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Glad I’m not the only one.

The house feels colder, the light emanating from the chandelier above too bright, reflecting off every polished surface of the lounge.

“Rowan, you’re here,” my father’s voice comes from behind us.

I turn to find him at the threshold, his face flushed, eyes glazed over with moisture. It’s strange to see him as anything other than the sleek and put-together man I’ve come to know.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, coming over to hug me first. He holds me closely, his hand patting my back. I’m too surprised to return the gesture.

“I can’t believe this is real,” he continues in a hoarse voice, pulling Xander in. My brother doesn’t hug him back either. He stands stiff like a rod as my father continues to sob into his shoulder.

“What happened?” I ask.

“A car accident,” he says, shaking his head in disbelief. “The brakes—they, um—they failed. On the highway. She was on her way home with the driver. They didn’t make it. I—”

My stomach twists as my father continues to stutter out the details.Rain. Slippery tar. Car flipped.It all seems so below my mother. A woman who probably murdered her siblings for power dying because her brakes failed. It’s just so mundane.

“They said she died on the spot. She didn’t suffer,” he finishes.

I swallow, still trying to reach for something—a memory—anythingto remind me of her tenderness, something I can hold onto and feel, but there is just this endless nothingness. I don’t know whether I should cry or laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. All I ever wanted was to be like her and yet, I can’t shed a single tear over her death.

“Where is she?” I ask.

“The hospital,” Hayden says, appearing behind him. “I’ve just come from there.”

Unlike my father, Hayden is still the picture of grace. For a moment, I’m caught by how much he looks like her and how, out of all of us, he is least like her. Despite his sharpness, a shadow rests over his eyes, like he’s been crying but has wiped all evidence of it.

“What now?” Xander asks, his voice quiet.

We all look at him and his eyes are bloodshot, glazed over like he, too, is about to cry. I was never curious about Xander’s relationship with our mother. Growing up, he mostly expressed his disdain for both of our parents, but I also know she was particularly hard on him. They both were.

“This will hit the press in a few hours. Soon everyone will know that the Head of The Snake is dead,” I say.

“The Snake cannot exist without its Head,” Hayden says levelly. “The protocol is a new Head is picked as soon as another dies.”

Those are the rules. Either The Head of The Snake names their successor, or The Keepers choose if they cannot.

It hits me.

My mother never named her successor. She never namedme. My legs tremor, threatening to give in. If I want this, The Keepers will have to vote for me in a Choosing Ceremony performed at midnight.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

I never thought it would come this soon. My mother became the youngest Head of The Snake at twenty-seven and I could equal her record.

“You can’t possibly be talking about this now,” my father hisses through his teeth. “Your mother isdead.”

“We are already vulnerable,” I say. “If we wait, we only look weaker and we all know we can’t afford that right now.”

I give my brothers a pointed look. They know as well as I do that we can’t wait.

Our father looks between us, jaw slack, eyes wide. I’m not sure why he’s surprised. Both him and my mother made us this way. “No.” He shakes his head violently. “I won’t have it.”

“A Raven was allegedly killed by one of our men a few nights ago. When Moreau finds out, he’ll cross the river and declare war. If he does that—whenhe does that—we need to have a Head,” Xander says.

My father still looks hesitant, but this is beyond him. He knows we’re right.

He meets my eyes, and it’s like he’s trying to tell me something but can’t find the words. Finally, he nods, his bottom lip trembling. “If you think that’s best.”