Page 9

“Mario deserved worse than what he got,” I say, the words coming out like gravel.

“I wish I killed him.”

“I think we all do, Oz,” Talon admits. “Anyone but her.”

I take another sip of coffee, but it tastes like ash now. “She shouldn't have had to pull that trigger,” I mutter, setting my mug down with more force than necessary.

Talon leans forward, elbows on his knees. “You know she wouldn't have let us take that from her. Not when it involved Luca.”

He's right, and that knowledge burns worse than the coffee.

“We need to find Luca,” I say instead.

“Please tell me Alex found something at the mansion.”

“Mario had files on Vesper.” I pause, my voice dropping lower. “There are…photos and videos.”

Talon's head snaps up, expression sharpening. “What kind?”

“The kind that's going to make my brother even more insufferable and protective than he already is,” I say, rubbing at the stubble on my jaw. “I didn't look at them myself. But Zaire did.”

“Fuck,” Talon mutters, leaning back against the couch. “That bad?”

“Bad enough that Zaire wanted to resurrect Mario just to kill him again.” I lean back against the couch, staring at the ceiling. “Alex had the same reaction.”

Talon sets his mug down carefully. I recognize the controlled movement. It’s what he does when he's fighting the urge to break something. While things seem settled between Z, Vesper, and I, Talon’s place in her bed is unclear. He cares for Vesper, that’s plain enough to see, but he’s still figuring things out.

“You think there’s something in those photos that could lead us to Luca?” Talon asks, his voice deceptively casual—but the way his fingers tighten on his knee betrays him.

I shake my head. “Alex is combing through everything. If there's a connection, he'll find it.”

“Why don’t you go get some sleep? I can take over watching her door.”

My eyebrow raises.

“Yeah, that’s what I figured. Good thing I stocked up on coffee.”

A soft click draws both our attentions to Vesper's bedroom door as it opens.

Zaire emerges from Vesper's room instead of her, his clothes wrinkled like he'd slept in them. The tension radiating from him is palpable.

I straighten instinctively. My twin has always been more volatile than the rest of us, but there's something in his expression now that puts me on edge.

Without a word, he stalks over to where we're sitting, reaches down and grabs Talon's untouched mug. He tips his head back and downs the entire thing in several long gulps.

“Jesus, Z,” Talon says, watching his coffee disappear. “There's a fresh pot in the kitchen. You didn't have to take mine.”

My brother sets the empty mug down with a clink and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Needed it more than you did.”

I study him carefully. “How is she?”

“Sleeping. Finally.” Zaire runs a hand through his disheveled hair.

The unspoken hangs between us—what happened in that room, what comfort did my brother provide that I couldn't. It shouldn't bother me, not when we've already established where we he and I stand with each other, but something primal and possessive twinges in my chest. I push it down, focusing on what matters.

“Did she say anything?”

Zaire drops heavily into the armchair across from us, his body folding into itself, “Nothing we don't already know. She's convinced we won’t be able to find Luca and that it’s all her fault.”