“Noted.” Viktor didn't let go of me.
“Sebastian needs a hospital?—”
“No hospitals.” My voice came out firm despite everything. “The palace. My father. Tonight.”
Noah looked at Viktor. Viktor nodded.
“Fine. But if either of you dies in my car, I'm telling Adrian it's your fault.”
They helped us stand. Helped us walk. Carried us when we couldn't.
Out of the strongroom. Out of the tunnels. Into grey light and rain that had finally stopped.
Toward vehicles. Toward home. Toward whatever came next.
I looked back once. At the place where everything had broken.
Where Élodie had chosen power over love.
Where I'd learned that ambition could be as cruel as any knife.
Then I turned away.
Toward Viktor. Toward family that chose me instead of using me. Toward a future that was terrifying and uncertain and mine.
“Let's go home,” I said.
“Da. Let's go home.”
The convoy moved. Through empty streets. Toward the palace. Toward my father who didn't know yet. Toward the moment where I'd have to tell him that the girl we'd loved, the girl we'd trusted, had helped murder the woman we'd both lost.
But that was later.
Right now I leaned against Viktor and let myself break.
Let myself grieve the sister I'd never really had.
Let myself accept that some betrayals cut so deep they change the shape of you forever.
And knew that somehow, impossibly, I'd survived.
We'd survived.
And that would have to be enough.
30
WHAT REMAINS
SEBASTIAN
Iwoke to sunlight.
Not the harsh fluorescent kind that had burned my eyes in the strongroom. Real sunlight. Warm. Gentle. Filtering through gauze curtains that made everything look soft and safe.
My chambers. My bed. My life somehow still intact.
Pain came next. Immediate. Comprehensive. The kind that told you exactly what was broken and where. Ribs wrapped tight. Shoulder immobilized. Bandages everywhere. Each breath a reminder that I'd survived something I shouldn't have.
