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Once I open this door, there’s no going back. Not to the Bureau. Not to the life I once had. And I definitely won’t be the same man Maxine remembers. Because the man who survives this? He won’t be someone she recognizes.
I take a slow breath, the cold biting my lungs, and stare down at the flash drive one last time.
A list of names. Every name I need to bring the Aviary to its knees and dismantle it piece by fucking piece.
But the real question isn’t whether I’m ready to end them. It’s whether I’m ready for what’s left of me when I do.
58
SAXON
The walk to the safehouse is a smear of noise and shadow — a hard push through dark alleys, blood drying in thick streaks down my side, the night air biting deep through the tears in my shirt.
By the time I slam the door behind me, my ribs are a screaming knot of pain, my knuckles are shredded meat, and every inch of me feels like it’s been ground through a fucking meat grinder.
But my mind? My mind has never been clearer.
I rip off what’s left of my shirt, the fabric peeling away from skin where the blood’s gone tacky, and stumble into the shower.
The water blasts down cold, cutting through every bruise, every gash, every inch of torn-up flesh — not a relief, not a wash, just a thousand little knives stabbing sharp into the bone, reminding me that I’m still breathing. For now.
I brace both hands against the wall, chest hitching, eyes squeezed shut, jaw locked tight. This isn’t catharsis or a cleansing.
This is what it costs to keep moving when everything inside you screams at you to sit the fuck down and quit.
When I step out, the steam clings to me like a second skin. I don’t feel clean. I don’t feel whole. I just feelready.
I drop into the rickety chair at the desk, muscles screaming, fingers shaking. The laptop hums to life. I slam in the drive I pulled from Kiernan’s corpse, watching as the screen flickers, the files spit themselves open, and the first pieces of the war waiting for me unfold across the screen.
And that’s what this is now — war. One I intend to finish. No matter how much of myself I have to tear apart to do it. This is my insurance. No, it’s more than that. It’s leverage against the city’s greatest.
Line after line scrolls past — names, faces, titles, dollar amounts. Corrupt judges. Compromised agents. CEOs laundering blood money through foundations they hide behind, pretending to be upstanding, charitable citizens. Some of them I’ve worked with. Others I’ve saluted, toasted, trusted. And now here they are — exposed, raw, vulnerable.
I start the upload to a dead server, fingers moving fast, the room lit only by the glow of the screen. I can almost feel the weight of every name settling on my shoulders, pressing down like a crown of thorns.
The files crawl across the screen, line by damning line, the upload bar inching forward like the slow pull of a trigger. My fingers hover over the keys, cold and blood-soaked, trembling in a way I can’t quite control. I curl them into fists. Feel the sting in my knuckles — split skin, pulsing pain, bone-deep ache. It’s not enough.
I slam my fist into the desk, the old wood rattling under the blow. A sharp crack rips through the room. A frame on the shelf tips, falls, shatters on the floor.
I suck in a breath, jaw tight, vision swimming.
Maxine.
Her name lands in my chest like a punch I didn’t see coming.She’s there, carved into every moment, every decision, every inch of the ruin I’ve become.
I drag a hand over my face, rough and shaking, and feel the weight of it all pressing down. The men I killed tonight, the friends I’ll never get back, the life I shattered the second I chose this war.
Maxine deserves better than a man whose hands can’t stop shaking. No peace will come from this war. No redemption.
I stare at the screen. The names keep scrolling. The upload bar creeps closer to full. And I realize — even if I bring the Aviary to its knees, even if I destroy every last one of them, I will never be free of this. Because the kind of man who does what I just did…he doesn’t get to crawl back into the light.
I let out a slow, shuddering breath, my shoulders tight, heart pounding hard and bitter against my ribs. Somewhere deep down, a voice whispers:When this is over, will Maxine even recognize you? Will you even recognize yourself?But I already know the answer.
I push the thought down, crush it beneath the weight of necessity. Because love? Love doesn’t save you from the fire. It just gives you something worth burning for.
I take a slow breath, drag my hands through my hair, and force myself to focus. The screen flickers, the upload bar crawls forward, and the roster of names keeps unspooling like a noose tightening around every neck I’ve ever trusted.
I scan line after line, each name another nail in a coffin I didn’t even know I was building.