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Still, I’m thankful he seemed to know better than to push back.To question why I was calling him like this and to give Seamus even the slightest reason to doubt me.

"I appreciate it, Cian,” I say, not waiting for a response before I hang up.

For a long moment, neither Seamus nor I say anything.Finally, I turn to him."What do you think?"

“He sounded genuinely surprised,” he says.“I don’t trust the bastard, but this time, I think he’s telling the truth.”

So do I.Which is a problem because if it wasn’t Cian, who was it?I push the thought aside.Focus.Turning back to Seamus, I ask, "Why are you even here?Shouldn’t you be with Eamon?"

His lips twitch slightly, but there’s no real amusement behind it."Eamon put me on you."

I expect irritation to rise, but instead, what slips out is "Thank you."

It surprises me just as much as it does him.Something shifts in his expression, just for a second.Then his voice lowers, steady as steel.

"No one’s going to get to you, Aoife."His eyes are sharp, unwavering."Eamon and I will see to it."

I inhale slowly, taking a moment to sit with the gravity of everything that’s happening."I’m going to need your help tonight."

Suspicion flashes across his face."Help with what?"His tone is edged with skepticism."What the hell are you planning now?"

"I can’t go into the details right now," I say, keeping my voice steady.

His expression darkens."Not good enough, Aoife."

I lift a shoulder, playing at nonchalance."It’s all happening tonight, one way or another.You can either help me or stay out of my way."

For a long moment, he studies me.Then he exhales, shaking his head like he already knows he’s going to regret this."Christ."He rubs a hand over his face."Fine.But if this blows up, I’m not the one cleaning up the mess."

"Noted."

I turn away before he can pry further, but I feel his eyes on me, still searching, still waiting for an answer I’m not ready to give.

Cian

The city rots behind us,crumbling into shadow and ash as we drive.The road cuts through the darkness like a scar, stretching endlessly into the hollow outskirts of Dublin.

Inside the car, the air thickens, poisoned with the stench of old fear and new betrayal.I should be clear-headed, sharp as a blade.Instead, Aoife’s voice scrapes through my skull, each word winding tighter, tighter, a noose soaked in oil and fire.

Someone left her a message.A warning.A threat.The unknown festers under my skin, raw and screaming.

Power was never a throne—it was a grave dressed in silk.

And somewhere in the dark, hands I can't see are already reaching to drag me under.

Beside me, Ronan shifts."Your head's not in the game."

"I’m fine."

"Bullshit."

There’s no point in pretending he doesn’t see it.Ronan may be an arrogant bastard, but he’s not stupid."Aoife called me earlier."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see his smirk."Oh?What did the little princess want now?"

"Eamon’s shipment was hit," I say flatly, ignoring his comment."Someone left a message for her.Same kind of message Ruairi used to leave at the scenes of his attacks."

Ronan lets out a sharp bark of laughter.