Page 39 of Godless Saints

Dead boy.

Living witness.

Minefield.

No one gets to use Moon’s past against him. Not Declan. Not Aleksei. Not fucking anyone. Nobody was turning him into collateral.

I kept walking. The corridor outside Thorn went quiet behind me. Too fucking quiet. I hated the silence after violence. It always gave the rot room to breathe.

Moon knew exactly what I was. And he still kissed me back. Still wanted me. Fuck. He chose me. That fucked with my head.

I pulled out my phone and texted Keira, thumbs still unsteady.

Flowers were a miss. Sent them back. He’s too proud, too obsessed with optics. Kissed me but still freaked when we almost got caught. Don’t know how to get him out of his own head. Advice?

Sent.

I shoved the phone back in my pocket. I kept the folder tucked under my arm the whole way back, one hand pressed on it like someone might step out of the fucking wall and try to take it.

Ridiculous or reasonable. Maybe both.

By the time I shut my door, my knuckles had started to ache. Aleksei’s blood had dried along two of them in a thin brown line. I looked at it. Smiled. Then stopped. Annoying.

The room smelled of whiskey and cold air from the half-open window. Jacket still over the chair. Knife under the book stack. Korean primer open beside the lamp, one page folded down.

Beginner Korean: Practical Phrases for Travel and Conversation. Beside it sat my notes. Messy. Mostly words I wanted to say while I fucked him.

Jal-haess-eo-yo.

You did well.

I stared at the phrase. Then I pulled Moon’s penguin keychain and set it beside the book. What the hell is this? Should I even ask him? I dragged the folder open.

HANSEONG–KNIGHTSBRIDGE CANDIDATE RETREAT SEALED INCIDENT SUMMARY SUBJECT: SEAMUS CARRICK—DECEASED STATUS: CLOSED BY FAMILY REQUEST / EXTERNAL REVIEW WAIVED

Official cause: accidental drowning. Location: north dock, retreat grounds. Last confirmed sighting: Seamus Carrick with Moon Hyun-seo and Sawyer Whitlock. Security footage unavailable: 23:11–23:19.

Medical examiner notes: water in lungs, bruising on wrist and upper arm, elevated blood alcohol. Witness statements: partially redacted. Carrick Maritime: internal sealing requested.

Handwritten in the margin: ASK WHITLOCK.

I read it twice. Then I leaned back, jaw locked, and slammed the folder shut. No fucking way. Moon didn’t kill Declan’s brother. Whitlock? Yeah, that cold bastard probably could. But Moon’s just caught in the crossfire.

I need to be careful. Declan wouldn’t need the full truth. He’d only need Moon’s name next to a dead brother and nine missing minutes of footage.

I slid the folder under the mattress, shoving it deep until it disappeared from sight. Not because hiding it there was clever. Because leaving Moon’s name beside a dead boy’s file on my desk made my skin itch.

I dropped onto the corner of the bed, head hanging low. My teeth ground until pain flared. Fuck. I just wanted the boy from Saint Lucia back. Instead I had a dead Carrick, a sealed file, and a prince who still ran the second anyone might see us. My phone burned a hole in my pocket. I pulled it out. Moon’s number sat under the name I’d saved for him.

MOONSHINE.

My thumb moved before my brain caught up.

ME: Hey, Moonshine. I miss you.

Delivered.

Nothing.