Page 86 of Vows of Ruin

He presses a kiss to my temple. “You held it too long, Sparrow. It had to break somewhere.”

Liam kneels beside us, one arm curling around my waist. “Next time,” he says softly. “You don’t try to face it alone.”

For a long minute, the only sound is breathing, theirs is steady, mine is catching and finding rhythm again. The tremor in my hands fades to a faint ache. The panic retreats, leaving the hollow exhaustion it always does.

When I finally speak, my voice is hoarse. “Is it done?”

Liam nods. “She’s gone.”

Max brushes his thumb across my cheek. “That’s all you need to know. Now we figure out what comes next.”

Liam stands pulling me up with him, Max following. “Come on, little warrior, let's go home.

I nod, but inside, everything still feels off-balance. The war isn’t outside anymore. It’s under my skin.

Chapter Thrity-Four

Reaper

The mansion never really sleeps. The generators hum under the floor, a low, steady pulse. Outside, the night presses against the windows, thick and endless. Wrenley’s between us, her breathing slow and even. Max’s arm draped over her waist, his hand resting near mine on her hip. The room smells like soap and gun oil and the faint coconut sweetness of her hair. It should be enough to quiet my head.

It isn’t. My eyes trace cracks in the ceiling that aren’t really there. Every time I blink, I see Tiffany’s face, the flicker of recognition before the fear. The proof she wasn’t working alone. Sebastian’s network doesn’t end with one girl in a basement; he’s still out there, building something bigger, darker, and we’re not ready for it.

I shift onto my side, careful not to wake them. Wrenley murmurs something in her sleep, soft enough to make my chest ache. She’s safe. For now. My mind won’t stop replaying what it will take to keep her that way.

The clock glows 3:17 am. I force my eyes closed.

Smoke. Shouting. Heat. Someone grabs me by the collar. I spin. The blast. I wake up already fighting. The room half-lit blurs into shapes. A figure leans over me, reaching for my face. Instinct moves first. I twist hard, elbow up. A small cry cuts through the dark. Not a soldier’s voice. Hers.

Wrenley pushes back further into the bed, one hand at her cheek, eyes wide. The dream collapses; reality hits like cold water.

“Wren—” I try to speak, but she’s already yelling.

“TORQUE!”

The door explodes open. Heavy footsteps, then a blur of movement. Torque hits me from the side, both of us crashing into the dresser hard enough to splinter wood. Pain flashes white. The floor rises and falls, our fists finding each other on instinct until his forearm locks around my throat.

“Stand down!” His voice is a growl in my ear. “It’s me, it’s Torque—stand down, brother.”

For a moment, I don’t know what that means. The world’s narrowed to motion and noise. Then Wrecker’s there, Max behind him, putting himself between me and Wrenley. “Everybody stop! He’s awake!”

Elias and Riot fill the doorway, half-dressed and wide-eyed. The silence that follows feels louder than the crash.

I look at Wrenley again. The mark on her cheek is red but fading. But I’ll see it forever. “I didn’t—” My voice breaks. “I thought—”

She swallows hard, voice small. “I know.”

Torque exhales, rubbing the back of his neck, looking at Wrenley. “Next time, maybe let someone else handle the nightmares.”

Max keeps a hand on my shoulder, steady but tense. “You scared the hell out of her, man.”

I nod, throat raw. “I scared myself.”

Wrenley doesn’t move at first. Then she reaches out, hesitant and shaking. I take her hand. Her pulse races against mine, proof that she’s real, that I’m here. The room slowly empties, Torque first, muttering something about posting a watch, then Wrecker, Elias, and Riot. Max lingers long enough to make sure we’re both steady before he shuts the door behind him.

For a moment, we’re just still. The clock ticks on, the generators hum below, and the world outside feels like it’s holding its breath. I want to stay here, in this pocket of quiet where it’s just us, where the ghosts in my head can’t touch her. But the weight of it all, the nightmare, Tiffany’s face, Sebastian’s shadow… it lingers like smoke I can’t wave away.

Wrenley shifts, propping herself up on one elbow, her hair falling loose over her shoulder. The faint bruise on her cheek catches the low light and my stomach twists again. I reach out, brushing my thumb just below it, careful not to press too hard. “Does it hurt?” I ask, voice low, afraid of the answer.