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Tension shifts between the men. Ares looks between them anxiously. They don’t have to speak to let me know how angry they are with her. That anger will fuel them to become better, stronger men, and it’ll be their choice on how they’ll process her betrayal and dole out the consequences for her actions.

I take a deep breath, prepared to take the next step.

“You’ve shown nothing but loyalty and respect to the BRN, the House of Night, and to me, and in response, I want to show you the same consideration.”

I reach behind my head and loosen the ties that hold up my mask. Hunter and DK glance at one another, aware of the magnitude of the situation. “You risked your lives for me and my kingdom. At the very least I can show you the man behind the mask.”

Slowly, I remove the mask, giving them a moment to process what–no, who–is in front of them. Silence crashes down until DK, staring with his eyes wide, says, “You’re–”

“Not Clive Kayes,” Hunter finishes quietly.

I shake my head. “No. Clive is dead. He’s been dead for over two decades,” I add. “Let the dark cradle his secrets.”

DK’s voice cracks on the truth as he tries again. “You’re… Timothy Maddox.”

The name hangs there, shuddering through the dark like a curse.

And it feels like peeling off more than a mask. Like laying myself bare. Like every secret I’ve buried just clawed its way to the surface. These men proved I can trust them and I want to give the same back to them.

“Yes. I’m Timothy Maddox.”

Rich. Powerful. Feared. Hated.

“King of the Barons.”

“How much longer?”

“Five seconds.” Graves checks the stopwatch and waits for a moment. The seconds pass by painfully, each one stabbing like pinpricks. “Time.”

Exhaling, I rise out of the frigid water, the brisk morning air slapping against my wet skin. It’s cold as fuck, but I feel invigorated. Alive.

I step out of the tub, taking the towel Graves has extended toward me, and I quickly dry off.

After days out of my routine, now that the wedding is over and everyone is back home, it’s time to get back into the steady rhythm of life.

“Would you like your breakfast up here or elsewhere?” he asks, standing in the doorway that leads from the porch back to my room. “The men have already had their meal in the dining room.”

“Very well,” I say, glad to know they’re also moving forward. “Here is fine.”

I slip into my clothes, slow and methodical. Starched white shirt, black slacks. The cufflinks with the Greek insignia for BRNin gold. Graves hands me my mask, black, functional for the day, and the smoothie–greens, protein, raw egg. My supplements wait on the tray: zinc, magnesium, and activated charcoal. Discipline in all things. Routine is a comfort.

As he pours tea, I move to the small dining table by the window. The light is dull and gray through the frost-glass, just the way I like it. I sit and notice the report on the edge of the table.

“This just arrive?”

“Dr. Shepard had it sent over right away.”

Curious, I pick it up and skim the details of the coroner's report. Male, age fifty. Theres’s documentation of a laceration on the palm of his hand, and bruising on his back, most likely from a beam falling on him, trapping him under the weight. Cause of death: asphyxiation.

Attached to the report is a second one from the fire chief.

“Anything interesting?” Graves asks, opening the door to the armoire. His business does nothing to hide the edge of concern in his voice.

A quick look at the typed, official, sheet takes a way that worry and I read aloud. “There was no evidence of tampering or accelerant in the home. But there was some kind of fraying in the wiring.”

“Old houses tend to have that problem.”

“They do,” I agree. “So from this report, it seems like a malfunction in the electrical system.” I take a sip of tea, allowing the warmth to spread through my chest. “Remind me to send the Chief a complimentary stay at the hotel–all-inclusive.”