Belonging.
The particular kind of peace that comes from being surrounded by people who see your broken pieces and choose to stay anyway.
I reach for another roll.
Take a bite.
Let the warmth of the bread and the company and the impossible situation I've found myself in wash over me.
Good enough, I think.
This is good enough.
For now.
Maybe forever.
Who knows?
I don't have all the answers.
Don't know how this ends, or what happens after Kai's father is dealt with, or whether any of us survive the coming confrontation.
But right now, in this moment, sitting at this table with these broken, beautiful, absolutely insane people?—
I'm content.
And that's good enough before they eat in a calm silence.
CHAPTER 23
Wild Things And Wanting
~JETT~
The blade slides through flesh like water through silk.
Clean.
Efficient.
The man doesn't even have time to scream—just a wet gurgle as his throat opens, blood cascading down his chest in a crimson waterfall before his body collapses to the manicured lawn.
I sigh.
"This is so messy."
The observation is clinical, detached—the assessment of someone who's seen enough death to recognize quality work versus sloppy execution. My cut was precise, perfect placement between the carotid and jugular, but the spray pattern is excessive. Blood has splattered across the hedgerow, the garden stones, the carefully maintained grass that someone (probably hired staff) will have to deal with tomorrow.
Messy.
Inconvenient.
But necessary.
I cross my arms over my chest, taking a moment to breathe. The night air is cool against my skin, carrying the scents of autumn and dying leaves and something else—something sweeter underneath the metallic tang of fresh blood.
Cotton candy.
