It hits me then—we know every inch of her body, have emptied ourselves inside her countless times, shared darkness and pleasure in ways few could comprehend. Yet she knows nothing about what we actually do. Who we really are.
For two weeks, we’ve existed in a bubble of sex and sleep and momentary connection. We’ve claimed her body thoroughly, but kept everything else carefully partitioned away.
“She needs to know,” I say, watching Keira stare at the blood on her fingers. “All of it.”
Ace’s jaw tightens. “Cyrus?—”
“No.” I cut him off, something I rarely do. “How long do we think we can keep this separate? She lives with us now.”
My brother’s eyes meet mine, and I know he’s unsure, calculating risks like he always does. But I know I’m right.
“Come here,” I tell Keira, taking her hand and leading her to the couch. Ace follows reluctantly and perches on the armchair across from us.
I pour her a fresh glass of water, watching her hands tremble slightly as she takes it.
“We’re assassins,” I say bluntly. “Have been since we were kids.”
Ace sighs at my directness but continues where I left off. “We were taken from an orphanage at seven. Trained by an organization called the Collective.”
“They taught us how to kill before they taught us how to read,” I add, feeling that familiar rage bubbling up. “Beat discipline into us. Starved us when we showed weakness.”
Keira’s face pales, but her eyes remain steady. “How did you escape?”
A bitter laugh escapes me. “We killed our handlers. We were fifteen.”
“The Blackwoods found us after,” Ace explains, his voice controlled but tight. “Offered us protection and purpose.”
I slide closer to Keira, needing her to understand. “We’ve only ever had each other. Why we sleep in the same bed—it started when we were kids. The only way to survive the nightmares.”
“Sharing a room, a bed... it was security,” Ace adds quietly. “Still is.”
I watch Keira process this, her dancer’s face expressive in ways she doesn’t realize. Fear, compassion, understanding—all flickering across her features.
“The man today...” she begins.
“Deserved worse than we gave him,” I finish. “We don’t kill innocents, Keira. But we aren’t good men.”
Her fingers tighten around mine, surprising me. “I’m not asking you to be.”
There’s a strange look in Keira’s eyes as she absorbs what we’ve told her—something hollow and familiar that I recognize instantly. It’s the same shadow I’ve seen in Ace’s eyes, in my own reflection. The look of someone who’s survived things they shouldn’t have had to.
I’ve sensed it before in small moments: how she flinches when doors slam too loudly, the way she checks exits in anyroom she enters, how her spine stiffens when someone stands too close behind her. Little tells that most people wouldn’t notice, but to me—someone trained to read weakness—they’re like neon signs.
What happened to you?
The question forms in my mind, but I swallow it back, instead reaching to brush my thumb across her cheek, feeling her lean into the touch. Whatever demons haunt her past, they’re hers to exorcise when she’s ready. Pushing would only make her retreat, build those walls higher. I know because I’d do the same.
“We all have our scars,” I say, keeping my voice gentle. “Some just show more than others.”
She nods, that understanding passing between us without words. It’s strange having this connection with someone besides Ace. I’m not used to caring what another person thinks, what they’ve endured.
Ace watches us, his eyes narrowing. He sees it too—the unspoken trauma she carries. Maybe that’s part of why we’re so drawn to her. Broken recognizes broken.
I pull her closer, one arm around her shoulders. Not demanding, not possessive for once. Just present. Whatever nightmares live in her memory, whatever drove her to surrender so completely to us during the Hunt, she’ll share when she’s ready.
For now, this silent understanding is enough.
22
