Page 45 of All The Darkest Truths (Second Sons Duet #2)

VESPER

Sleep evades me. I've worn a path into Alex's carpet from my endless pacing, the fibers beneath my feet flattened from the hours of restless movement. His room, a silent reminder of what we've lost.

I run my fingers along his desk for the hundredth time, searching for something, anything, that might help us. Alex always had contingency plans. He wouldn't have left us completely unprepared for this moment, would he?

“Come on, Alex,” I plea. "You must have known this could happen. You must have left us something.”

Only silence answers me. I've torn through his notes, combed through files on the only unlocked laptop he left behind, but found nothing that could help us face The Collector. The rest of his setup is locked. Nothing that could ensure we all walk away from this alive.

A soft knock interrupts my desperate search. I don't need to turn to know it's Talon.

“Vesper?” His voice is low, careful not to startle me. “Z and Oz are leaving.”

Talon stands in the doorway, already dressed, his injured shoulder no longer in a sling, though I can tell by the way he holds himself that it still pains him.

The black outfit makes his skin seem paler, highlighting the exhaustion etched into his features.

He's pushing himself too hard. We all are.

I've always hated goodbyes, but this one tastes like ash in my mouth.

“Tell them to wait,” I order. “Not yet.”

“They're loading up now. They want to be in the tunnels before dawn.”

I push past him, my bare feet silent against the hardwood floors as I rush down the hallway. The apartment feels too large, too empty. Without Alex's steady presence, everything feels unmoored.

I find Oscar and Zaire in the garage, loading duffel bags into a nondescript black SUV. They both look up when I enter.

“You weren't going to say goodbye?” I demand, crossing my arms over my chest to hide how badly my hands are shaking.

Zaire approaches me first. “Moya koroleva," he says, his voice a low rumble. “We thought it would be easier.”

“Easier for who?” I snap.

“For us,” Oscar admits, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “Saying goodbye to you has never been easy.”

The honesty in his admission catches me off guard, momentarily silencing the panic clawing at my throat.

I take in the sight of them, dressed in black tactical gear, weapons strapped to their bodies, expressions set with grim determination.

These men who have become my world are preparing to risk everything for my brother. For me.

“What if this is the last time?” The words escape before I can stop them, voicing the fear that's been haunting me since we formed this plan.

Z closes the distance between us. “It won't be.”

“You don't know that. Alex thought he was coming back, too.”

Pain flashes across his features before he masters it. “We're not going into a firefight, solnishko. We're infiltrating tunnels that haven't been used in years. Reconnaissance only, until you arrive.”

Oz approaches, standing shoulder to shoulder with his twin. “We need to go now to ensure we're in position when you arrive. Time is our advantage.”

I know he's right, but logic does nothing to ease the panic coursing inside of me.

“I can't lose you, too,” I say, my voice barely audible. “Not after Alex.”

Z's thumb brushes across my cheekbone. “You won't.”

Before I can respond, he leans down, pressing his lips to mine. I clutch at his tactical vest, drawing him closer, memorizing the feel of him. The slight scratch of stubble against my skin.

“I will always come back to you, moya koroleva.”

Oscar steps forward as Z reluctantly moves aside.

“We'll be waiting for you,” he says. “Just follow the plan.”

I reach for him, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “Be careful. Both of you.”

His lips find mine, the kiss unlike his brother’s—more controlled but no less passionate. His hand cradles the back of my head, holding me with a gentleness that feels unexpected against the weapons strapped to his body.

“See you on the other side, solnishko,” he speaks against my lips before stepping back.

The twins exchange a look. With a final nod, they climb into the SUV, the engine purring to life with a soft rumble.

I stand rooted to the spot as they back out of the garage, watching until their taillights fade into the predawn shadows.

Even after they’re gone, I remain, staring at the empty space where they were, the ghost of their kisses still lingering on my lips.

The garage feels suddenly vast and empty. Cold. I wrap my arms around myself, the chill of the concrete seeping through my bare feet as I finally turn away. Each step back toward the apartment feels heavier than the last, as if gravity itself has intensified with their departure.

I find Talon at the top of the stairs. He tracks my movement as I climb toward him, reading the emotions I can't quite conceal.

“They'll be fine,” he says, but the slight tightness around his mouth betrays his own worry.

“You don't know that” I reply, brushing past him into the hallway. “None of us know anything anymore.”

He follows me. “The plan is solid. Alex would approve.”

“Don't.” The word comes out sharper than I intend. “Don't talk about what he would approve of.”

Talon's expression softens. “Vesper…”

“I need to get ready.” I cut him off, unable to bear the sympathetic tone of his voice. “We leave in six hours.”

I retreat to my own room, closing the door with a decisive click that makes it clear I want to be alone. The silence envelops me immediately, thick and suffocating.

The bathroom mirror reflects a stranger—hollow-eyed, pale, with tension etched into every line of my face. I splash cold water on my skin, trying to shock some life back into my features. Today I need to look strong and confident.

I strip methodically, letting my clothes pool on the tile floor before stepping into the shower.

The scalding water cascades over my skin, and I turn my face into the spray, letting it mix with the tears I can no longer hold back.

Here, with the water drumming against my ears, I allow myself one final moment of weakness.

The steam wraps around me, fogging the glass until I'm just a blurred silhouette. I lean my forehead against the cool tile, letting water cascade down my spine.

I hear the bathroom door open, then close with a soft click. I don't turn around. There's only one person it could be.

Talon steps into the shower behind me, still fully dressed, his clothes immediately soaking through.

His strong arms wrap around my waist, pulling me back against his chest. He says nothing, just holds me as the water beats down on both of us, his steady heartbeat a counterpoint to my ragged breathing.

“You shouldn't be getting your wound wet.”

“Some things are more important.” His lips brush my temple. “You are more important, princess.”

I turn in his embrace, facing him. Water streams down his face, plastering his hair to his skin, soaking through his black t-shirt. The bandage on his shoulder is already soaked through, but he doesn’t seem to care.

“I'm scared,” I admit.

“I know. I am, too.”

I press my face against his chest. I feel his heartbeat against my cheek, steady despite everything we've faced. Everything we still have to face.

“We should get you a new bandage.” I pull back slightly to examine his shoulder.

“Later,” he says. “Let me just hold you for now.”

We stand there as the water gradually cools, neither of us speaking. Words feel inadequate in the face of what's coming. Instead, we communicate through touch—my fingers tracing the contours of his face, our foreheads pressed together as we breathe the same steamy air.

When the water finally runs cold, Talon reaches behind me to shut it off. The sudden silence is deafening, broken only by the rhythmic drip from the showerhead and our synchronized breathing.

“Come on,” he says gently, reaching for a towel and wrapping it around my body. “Let's get you dry.”

I let him lead me from the shower, leaving puddles in our wake. He guides me to sit on the edge of the bed, then kneels before me, taking a second towel to gently dry my hair. His movements are tender, careful.

“I need to be stronger than this.”

“You are strong,” Talon assures me. “Stronger than anyone I've ever known.”

I shake my head. “Strong people don't fall apart in the shower.”

“Is that what you think strength is? Vesper, you've endured more in the past few years than most people face in a lifetime. You're still standing.”

“Barely.”

Talon sets the towel aside. “Do you know what I see when I look at you?

I see a woman who survived The Collector once already.

Who escaped and built a new life. Who's willing to walk back into hell to save her brother.” His thumb traces circles on my palm.

“That's not weakness, princess. That's the kind of strength most people can't even imagine.”

Something shifts in my chest at his words—not healing exactly, but a momentary easing.

“I don't want to lose anyone else,” I confess.

“Then we don't lose,” he says simply, as if it's a decision we can make.

His certainty steadies me, creates a moment of stillness in the chaos of my mind. I let myself believe him, just for this breath, this heartbeat.

I surge forward, closing the distance between us, capturing his lips with mine. My desperation pours into the kiss, fingers gripping his wet shirt, pulling him closer. His mouth responds instantly, yielding then demanding, matching my intensity with his own.

When he suddenly tenses against me, a small sound escaping his throat, I pull back immediately.

“God, I'm sorry,” I breathe, my fingers hovering over the wet bandage on his shoulder. “Your wound…I wasn't thinking.”

Talon's smile is strained but genuine. “Worth it,” he says, his voice husky. “Though maybe we should get this bandage changed before we continue.”

“Let me,” I say, rising from the bed. I find the medical supplies we keep in the kitchen, bringing them back to where he now sits on the edge of the mattress.

He peels off his soaked shirt, revealing the sodden bandage beneath. I work carefully, my fingers gentle as I remove the wet dressing. The wound is healing well, the angry redness fading to pink around the edges, but it still looks painful. A stark reminder of how close I came to losing him, too.

“Does it hurt much?” I ask softly as I clean around the edges with antiseptic.

“Not anymore,” he lies.

I apply the fresh bandage with methodical care, smoothing the edges with my fingertips.

“Thank you,” he adds as I secure the last piece of medical tape.

“I should be thanking you. For everything.”

Talon captures my hand, bringing it to his lips. “No thanks needed, princess. Not between us. Vesper, I know this isn't the right time. But before we walk into whatever's waiting for us today, I need you to know something.”

I go still, my hand freezing against his chest.

“I love you.” The words hang in the air between us, simple yet profound.

“Not just because we're in this impossible situation, not just because of what we've been through together. I love you for who you are. Not for your name, or your family’s legacy, but for the woman standing in front of me who has endured so fucking much and is still fighting, not only for herself, but for us too.”

My breath catches in my throat as he continues.

“I haven't had much love in my life. My father made sure of that.” Something crosses his face before he pushes it away. “But with you, with us, I've found something I never thought possible.”

In this moment, with his heart laid bare before me, I see the boy he must have been—starved for affection, desperate for connection, learning to hide his wounds behind charm and easy smiles.

“Talon—” I begin, but he shakes his head.

“You don't have to say anything. I just needed you to know, in case…” He doesn't finish the thought, doesn't need to.

“In case nothing goes the way we plan,” I finish for him.

I lean forward, pressing my lips to his with a gentleness that softens the desperation that came before. This kiss isn’t born of fear or need, but an acknowledgment of what lies between us—fragile yet unshakable.

“I love you, too,” I breathe against his mouth. The words feel simultaneously inadequate and enormous.

Talon pulls me closer, careful of his injured shoulder, until I'm nestled against his chest. His heartbeat thrums beneath my ear, steady and reassuring.

We stay like that, suspended in time, neither of us wanting to acknowledge the hours ticking away or our upcoming confrontation with The Collector.

“We should get ready. We have a long day ahead.”

I nod against his chest but make no move to pull away.

“Just a few more minutes,” I reply, needing to hold onto this moment of peace.

His arms tighten around me in silent agreement. We breathe together. I memorize the feeling, his skin against mine, the lingering dampness from our shower, the faint scent of antiseptic from his bandage mingling with his natural musk.

When I finally pull away, it's with reluctance heavy in my limbs.

I feel his stare follow me as I move to my closet, pulling out the outfit I've selected for today's confrontation.

Simple, practical—black jeans, a henley, and boots with concealed steel toes that Zaire had given me.

Nothing that could be used as a weapon against me, nothing The Collector would find suspicious.

"What time is it?"

“Just after seven,” he answers. “We have three hours before we need to leave.”

I pull my damp hair into a tight braid, securing it at the nape of my neck. When I turn back to Talon, he's watching me with an intensity that makes my breath catch.

“What?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious.

“I'm memorizing you,” he admits. “Just in case.”

“Don't,” I sob, the word catching in my throat. "Don't talk like that.”

Talon rises from the bed, his movement careful as he favors his injured shoulder. He closes the distance between us in two strides.

“I'm not planning on anything happening to either of us. But I've learned that memories are sometimes all we have to hold onto."

I reach up, tracing the line of his jaw with my fingertips, “We should eat something,” I say finally. “You need your strength.”

Talon nods, pressing a kiss to my palm before stepping back. “I'll make us breakfast. You finish getting ready.”

After he leaves, I stand motionless in the center of my room, listening to the familiar sounds of him moving through the kitchen. It's so mundane, so normal, it makes my chest ache with longing for a life where this is all we have to worry about. Breakfast. Coffee. Each other.

Not whether or not we will make it through today.