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I nod, revelling in the idea of home.

I hold out my hand for him and he takes it. One day I’ll marry him and then I’ll have everything I’ve ever wanted.

Chapter Thirty: Alex

The aftermath of The Choosing is dizzying. I hardly see Rowan as he takes his place as the nominated Head of The Snake. News of Zaina’s death, Jonathan’s betrayal and Rowan’s ascension spreads through Senna—from Queen’s Park to Canning, through the clans and The Judiciary at a break-neck pace. There is an apprehension in the air, a palpable fear that perhaps a war might break out between the clans, and we all wait with bated breath to see the outcome.

I mostly stay at Rowan’s place and even though the two weeks break Anders assigned to me is over, I still don’t go back to the OCU. The idea of still being Detective Alexander Kimura doesn’t sit right. I don’t think it ever has and now it feels like I shouldn’t step foot in there ever again. As much as I realise I’ve done wrong myself, I can’t deny that there is something fundamentally flawed about Senna. There is no justice, only those who can come out on top.

Jonathan Vasilyev wanted to be on top, but he failed. Although I’ve hardly seen Rowan, I know that he’s still alive, somewhere in the Serpentine after his failed attempt at a coup. My body shivers every time I remember the sound of the bullet rippling through the air as rage burned in his eyes. He was going to kill Rowan, and I would have stood there watching, unable to do anything to stop him.

It was lucky he missed, but Rowan is formidable. He was never going to lose, whether I showed up or not. It makesme realise that he has always been on top—he’s always been determined to become the Head of The Snake. Despite falling out of favour with his mother because of me, he’d been stacking up his cards this entire time, and Jonathan had no idea.

Outside, rain rages, a storm brewing, painting everything it touches a deep and melancholy grey. In front of me is a lacquered black coffin, surrounded by white blooming flowers: peonies, chrysanthemums, and roses, all set up beautifully to send off Zaina Vasilyev.

Hundreds of people stand inside the pews of the massive cathedral, all dressed in black. Their faces are solemn, some veiled, others exposed, but none shed a tear, looking straight ahead, hard like the statues littered outside.

The vaulted ceilings stretch high above, dark stone arches holding up a sombre sky painted in intricate mosaics of gold and onyx. Candles line every pew and aisle, their flickering flames casting ghostly shadows on the walls. At the far end of the grand hall, the black coffin rests on an alabaster platform, draped in deep green velvet embroidered with the same sigil in the sanctum—a coiled serpent swallowing its tail just like the one in the Sanctum—death and renewal.

Rowan stands beside me, dressed sharply in a suit similar to mine, a black tie around his neck and a silver snake pin on his breast. His hand grips mine, and he hasn’t let go since we got here, neither has he said much. I want to know what he’s thinking, how he’s feeling, anger, sadness or even relief, but there’s nothing. He stares straight ahead, eyes fixed on the coffin, his lips pressed into a thin line.

The priest begins to speak, his voice low and steady, echoing through the cathedral but I barely hear the words.

“Are you okay?” I whisper, my voice barely audible over the droning of the priest.

Rowan doesn’t answer right away. Instead, his thumb brushes over the back of my hand in slow, deliberate circles. Finally, he glances at me, and for the first time in days, his mask slips. The weight in his eyes is unbearable, and I feel it settle in my chest like lead.

“I’m fine,” he murmurs, though I don’t think he is.

Zaina lying in that coffin finalises things. He’s gotten everything he’s ever wanted, but he has also lost his mother.

His gaze drops to our joined hands, and before I can say anything, he lifts mine to his lips, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to my knuckles. I smile, the tenderness of the action warming me despite the billowing wind outside.

The priest’s voice crescendos, drawing the room’s attention back to the dais. He speaks of Zaina’s legacy, her iron will, her devotion to The Snake. But as I listen, I can’t help but feel a strange disconnect. The people around me understand this, but I feel like I’m an outsider looking in, my face pressed against a window trying to see what’s happening inside.

Something about the hammering against the cathedral’s stained-glass windows feels ominous. As Rowan ascends to the top, I’m sure plenty in this room, just like Jonathan will not be happy.

The Snake is going to be more unstable that ever. Zaina was an immovable force, and now she’s gone, there’s a vacuum that some won’t believe Rowan can fill. He may have been voted in by The Keepers, but he will have to convince hundreds of members of The Snake to stand behind him.

My eyes scan the room, trying to memorise each and every face. “This isn’t over, is it?” I hear myself ask out loud.

His lips curve into the faintest hint of a smile, bitter and fleeting. “No,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Far from it.”

His words send a chill down my spine. He’s right. It’s about to get bloody. I squeeze his hand again, trying to communicate something I can’t with words.

I love you.

I’ll stand next to you no matter what.

When the priest finishes, the mourners begin to file out, each offering Rowan and his brothers a bow or a quiet word of condolence as they pass. Now, Zaina’s body will be cremated, and her ashes will be stored in a family mausoleum.

“I’ll give you a moment,” I say to Rowan as the last of the guests leaves after paying their final respects in front of the coffin. He nods, and my eyes fall on the coffin one last time before I make my way down the aisle and outside into the rain, not missing the guard who shadows me, an umbrella ready to unfurl and cover me.

I can feel several pairs of eyes on me. After The Choosing, everyone saw Rowan kiss me and today, I’ve shown up next to him, my hand in his. I know what it looks like, what it means.

Rowan and I haven’t really talked about it—there hasn’t been much time—but as much as I want to be with him, I’m not sure I want everything that comes with being the partner to the Head of The Snake.

There’s a certain power that comes with being The Right Eye. Not that Rowan has asked me and not like we’re getting married or anything, but I don’t think I’d want to take a position Jonathan once held. I just want Rowan. I want to be there for him. I want to come home to him. I want another chance at what we couldn’t have two years ago.