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Oberon rises too, all smooth power and dangerous intent. “Then let’s turn Pacific City upside down.”
“Starting with Vance,” I add, my voice hard as concrete.
“Starting with Vance,” Oberon echoes, and there’s a promise in his voice, one that says this is just the beginning.
After, Oberon’s footsteps fade down the hall, the finality in each step echoing the resolve in my chest. I watch him go, feeling the weight of our plan settle like lead in my veins. This isn’t just about control; it’s personal. Vance, with his smug grin and hidden truths, is going to pay for the lies that have poisoned my life.
I turn away from the empty corridor and head back to the room that Huxley secured for me, a bare space with walls that seem to absorb light rather than reflect it. There’s no warmth here, no comfort. It’s a place for plotting, not for living. I shove the door closed behind me, the sound louder than I intend, and stand there with my heart beating out an uneven rhythm.
“Damn you, Vance,” I mutter under my breath, thinking of the mother I never knew I shared with him, of the way he kept her from me as if I were nothing. My hands ball into fists, anger surging hot and quick like a current through my body.
But then her face flickers in my mind—Aisling, with her fire and defiance. She could always see through the bullshit, straight into the core of things. And she’s not here now, not when I need her clarity, her strength. The thought slices through me sharper than any blade.
“Shit,” I whisper, the word barely audible as I collapse onto the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees, face buried in my hands. The cool emptiness of the room presses in on me, a stark reminder that this battle is mine alone. No allies, no partners in crime—just me against a world I never wanted to rule.
I let out a harsh laugh, devoid of humor. This isn’t the life I wanted, not the one I fought for. It’s a far cry from the power plays and the thrill of the chase. It’s isolation, revenge, and the ache of loss so deep it carves grooves into my soul.
“Come back, Aisling,” I say into the darkness of my palms. “I need you.” The words hang heavy in the air, a plea that won’t be answered. The absence of her, the void where she once stood by my side, it gnaws at me until there’s nothing left but raw edges.
“Fuck,” I curse, my voice cracking. I can’t hold it back anymore—the bitterness, the grief. They surge forward, a dam breaking inside me. My shoulders shake as I give in to it, the fight draining out of me in shuddering breaths.
“Vance,” I grind out between clenched teeth, “you’re going to wish you never crossed me.”
But even as the threat leaves my lips, I know it’s hollow.
Without her, without that piece of my world that made sense, what am I fighting for?
The silence answers me, a cold embrace that offers no solace. I’m alone in this room, in this city, in this warped version of a life that should’ve been mine. And I’m going to tear it all down, even if it means burning myself to ashes in the process.
Chapter nine
Aisling
I walk alongside my father, my boots sinking slightly into the soft earth as we make our way through the cemetery. There’s a chill in the air that has nothing to do with the weather, and I pull my jacket tighter around me. Rain falls in a steady drizzle on our heads, my father wearing a patchwork hood that covers his grey, balding hair.
He looks old.
It’s been a long, long time.
“Over here,” my father says, his voice a low rumble as he leads me toward an unassuming headstone nestled between two ancient oak trees. The inscription is simple: Moriah Faye, The Saint of Our Island. I’ve been asking him to bring me here for weeks, but he’s refused.
Until now.
Because he’s starting to trust me…and because we’re starting to meld together in his head, I think. Me and Moriah. Mother and daughter.
The May Queen returned.
“Never thought I’d bring you here,” he mutters, hands shoved into his pockets, eyes fixed on the grave. “After you and your grandmother left on that boat…I grieved her alone.”
“If you hadn’t let her get shot, you wouldn’t have had to grieve her at all,” I reply.
He narrows his eyes at me, opens his mouth…
…but he doesn’t retort.
He just sighs.
“I didn’t want any of that to happen.”
