Punk clears her throat, eyes fixed on the road. “Airstrip in fifteen.”
I stare out my window at the blur of trees, thinking about Asher’s hands on my skin, the shower, the weight of me against his chest. Then his voice loops back. “Gone.”
Every muscle locks, mental walls slamming down between the memories and my stupidity.
Leon shifts beside me, dipping his head close to mine. “When we land, we stick to the safehouse schedule.” If he thinks I can’t feel his focus on me, he’s fucking deluded.
I swallow. “I’ll come to check the safehouse.”
His brows pinch. “Ivy…”
I keep my gaze forward. “Then I’ll go back to Asher.”
Punk’s grip jerks, the car sways, she corrects, then shoots me a look in the rearview. “What do you mean?”
Jord chokes on a laugh from the back seat. He leans forward, elbows digging into his knees. “You finally snap and choose suicide as a hobby? That’s fun.”
Luce turns her head slightly, studying me from the passenger seat, face giving nothing away. You really are my best fucking friend.
Leon’s hand lands on my forearm, interrupting my thoughts. “You’re in shock.”
I stare at where his fingers press into my skin. Those hands have dug bullets out of me, held my hair back while I puked up poison, wrapped around my throat so I’d learn the difference between panic and actual oxygen loss. They’ve been an anchor for as long as I can remember, but right now the weight is dragging me straight to the bottom.
I peel his fingers away. “I’m thinking clearly.”
He keeps his face blank. “We just lost Nonna to an unknown shooter. We follow protocol.”
Anger spreads through me, but I ball my fists at my sides to keep from exposing them. “Protocol makes us predictable.”
Punk’s breathing kicks up. “Okay, cool, so what. We abandon everything and go full vigilante?”
Jord barks a laugh. “We already are, nerd.”
“Say what you mean, Ivy.” Luce keeps her eyes on me, hands still in her lap.
I blink, gathering my words. “I’m not running from Asher. If I go down, it happens because I stayed. It happens because I chose it. I’m not dying with my back turned, sprinting into some hole our enemies picked for us.”
Leon’s face tightens. “Spell out the real reasons you’re going back to him, Vanya.”
My mouth opens.
He glares. “And remember I know how you lie because I was the motherfucker you trained on.”
I hadn’t planned to lie anyway, but the words spill out unfiltered. “I just said why. I’m not a runner, Leon. You know this. I charge head first into things most would run from.”
Punk swallows hard, eyes flicking between the road and the mirror. “Is that it?”
I don’t answer. I said what I said and they can take it for what it is, or not.
Leon leans in again, slower this time. “Are you saying you’re choosing Asher? Over L’Abattoir?”
My fingers flex in my palm. “I’m saying I’m finishing something I started. Emeric would—”
Jord leans back, dragging a hand down his face, cutting me off. “Nonna’s dead and you’re still thinking about him.”
My stomach flips. “She wants this. She would always want this.”
Luce shifts, her hand brushing Jord’s knee once, a grounding touch. She looks at me again. “So what do you propose we do.”
I press my tongue to the top of my mouth. Psychological warfare. Corps de violence. Advanced manipulation. Emergency Protocols for Emotional Contamination.
Emeric’s voice slithers through the wires of my brain. Control, Ivanya. Control the narrative, control the room, control yourself.
I breathe in through my nose. “We secure the safehouse and make sure it’s clean. No tails. No cameras. No trackers. We set up Punk, and then I go back.”
“No.” Leon’s hand cuts flat through the air between us.
For years, Leon has been the one person whose opinion can move me. One sentence from him and I bend, adjust, obey, because he earned it.
Tonight, he’s just a person.
“Anyone who wants to come can.” I hold my spine straight against the seat, hands open on my knees. “And those who don’t—” I pause, letting him have the whole weight of my words. “—don’t.”
Hurt flashes over his face, but he’s too fast, forcing himself to hide it. He fails. I see it anyway, because he trained on me the same way I did on him.
Punk whistles low. “And what if Emeric says he doesn’t want you to continue this mission?”
I pause.
She pushes on. “Would you go against the very man you swear by?”