Page 207 of Glutton for Punishment

“Maddox?” Cleo’s voice comes back over the comms, and everyone goes still.

“I found them. They’re regrouping in a warehouse one point three miles east.”

Maddox immediately starts moving towards his remaining men, checking his gear.

Then Cleo speaks again. “Wait.”

Something in her voice makes everyone stop. “I found something that might help.”

“What?” Maddox asks.

“There’s a fuel storage line that runs beneath the warehouse. It’s not far from you.”

Silence.

“If Holly ignites it, the entire structure will go up in flames.”

A cold dread coils in my gut. “They would all die?” Maddox asks, his voice low.

There’s a beat of hesitation before Cleo responds, voice shaky. “Yes, that’s likely.”

I grab the comm from his hand. “And everyone nearby?”

Maddox’s voice is grim. “Cleo, are there others in the area? Regular civilians?”

The silence that follows is heavy, filled only by the distant crackle of the comms. “Probably.”

The world seems to hold its breath. My eyes find the balcony where Councilor West was, a silent observer over the carnage. I already know what he would choose.

Burn them all.

Maddox’s jaw locks. I watch his mind turning—not in doubt, but in grim arithmetic. Eliminate the enemy now. Sacrifice the few innocents to protect our people tomorrow.

My gaze meets his. “You don’t have to become him,” I whisper.

His eyes flick toward me, dark and turbulent. “Arwen—”

“You don’t have to choose brutality every time the choice gets hard.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Burning them is what your father would do,” I say, voice low.

A muscle jumps in his jaw. I watch the war play out across his face—the cold efficiency he was raised with wrestling against something softer, something that hesitates at the cost.

His eyes shutter closed for a breath, and when they open, the hunger for a clean, brutal end is still there. He wants this over. Wants the certainty of safety for both myself and his people.

His gaze cuts to me, then toward the direction of the warehouse.

Then, up to the empty balcony where his father stood witness. The ghost of that approval—or condemnation—hanging in the air.

Slowly, he exhales, a ragged sound torn from deep in his chest, and raises the comm.

“No,” he says, voice thick with reluctance. “We’re not doing it.”

Maddox lowers his hand as pride swells hot behind my ribs. Despite years of conditioning, Maddox is nothing like his father.

Chapter 68