Laufey.
Or those like me who were graced by Odin with the knowledge.
For us, truth is a leash.
Odin never lets us forget what we are—he just dangles our freedom like a promise he never intends to keep.
“If you don’t, it’s not just you who will suffer.” He reaches outand flicks the strap of the blue rucksack he gave me this morning that’s nestled between us on the seat. “This has everything you’ll need. Study the information well and remember who suffers if you do not.”
My throat tightens, and all I can do is nod this time.
If Aric gets in my way, he won’t see it coming. He won’t even feel the knife slip between his ribs until it’s too late. Until I’ve taken everything from him.
I’ll do it because my father’s right. He’s always right about the world and our enemies in it.
Maybe deep down, I’m not much different than the man who sired me—ruthless, willing to do whatever it takes to get what I want.
For a fleeting moment, shame tightens its grip around my throat, regret following like it always does, but I can do this.
Ihaveto do this.
I crinkle Laufey’s note in my hand until my fingers ache, then leave it in my pocket. Now isn’t the time to break down. I keep telling myself I have one job and that’s all I’m allowed to focus on. Because there’s no backing out of this.
As if on cue, Rowen opens the car door.
“Good girl,” Father repeats and climbs out of the car.
I pick up the rucksack, but Rowen’s already there—he swings my door open and takes it from my hand like it weighs nothing. His eyes catch mine for half a second, but it’s enough. Enough to see the resignation. The shame. The quiet kind of defeat that doesn’t scream—it justsitsin your chest and rots.
I give him a half smile anyway. A lie with teeth. It’s fine. Everything’s fine.
My father once told me Rowen’s family has been serving ours for generations—like that makes it noble. Like inherited chains are some kind of legacy. We were walking the beach, waves chewing at the shore, and I’d asked how long their penancewould last.
He bent down, scooped up a handful of sand, and said, “When this is gone.”
“From your hand?” I’d asked.
“From the world.”
And that was that. Life sentence without appeal. Loyalty carved from bone.
He’d dusted his hands on his pants and walked away, stabbing his cane into the sand with every step—sharp, deliberate, like he wanted the beach to remember it.
And that was it. Conversation over.
I knew in that moment that it was the same for me, for Laufey, for anyone in my father’s circle. We’d never be free of him unless he chose to release us.
And Rowen? He just accepts it as his fate because he feels like he failed and has the scars to prove it.
From the stories I’ve been told since childhood, it wasn’t always this way. Where did it all go wrong? When did it become about who held the most power? The most wealth? When did our world get so corrupt? I’ve never asked.
I don’t think I’m scared of the answer anymore. Not really. What scares me now is knowing it won’t matter. Not after everything. The truth won’t save anyone. Least of all me.
Rowen’s already at the open trunk, waiting. I follow, footsteps too steady, breath too measured.
Other cars begin pulling into the lot now. Some parents with tear-streaked cheeks, others fumbling with luggage and half-hearted hugs. All of it too loud, toonormal. Maybe that’s why my father suddenly leans forward and wraps an arm around my shoulders—like he’s playing at being human.
I freeze. His warmth presses against me, unfamiliar and uninvited. It feels like wearing someone else’s skin.
