Chapter 24

  The corridors felt narrower on the way down. Smoke clung to the walls, and the stink of blood and burned wood rode every breath. Vatican boots thudded ahead of us, soldiers shepherding Steve and Martha toward the waiting convoy.

  Candy threw a blanket over Martha’s shoulders the second they hit the street, murmuring low words that steadied more than the fabric did. Martha collapsed into her arms, shaking, while Steve hovered close, his hand never leaving his wife’s back.

  I stood frozen in the doorway at the top of the stairs, the crow dagger still slick in my hand. My chest heaved in ragged bursts. The night outside seemed too calm, too normal—fog thickening over the Mystic River, gulls crying faintly like nothing had happened.

  Richard appeared at my side. He didn’t say anything at first, just closed his hand gently over mine. His fingers peeled mine from the dagger one by one, careful as though I were made of glass. When the blade finally slipped free, I gasped like I’d been holding my breath for hours.

  He tucked the dagger away, then turned back to me. “You saved them all,” he said, voice low and certain. “No one else could have done it.”

  The words broke something in me. Adrenaline cracked into trembling. My knees nearly buckled.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Richard caught me before I fell, pulling me hard against his chest. His coat smelled like cold air and smoke, the heat of his body shocking through the layers. I pressed my face into him, half-sobbing, half-laughing. “I killed him. I—”

  “You did what had to be done,” he cut in, his lips brushing the crown of my head. “Don’t ever apologize for saving lives.”

  I tilted my face up. His eyes burned blue even in the dim light, fierce and unyielding, but softer too—something there he hadn’t let me see before. His hand slid up to cradle my jaw, thumb brushing my cheekbone, wiping away blood I hadn’t realized was mine.

  The world narrowed to the two of us. My pulse pounded. My skin buzzed. His breath was warm against my mouth. For a moment, I thought he’d kiss me. God help me, I wanted him to.

  But instead, he pulled back just enough to whisper, “Not here. Not like this.”

  I hated how much relief and frustration tangled inside me. Candy’s voice floated from below. “We’re clear! Time to move!”

  Richard’s hand lingered a second longer, then fell away. His eyes held mine, promising something unfinished, something waiting. Then he turned, his hand settling on the small of my back as he guided me down the stairs.

  Outside, the night air hit like a baptism—cold, briny, alive. The Warrens were already in the convoy, safe for now. But when I looked back at the house, at the broken window and the dark shape sprawled inside, my spine prickled.

  It felt unfinished. Like killing Corwin hadn’t closed a door but opened another.

  Richard must have seen the look on my face. His hand pressed steady against my back. “I am taking you home, I promise.”

  But his eyes kept scanning the shadows.

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