Page 96 of Vows of Ruin

“Or maybe he wins when you walk straight into it without backup.”

Her words land hard. She steps closer, chin up, that spark in her eyes flaring to life. “You promised we’d do this together, Liam. You said always.”

“I meant it.” My voice drops to a rasp. “And that’s exactly why I’m asking you to stay.”

She opens her mouth to argue again, but I reach out and catch her chin, firm, grounding. “Please, Wren. I can’t split my focus in there,” I add, quieter. “Not with him in play. Not when I don’t know what we’re walking into. If something happens to you because I was watching the wrong angle for half a second—”

I shake my head, trying to clear the thought. “—I don’t recover from that.”

That’s the truth. Raw and ugly. She opens her mouth to argue again “Please, Wrenley. Do this for me.”

She looks at me for a long minute, then lets out a sharp breath. “Fine. But you come back with answers. No hero shit.”

I nod. “Deal.”

Her jaw works, stubborn as ever. “And Liam—if you’re not back in three hours. I’m coming after you. I won’t move until then, but I will come after you and nothing will stop me.”

I smile at her. “Wouldn’t expect anything less, little warrior.”

Fifteen minutes later, Torque and I are in the SUV, the hum of the engine filling the silence between us. As we get farther from the center of the city, the pavement becomes rough and broken as the houses thin out into fields and memory.

I glance at the quiet yards, the hedges trimmed back, mailboxes showing their age but still standing. A few old toys sit tucked near porches, sun-faded and outgrown. Whatever life she had here, it didn’t disappear, it settled. The kind of quiet that feels contained, not empty, settles over us.

Torque checks the map again, finger tracing the screen. “The last ping from Noah’s phone was right about—there.” He points to a small cul-de-sac near the edge of the block.

That’s when I see it. A familiar dark SUV parked half in the shadows, dust coating the windshield, one headlight cracked. “There,” I say, pulling over a few houses down.

Torque squints. “That’s his ride.”

“Yeah.”

We move quietly. No words. Just muscle memory and the kind of silence that keeps you alive. The house looks empty, curtains drawn, no lights. Torque circles wide while I check the back. The door shifts under a little pressure. Locked, but old. I work the latch with my blade until it clicks open.

Inside, the air’s stale. The faint smell of dust, old wood, and something that used to be food. We clear the rooms one by one, the living room, kitchen, hallway, until we reach the back bedroom. Torque gestures with two fingers. One occupant. Asleep. We step in silently, weapons drawn.

Noah’s there, sprawled across a stained mattress, half-dressed, gun holstered on the nightstand within reach. He’s thinner than I remember, face rougher, eyes sunken even in sleep. For a second, I almost don’t recognize him.

I kick the edge of the mattress with my boot. “Rise and shine.”

He jerks awake, hand already reaching for the weapon.

Torque’s voice cuts through the dark. “No, no, no—we’re not going to do that.”

Noah freezes, hand hovering inches from the grip. His eyes flick between us, two guns aimed steadily at his chest, and the realization dawns.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, voice rough from sleep. “You two look like hell.”

I lower my gun half an inch, just enough to breathe. “Funny. I was about to say the same thing about you.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Wrenley

The mansion feels different when he’s gone. Too big. Too quiet. Every sound echoes, trying to fill the space Liam usually does. Max sits across from me in the war room, one boot propped on the edge of the table, scrolling through a tablet. He’s pretending to not watch me from beneath his lashes. Margot’s hunched over Elias’ laptop, her hair falling in her face as code flickers across the screen. Elias sits beside her, quiet and focused, the two of them working in that strange rhythm they have where they barely need words.

I try to focus on the map in front of me, but my eyes keep drifting to the clock. They’ve been gone an hour.

“Stop glaring at the clock, Sparrow,” Max says without looking up. “You’ll break it.”