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“Dangerous smart,” he says. No judgment in it. Just fact. Maybe even admiration. Or fear. Or both.

“Do you believe her? That she didn’t just kill him because she panicked?”

She’d defended herself fast. Claimed Armand was trying to rape her. There was evidence. Her panties–torn and dirty on the ground. His pants–unzipped. The Shadows had tucked him back in before carrying him out, but we’d all seen.

“I do,” DK says, glancing up. “She killed him because he broke the rules.”

There’s a long silence after that. The crypt seems to hold it, keep it.

I stare at Armand’s slack face. Glossy eyes, just barely open. He was the only real Royal among us. A fucking Stein. His family will want him back. Cleaned. Embalmed. Placed in a gilded tomb in the cemetery like a relic. He won’t be like the others down here. The ones the Barons tuck into the walls of the catacombs, the ones who hold up Forsyth’s foundation for eternity.

But we brought him here. We touched the truth of it.

DK rises, brushing off his palms. “Guess this makes us real Barons now.”

He’s probably right. More than the oaths or the rites. This is the job.

“What happens next?” I ask, turning to the Shadow by the door.

“Normally, this would be the start of the journey through the veil,” he says, frowning down at Armand. “He’d get a Baron ceremony, but honestly? I’m not even sure it counts since he didn't survive the Hunt or make it through the Claiming.”

The thought of Armand giving Arianette a mark on the altar is chilling. Not that what I did to her was a picnic, but I have a feeling he would have made her suffer.

“Due to the circumstances,” my new frat brother continues, “the King will handle this one directly.”

I give Armand one last look. His expensive watch. His polished shoes. None of it mattered. Not in the end.

Life is fleeting.

And it can end in the most unexpected ways. By the most unexpected hands. My stomach twists. I think of the knife. The way her fingers curled around it like it belonged to her.

Like it always had.

The weirdest part?

That’s exactly how it felt inmyhands, too.

The Barons’room is located in the old chapel, now called the House of Night. The walls and floors are stone, making the hallways and rooms constantly cool. A fire is already lit in the hearth, low but steady, casting amber light across the room. It’s a far cry from the ancient dormitories on campus, where the carpet smelled like stale beer and mold. People roamed the halls all day and night, disrupting my sleep and studies. I couldn’t complain since I lived there for free due to my father working for the university, but the House of Night has a quiet serenity I don’t take for granted.

The room is big enough for all three of us to share–a requirement, it seems, for the Barons to live in a community. There are three beds and dressers and a big closet divided for us to share. Now, only two of the beds are made up. The third is already stripped bare, nothing but a mattress and silence.

Armand’s gone. Not just dead–erased. His things packed up, no sign he ever slept here. The wardrobe doors creak faintly, open now and empty. His shelf on the wall, bare.

We’d only been here a few days, moving in just after they accepted our bids to join BRN. Not really long enough to settle in, but when three men walk into the forest on a hunt, you expect everyone to come back. That didn’t happen.

Ares lets out a soft, nasal huff as he trots over to me, tail wagging slow and low. He sniffs my pants, my boots, his nose twitching at the blood I didn’t quite wash off down in the tunnel. Dirt. Ash. Death.

“Yeah, I know,” I mutter, raking a hand through his brindled fur. “Smells like hell.”

He presses his forehead against my shin for a second, then wanders back to curl by the hearth, eyes watching the flames. He's always alert. Never fully relaxed. Not even when I’m here.

I was surprised when the King allowed me to bring him into the House of Night. I figured a pet would be a dealbreaker, but either he’s a fan of dogs, or that’s how bad he wanted me to join the ranks. Why, though? Why me? Us?

I glance up to ask DK, but he’s already stripped off his shirt and disappeared into the bathroom without a word. The pipes groan to life. I hear the sharp hiss of water, the clatter of boots kicked aside.

Alone for the first time in hours, I sit.

The chair by the fire is too stiff to be comfortable, but I don’t move. The warmth licks at my shins. My body aches from the weight of Armand, from the weight of what we just became. Real Barons. I guess.