I lean into his touch because I need one second where the world narrows to something I trust.
Lenrog clears his throat softly. “My car will take you back to Halo.”
“No,” Kauss and I say together.
Under other circumstances, that might make me laugh.
Lenrog inclines his head. “As you wish.”
Kauss keeps my hand in his as we walk out of La Reina Azul. The restaurant parts around us in silence. No one speaks. No one dares.
Outside, rain falls over downtown in silver sheets. The city shines too brightly, too beautifully, as if nothing ugly just happened beneath the chandeliers.
Kauss stops beneath the awning and looks down at me.
There is so much in his face that I cannot hold all of it at once. Fury. Fear. Relief. Guilt. Devotion so stark it steals my breath.
“I should have been there,” he says.
“No.”
“I left you.”
“No.”
“Evie—”
I step into him and wrap both arms around his waist. He goes rigid for one heartbeat, then folds around me with careful, shaking strength.
“I was scared,” I whisper into his chest. “But I knew you’d come.”
His arms tighten by the smallest fraction.
“I will always come,” he says.
The words feel like a vow.
And for the first time tonight, I let myself believe I am safe enough to tremble.
CHAPTER 22
KAUSS
Lenrog’s restaurant is too elegant for what happens in the room beneath it.
The private lower chamber smells of old brick, polished leather, cigar smoke, rain-damp coats, and expensive liquor poured for men who prefer their sins served in crystal. The ceiling is low enough that I have to stand with careful posture, though not quite crouch. Lamps burn in amber pools along the walls, and the table at the center of the room is dark wood scarred by old knife marks no amount of oil can fully hide. Above us, La Reina Azul continues pretending civilization is made of blue tile, roasted peppers, string music, and polite reservations. Down here, the pretense thins.
Ron Sanchez stands on the far side of the table with two of Lenrog’s men behind him.
His wrists are not bound. Lenrog does not need the visual. The guards have positioned themselves close enough to stop him, far enough to make clear they are not afraid of him. One has a fresh split across his lower lip from whatever struggle happened after Ron was dragged away. The other watches the boy with the exhausted contempt of a professional dealing with family business that has become everyone’s problem.
Evie stands beside me, her hand tucked in mine.
I do not let go.
The mark on her cheek is darker now. Ron’s handprint has begun its transformation into bruise, blooming red at the edges. The sight lives under my skin like a parasite. Each time my gaze finds it, my body prepares to end him.
Each time, Evie’s fingers tighten around mine.
