Page 21

Alexiares

I think I was starting to hate this room. There wasn’t a single conversation that went on here that wasn’t based on fixing the problems of The Compound. The room was meant specifically for this, but that didn’t make me hate it any fucking less. I was never part of the whole politics thing over at St. Cloud. That kind of shit was left to Finley and Cael. Me? I was just the dog.

Here, at Monterey Compound though, I was more than that. Happy to be if it helped ease Amaia’s mind. But damn, were these long conversations draining. Empathy hit these people harder than crack on the streets in the eighties. My father had claimed it was a weakness. Finley ate away at whatever drop of it Tiago had managed to pass my way.

I cared about my family and keeping these people safe. So having feelings about what it took to get there was nonsensical. Two plus two would always equal four, no matter which way you went about it.

Sacrificing a few for the greater made sense. Especially traitors.

“The hero in our story is a villain in the next,” Amaia mumbled.

She was out of energy. She and Riley called a meeting the second they’d gotten back this evening. Reina, Abel, and Luna had their own opinions on fulfilling Ronan’s request. Riley and I would do whatever Amaia wanted to. Leaving Tomoe the tie-breaking vote on moving it forward with the rest of The Council. In the end, Amaia could do whatever the hell she pleased, but she wouldn’t. She wanted their support. Craved it.

“What?” Reina asked.

Her dark brown hair had grown past her chin. Random strands hung in front of her pale olive skin, falling from the small ponytail at the base of her neck. Of all things this girl could have worn, she’d chosen a long, pink dress. At least she hadn’t lost all her spunk.

“Prescott said it once,” Amaia answered. “It means?—”

“Just because we’re a hero today doesn’t mean we won’t be the villain tomorrow,” Riley finished for her.

We’d been going back and forth for hours—outlasting even the patience of Bietoletti and Tyler, who lurked in the back of every ‘official’ meeting. It didn’t matter anyway, not when our options were limited and any conversation we’d had in front of them had been a folly. Now that they’d left with grumbling irritation, the others were starting to be swayed while Tomoe hadn’t contributed to the conversation at all. Instead, she sat there silently watching us, a distant stare in her inky eyes. Which meant she knew something. And she wasn’t interested in sharing yet.

“Pretty sure you’re the villain in more stories than you are the hero,” she said, finally breaking her silence.

“And fifty years from now, you might be the next Mussolini,” I teased back. “Hopefully, your Sight will help you rebrand with something better than pasta.”

Amaia and her humor were clearly wearing off on me. I tossed an arm over the back of her chair at the thought. She was fascinated by just about every historical period and was prone to ramble off facts no one should know off the top of their head any chance she got.

“Nothing’s better than pasta. God, I miss a good baked ziti,” Reina said, her head dropping back as she leaned back in her chair.

“So,” Abel led, his eyes locked on Amaia. His hands made the motion of interlocking his fingers before realizing he didn’t have the motion in one to follow through. He played it off, resting one atop the other as he leaned forward. “We’re basically using these… traitors”—he chose the word carefully, reluctantly—”as pawns until we figure out who these people are that we’re supposedly not not looking for?”

“We don’t need to look for people when they’ve already found us, but yeah. Pretty much,” Amaia said. I watched her in admiration. I knew this was hard for her. Her people were her people, no matter their loyalty. The faith she’d had in Seth to do the right thing up until Duluth was proof.

Luna sat quietly at the other head of the table. I knew she was here merely to offer support—so Amaia could believe Prescott was still with her. She trusted Luna’s judgment to see things from all perspectives. There was wisdom with age. Even I could agree with that. Her hesitancy had not come from a place of right versus wrong like the others, but rather from the impact it would have on The Compound.

Compound first for her, for Riley, for Amaia. I got it. They had to hold on to that. If they didn’t, this place could crumble. They had to set the example for when others got weak.

The lines of Luna’s forehead creased with concern. Her dark eyes stared with warning, “If you do this, word will spread of a witch hunt. You’ll need to ensure that the public is made aware right after. You’ll move in the night, quietly, then make the announcement in the morning. Before word has had time to spread. It’s the only chance to control the narrative. I must warn you, sweet girl, there is no coming back from this. You are a hero to these people. The problem with being the hero is that it usually costs you your life.”

She didn’t mean it would bring Amaia to her death. It damn sure could. The warning Luna relayed, however, was the situation Amaia would put herself in from making this choice. She would have to defend her position here going forward, and that would be draining as hell. The laughs she shared with the residents of The Compound, the trust she’d worked tirelessly to build, would be gone. They would always side eye her from this day forward. Wondering what decision she may make next. Forever worried if it would be them in the future that would be sacrificed in order for the rest of The Compound could survive.

“I understand. We move tonight. Riley, gather those you trust, brief them, start at midnight. Take Alexiares with you—start with those deemed highest risk, keep any mistakes to the minimum. Luna and Reina, prepare The Kitchens in the morning. I’ll make my speech at the first shift of breakfast. From there, let word spread. Abel, I need my bags packed. I leave at dawn in two days to find out find whoever’s got Ronan this rattled.”

“Alone?” Riley was on his feet in an instant, his concern radiating in every rigid line of his posture.

He looked at me and I tensed. He knew I wouldn’t like it; hell, she knew I wouldn’t like it. But if a group of us left, it would raise suspicions with Ronan’s bitch boys. We’d already had to sneak in one by one to avoid the eye of those who watched whenever we wanted to discuss things privately. Taking different entrances, arriving at different times. The planning, the notes, the damned blueprints—none of that was possible in any of their cramped little studies. We’d no choice.

“No.” His voice was steel, sharper than I’d ever heard him. Riley—the same soft-hearted one who’d lay down his life for her without hesitation—stood there. An immovable wall. He’d block her path, strap her down if it came to that. I couldn’t say I’d stop him.

Her eyes flashed, jaw ticking with that stubborn edge I knew all too well, but Riley didn’t flinch. “Yes,” she insisted.

A heavy silence settled over the room. The dust settled air thick with the challenge between them. No one moved. We waited, seeing who would give in first. I leaned in, my hand settling firmly on her thigh—a silent warning, Stand down. Support’s not coming from me either. If she thought for even a second she’d be leaving this compound alone, she was dead fucking wrong. Her simmering rage beneath my palm was palpable. She was shaking, but I didn’t budge.

“Clear the room,” she directed, not sparing me a glance, her voice firm and resolute. “Riley, stay .”