“Everything,” I say without hesitation. “I need to know everything.”
Blue is quiet for a long moment, studying my face like he’s looking for something. Finally, he nods. “Blue Crow.”
Vespera busies herself organizing tools on one of the tables, but I can tell she’s listening to every word.
“I was in my early twenties when Brutus recruited me,” Blue continues. “Fresh out of the military, looking for purpose, to apply the skills I’d picked up. Brutus saw potential in me that I didn’t even know I had. He convinced me I was wasting my talents in civilian life, that I could be part of something bigger.” Blue’s hands clench into fists at his sides. “He made it sound like an honor. Like joining the Crow was the most important thing I could ever do.”
“He was your mentor.”
“He was my father figure, my teacher, my god.” The admission comes out bitter. “For eight years, I was Blue Crow. I killed whoever Brutus pointed me at, however he wanted it done. I thought I was part of something legendary.”
“What changed?”
Blue meets my eyes across the room. “Your father.”
Vespera has gone completely still, her usual theatrical energy replaced by focused attention.
“He said he knew there were people who needed help escaping. Said if I helped him save the innocent ones, he’d help me find targets who actually deserved to die.”
My heart is pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears. “And you said yes.”
Blue looks at Vespera, who nods encouragingly. “Peter and I spent years working together. He’d identify people who needed help disappearing, and I’d handle their ‘deaths’ while he got them new identities, new lives.”
“That’s... actually beautiful,” Vespera says softly.
“It was perfect,” Blue agrees. “Until Brutus figured out the pattern. Too many of our targets were surviving their ‘murders,’ disappearing without a trace.” His expression darkens. “When he confronted me, I had to choose. Peter or the Crow.”
“You chose Peter.”
“I chose myself,” Blue corrects. “I chose to stop being Blue Crow and just be Blue. But that meant war with Brutus, and Peter...” He trails off, pain flickering across his face.
“Peter paid the price,” I finish quietly.
I’m quiet for a long moment, processing everything he’s told me.
“Blue Crow...” I finally say. “Doesn’t sound right.”
“It wasn’t right,” Vespera says.
Blue clears his throat, breaking the heavy weight in the room.
“Enough about the Crow.Thisis why I wanted to bring you here,” he says, gesturing around the room. “To meet Vespera and see the incinerator. So you’d know where to come if things go sideways.”
“Consider me your backup plan,” Vespera adds with that wicked smile returning. “If you ever need help making problems disappear, I’m your girl. And if you ever need a glam squad for an undercover job, well, I do that too.”
Blue pushes off from the table. “We should go. We’ve got dessert waiting at home.” His grin turns predatory. “Two Crow sitting on ice, and I’d hate for them to spoil.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Blue
The basement air carries the scent of champagne and anticipation—two of my favorite combinations. Hans has outdone himself with tonight’s presentation. The stone walls are softened by warm lighting, and he’s arranged a proper dessert service on the antique sideboard: crystal flutes, vintage champagne chilling in silver buckets, and delicate petit fours that Wren must have prepared before she turned in for the evening.
Our two remaining dinner guests complete the tableau.
Jack “The Knife” Crow sits in the chair closest to the champagne setup, his wrists secured with Hans’s trademark efficiency. No gags this time—I want to hear what they have to say. Victor “The Veteran” Crow occupies the chair beside him, his confiscated cane sword leaning against the wall like a decorative accent.
Both men eye the champagne setup with obvious wariness. Smart. They should be wary.
