Page 31 of Redline Communion

He steps closer. His hands are empty, but the rest of him looks less certain about remaining that way.

“You want to know something funny?” he asks. “I don’t even need the claim. I don’t need the ceremony or the ritual or any of this shit, because I already have her. She’s already mine in every way that matters, and you’re standing here worried about whether the house recognizes it.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I slept with her. Recently. Not some claim on a stage in front of witnesses. The real thing.” His eyes stay on mine. “So keep your rite. Keep your rulebook. I don’t need either one to tell me what’s already true.”

I don’t answer quickly enough.

Ash notices.

His anger changes when he catches the silence, sharpening into something more deliberate.

“You think I’m doing this because I’m jealous,” I say.

“Aren’t you?”

“I’m doing it because something I put in place is hurting you now, and I’m the one who has to tell you.”

“Convenient how that worked out. Locks out the one brother who actually earned something real and leaves the door open for everybody still performing for an audience.”

I let the accusation stand because correcting him would require explanations I am not prepared to give.

“I didn’t do this to protect myself.”

“You never think you did.” His laugh contains no humor. “That’s the whole problem with you, Cassian. You build cages and then act surprised when somebody realizes there’s a lock.”

He throws the rag onto the workbench and walks past me.

I let him go.

There is nothing left I can say that would make the wound smaller, and trying would mostly be an exercise in making myself feel better about having caused it.

His footsteps disappear up the hall.

The garage settles around me.

What remains is the sentence he left behind.

I already have her.

I dislike how much that hurts.

Not because Ash slept with Lorelei. I have known he wanted her long enough that pretending surprise would be insulting to both of us.

What unsettles me is the certainty.

He said it as though whatever happened between them exists beyond this house’s ability to approve, record, or revoke it.

For most of my life, I have been taught that recognition creates legitimacy.

Ash appears to have skipped that lesson entirely.

Some part of me envies him for it.

Helena finds me an hour later in the east hallway with a cream-stock folder tucked beneath one arm, its brass corners catching the light.

“Alistair wants you to review the intake before the date is finalized.”