Page 110 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

None.

When Carr spoke, his tone was flat, bored. “Are you done yet?”

“I could go another round, actually.”

“Fuck off, man.”

“So that’s a no to another round?” I muttered, yanking the tape from my hand while the anger kept climbing.

“How long are you going to sulk like this, Cy? It’s beneath you.”

“I’m not sulking.”

“Coulda fooled me.”

“Get fucked.”

Without warning, he looped an arm around my neck and yanked me back against his shoulder, forearm crushing my airway. I planted my feet and clawed at his arm as he growled, “You know, I’d like to—but I’m a little preoccupied guarding your mate twenty-four-seven.”

“Then don’t,” I gritted out, jerking him forward and sending us both crashing onto the mat. We grappled for the upper hand. “Nobody asked you… to play lapdog.”

“My duty has always been and will always be to protect this family—this hierarchy.”

“Coulda… fooled… me,” I parroted. We rolled again, and I hooked a leg around his waist, threw him off, and scrambled upright.

“Stop it,” he snapped, standing instead of reengaging. I shot to my feet. “Sometimes I think you forget you’re not the only one who lost a parent that day. You’re not, asshole. I watched my dad sail on the same boat your mom did. No closure. No chance for him to redeem himself after choosing that bitch over his own sons. So just stop, man.”

I saw it then and pulled up short. We didn’t do emotional shit in this family. We’d barely spoken Juno’s name since that ship burned, and I was the asshole who hadn’t fucking asked. It wasn’t anger in those familiar sapphire eyes. It was disappointment. Great. Exactly what I fucking needed.

“Just shut up for two goddamn seconds and listen before you lose the best thing that ever happened to you and I’m damned to hear you whine about it for the rest of our miserable lives.”

“She—”

“Finish that sentence, and I’ll kill you myself, just to end your self-imposed torment.”

So there we stood. Both glaring. Both ready to swing. Both holding back.

Slowly, Carr’s shoulders loosened. His hands fell to his sides when he realized I wasn’t going to reengage.

“Can you honestly tell me you would’ve done it differently?”

“I don’t think I’m inclined to sell myself like a two-dollar whore.”

“Jesus, man.” He shook his head. The worst part? He didn’t even seem to have anger left for me. Just resigned, quiet disapproval. Somehow, that was worse.

“Freya is willing to do whatever it takes to get our people the help we need to win this war—a quality the old Cyrus would’ve called admirable. Noble. Duty.” He shook his head. “What happened to you, man?” When I opened my mouth, his glare hardened. “You know what? Don’t answer that. Look me in the eye and tell me—honestly—would you have done it differently? And don’t bother lying, Cyrus. I can see right through your bullshit.”

“I don’t fuck targets,” I sneered.

He slammed through the shadows to stand nose-to-nose. “You weren’t her fucking target!”

“I don’t fuck collateral either.”

“God, you sound like such a little bitch!” He shoved me square in the chest, sneering as I stumbled back.

I needed it. The fucking fight. Needed to feel something. Anything beyond this numb, bitter shell.

“You weren’t there, Cyrus. You weren’t there to see her coming apart at the goddamn seams—all because your fucking cunt of a mother was tearing you to pieces.”