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A bit on the nose with the symbolism there, I have to admit.

Candles burn everywhere—old tradition. No one really knows why, but we still light them. Some rest in iron sconces, others sit right on the stone floor, flickering around the raised platformin the centre. The air smells like warm wax, ash, and something like incense.

It’s already full when I enter, flanked by two guards. No one speaks. That’s the rule: silence until the Choosing ends. Even so, the tension’s thick. Some Keepers glance at me with faint sympathy, others just look straight through me.

My father’s running the show tonight. He’s the Snake’s Right Eye, which means he gets to make it official. There’s a kind of cruel symmetry in it.

We stand in a circle, all dressed formally in black and watch my father step up to a raised dais before turning toward us. “It’s time,” he says.

The words strike through the room like a bell.

He lights a single flame at the centre of the platform, and one by one, we step forward. The heat from the fire hits my face as I move closer, but I barely feel it.

A green robe settles over my shoulders—ritual uniform, same cut worn by every candidate before me. I don’t look to see who draped it. Doesn’t matter. My attention is on the Keepers.

Their faces shift in the candlelight—stone, shadow, flickers of guilt. And all I can think about are the secrets I’ve buried for them.

James Tartt’s gambling addiction sponsored and paid for by yours truly.

Cordelia Qing’s penchant for young men and orgies, which I’ve made sure to keep hidden from the papers, her husband and her the illustrious Qing family.

Michael Barnard and the secret child he makes sure to keep far away from Senna. I make sure that secret remains hidden.

Every charming smile, every hand I’ve extended even after my embarrassing arrest—it’s all been calculated. Every move I’ve made has led to this moment.

They owe me. Every single one of them.

And tonight, I collect.

But now, standing in the Sanctum with the weight of the green robe on my shoulders, I can’t help but wonder if I’ve done enough for them to choose me or if someone else has been one step ahead of me this entire time.

My mind drifts to Daniel and Trist. One of them could be behind this and in my naivety, I’ve played right into their hand.

“Today we have been struck by a terrible tragedy,” my father says, bringing me back to the present. His face is ashen, but he still stands straight. “But as you know, The Snake cannot falter, nor can it survive without its Head.” His eyes fall on all of us. “Tonight, you will all take part in history. You will mark the beginning of a new dawn for The Snake.”

I swallow, forcing down my fears but they spring back up again. Someone in this room knows what happened to Daniel and Trist, to my mother. And I have a sick feeling they didn’t do all of it just to let me take the crown so easily.

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Alex

Rowan’s mother is dead.

But something about it doesn’t sit right.

Her brakes failed, just like Hawthorne’s did a few months ago. That can’t be a coincidence. Someone did this to her.

I pace Rowan’s kitchen, my pulse pounding in my ears. When Hayden called with the news, it was like the world stopped to hold its breath. Rowan had looked stunned at first, then confused and finally—blank.

I shake the memory off, trying to focus. My gut screams at me. I’m missing something, some important clue that sits at the back of my head, yet I can’t reach it. Whoever killed her is behind Haze. They murdered Daniel. They murdered Trist. Now they’ve murdered her.

And they’re inside The Snake.

I rub my forehead, willing my brain to connect the threads.Think, Alex.

Who would be powerful enough to do this?

Who would have enough resources to insight rebellion within The Snake?

Who would be greedy enough to sell an unstable drug for money and power and spark instability?