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“He never found out. He tried. Trust me, he tried. And deep down I think he knows I had something to do with it. But… Flint and I covered it up.”

I see it in her eyes, the shock and the sickunderstanding. She steps back, her mouth opening and closing, and I know she’s picturing Erik’s grave just like she pictured Liam’s—what we did to cover it up, how we pulled ourselves down into hell with it.

Damiano’s gaze meets mine, years of fucked-up history passing between us, weighing every word. “And when it got really tough. I left. I went to Italy without a word. I fucking bailed.”

Briar glances at me, realization flashing across her eyes.

“So here we are,” I say. “It’s only a matter of time until Damiano leaves us with this mess to clean up by ourselves again.”

Damiano nudges the fresh earth with his boot, pushing more dirt over the depression our bodies left on the grave. “Not this time.”

I feel Briar’s gaze on us, and I turn to her, wanting to say something, anything that makes this nightmare end, but the words won’t come. I’ve got nothing.

She wraps her arms around herself and draws a deep breath before speaking. “So Viktor…”

“Already lost one brother with unanswered questions,” I finish.

“Which is why you both know exactly how he’d react about Liam.” She’s clearly putting the puzzle pieces together.

“We need to get out of this alive,” she says. There’s a steely determination hiding the fragility I know is there.

The wind shifts, bringing with it the pungent odor of disturbed earth. It’s a sharp reminder that we’re standing on a fucking grave. I glance at Damiano, then at Briar, and something clicks, a dark understanding of where we all stand. She’s right. We won’t survive this unless we face it together.

Briar turns and takes a step away, like she’s leaving us both behind in that dirt.

“Where are you going?” I ask. She stops, looking back over her shoulder with an expression that’s hard but not unkind. “To clean up. And then to figure out what the hell I’m going to do next.” She starts to walk away again. “But we all need a cooling-off period. The three of us are like a bomb about to go off.” She turns and glares at each of us in turn before she steps behind a hedge. “Walk away. Calm down. Break.”

I should take her advice and do just that, but then Damiano and I wouldn’t be as fucked up as we are. So instead I say, “So we just beat the shit out of each other. Want to fuck now?”

“Go to hell.” Damiano spits on the ground between us.

“Yes, I’ve been there with you by my side.”

Damiano doesn’t say anything else before he disappears into the fog.

Chapter 21

Briar

It’s been a week since I killed a man. One week and I can still hear them. I can still smell them. I can still feel them. Damiano. Flint.

Damiano’s words echo in my head,your way of erasing the memory of fucking me, and Flint’s,why do you always act like you own the people you fuck?It’s like they’re still circling each other, still circling me, not pulling any punches.

When I do sleep, the nightmares find me. I am back at the cemetery, screaming an apology nobody hears. I am at the funeral, listening to Viktor’s eulogy for the man I killed. I wake drenched in sweat, the sheets tangled around me.

The days slip by in a blur of deflection and self-loathing. I haven’t seen either one of them, and it’s better that way.

But I also know he’s been watching me. Every day. Every night. I see him in the maze watching.

Stalking.

Damiano keeps his distance, but I know he’s here.

Four days pass with no word from either. Every few hours I convince myself I don’t care. But I do.

Getting out of bed, knowing sleep is impossible, I see Damiano’s form at my window once again, watching. It’s early, the light barely gracing the horizon. At first, I assume it’s a trick of the dawn, but then he moves, unmistakably him, and my heart slams as memories of that night rush back.

I press my head against the cool glass, watching him as he watches me, a silent tension stretching between the house and the maze. Something inside me unravels, and it feels like bravery or recklessness, like the urge to jump and see if someone is there to catch me.