Page 16 of Glitched Fates & Stolen Mates

Rory’s face was still a picture of thunder, his jaw set in that stubborn line I knew too well, the one that meant he was about to do something spectacularly stupid. Theo’s hand moved up and down his arm in soothing strokes.

“I just want that bastard in the ground where he belongs,” Rory spat. “For real this time.”

“Rory!” I couldn’t help but exclaim.

The venom in his voice cut me deep. I understood his rage—Christ, I felt it too—but hearing him speak about our father like that, even knowing what the man had done to both of us… it still shocked me.

“This is larger than just your father,” Seb said firmly.

“I know that,” Rory snapped back, but his shoulders sagged slightly.

Seb cleared his throat, glancing down at his leather journal. “Moving on. I believe you actually wanted to discuss something, Rory?”

Rory blinked in surprise, like he’d forgotten this entirely. He glanced at Theo, who nodded encouragingly.

“Right… so, Issac’s anniversary. Next April. You know, the anniversary of his death. I wondered if we wanted to do something. To mark it.”

We were all stunned into silence.

After Issac died, Rory had clung onto the hope that he was still alive somehow, even though he’d been devoured by a demon right in front of our eyes. He’d spoken about him in the present tense, insisting that because Freddy was still undead rather than dead again, that meant our necromancer was still alive somewhere.

I’d begged Rory to let it go. Told him he was upsetting everyone with his denial. The others started changing the subject when he spoke about Issac, unable to handle his refusal to accept reality.

Eventually, he’d stopped bringing it up, though I knew that had cost him. Issac had been his best friend, the first friend he’d made here, in his new life in London.

“I know it’s absolutely ages away but I wanted to float the idea now. Because it will be three years.”

Another beat of silence fell while that sank in. Three whole years since that horrible day. Three whole years since we’d heard Issac’s laugh echoing through the corridors of Killigrew Street.

“That sounds lovely, Rory,” Priya said softly. “What a wonderful idea.”

“Yes,” Seb said, his voice softer than usual. “Absolutely.”

I watched his face as he spoke, catching the brief flicker of something raw beneath his composed exterior. Seb had lost many team members over the decades—good people who’d died protecting innocents. Yet Issac’s death had hit him harder than most, though he’d never admit it.

The grief lived in the lines around his eyes, in the way his shoulders carried invisible weight. Sometimes I wondered how he bore it—losing person after person, watching the hotel fill up with ghosts. Sometimes I caught him looking at Flynn with something like fear in his eyes, as if he might disappear too, at any moment.

“Right, then,” Seb said, closing his leather journal with a sharp snap. “Meeting adjourned.”

Shoes scraped against concrete as everyone began to move. Theo immediately pulled Rory in for a hug, and Rory melted against him like he was coming home. His small frame seemed to disappear into Theo’s embrace, all that blazing fury from moments ago dissolving into something soft and vulnerable.

I turned away sharply. I shouldn’t have been staring at a private moment like that.

“Uh… so, do you want this back now?”

I spun around to find Felix standing directly in front of me, holding my T-shirt. The fabric was stained dark with his blood, crumpled from where I’d pressed it against his nose. His gaze darted between my face and the shirt, like he couldn’t quite work out which one to focus on.

My mouth opened, but no words came out. Because there he was again—close enough that I could smell vanilla on his breath, close enough to see the tiny scrape on his cheek from his fall. My wolf stirred eagerly, wanting to lean down and…

“Don’t you think it would be polite to wash that for him, Felix?” Priya’s voice chipped in, bright and oh so helpful. She was attempting to sound casual, but I caught the mischievous edge to her smile. “As it’s covered in your blood?”

Felix’s face went through several shades of mortification. His grip on my shirt tightened.

“Right! Of course! Sorry! Of course I’ll do that!”

I groaned. “You don’t need to. I’ll wash it.” I reached for the shirt, trying to yank it from his hands, but Felix gripped it like his life depended on it.

“Come on, Kit,” Priya said, her voice practically singing with false innocence. “He should wash it. And then return it.”