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brAM

I t was a Sunday. Not the fun kind, but the kind that dragged on with annoying stillness.

Pandora was at Death’s with Jenni for a spa day or something like that. Skel went to his dad’s to do something with Kat. Dex had taken Reed with him to go stalk Pandora from the shadows. Hunter was with Death at some meeting with Everglow for the Demon Council.

And I was alone— again .

I stared at the glass bottle in my hand. Amber liquid sloshed inside, whispering promises I couldn’t fucking listen to. Another bottle of whiskey hid in plain sight that I hadn’t put there. I tightened my grip.

The glass was cool against my skin, and for a moment, I swore I could taste it without even opening it. But not today. I couldn’t afford a fucking relapse. Not now. Not when Dark Veil was hanging over our heads.

It was physically painful for me to twist the cap off and watch as the liquid poured down the bathroom sink’s drain, but I fucking did it. I suffered through the scent of it rising into my face. It clung to the air, a mocking reminder of how easy it would be to give in.

And it would be so fucking easy to.

Just a drop on my tongue would be enough.

The empty bottle clattered into the trash with a hollow thud.

A fitting sound. Hollow, like how I felt most days.

Unless Pandora was with me.

The tablet vibrated on the dresser as I walked back into the bedroom, and I glanced at the screen.

Slater.

I wiped my hands on my jeans and poked the green button. “Yeah?”

“Bram! Hey! Got any plans next weekend?” His cheerful voice came through.

I rubbed at the back of my neck. “Not particularly. Why?”

“Dinner at our manor,” he blurted. “No restaurants, no nobles with sticks up their asses. Just us. Maybe Pandora, too. Saturday. What do you think?”

My throat tightened.

The Havoc manor? Slater’s home. The same one our father was kicked out of but I had never seen.

His world felt so different from mine—my whole life was like I was standing outside a glass wall, watching all the nobles live comfortably on the other side while I suffered. But things had changed.

I no longer felt resentment toward nobles for simply existing.

Slater must’ve sensed my hesitation. “C’mon, Bram. It’ll be so fun. Please?”

I sighed, eyes drifting to the trash can holding the empty bottle of whiskey. It was time for me to stop shutting people out. “Yeah, alright. I’ll come.”

“ Yes! Finally. Oh, by the way, the headmaster of Apex Elite Academy reached out to me. Can you believe it? He offered me a spot to join the entrance exams next year.”

I felt my lips tug into a grin. “Glad to hear it. You know, you’d do well on the Demon Council, and they will be looking for a chaos demon rep soon.”

He laughed. “Council life’s more your thing, Bram. I’m just here for the ride, and being a supernatural agent would be so badass.”

My grin faded. “Yeah, maybe. Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask you about something. My magic has been stronger than ever since bonding with Pandora, and sometimes, it’s difficult to control.”

There was a pause. “Do you need help with control?”

I hesitated, then nodded to myself. “Yeah. I think I do. I haven’t completely lost control, but I think I could use some control techniques or something.”

“I’ll help however I can. I’ve got a few coping mechanisms. Honestly, you’re sober now. Your magic may be strong now because it’s not being muted anymore,” he pointed out before taking a sharp breath. “Listen, Bram, there’s something else. Harry’s been sending Mom these...weird messages. Threatening. He’s been saying some dark shit about Mom and me, and you. I’m fucking worried, and we would’ve reported this to the council, but…”

That twisted something cold in my stomach. “Council’s in shambles right now.”

“Yeah, we think it wouldn’t even help to reach out.”

“Can you forward me the messages?” I asked. “I’ll send them to Hunter. Maybe he can do something.”

“They are mostly voicemails, but I have some texts. I’ll send them to your email now. Good thing Hunter Darkmore’s family now. Might actually be useful,” he tried to joke. His voice dropped. “Just...be careful, Bram. Harry’s dangerous.”

I couldn’t stop the humorless chuckle from escaping me. “Yeah. I know. I grew up with him.”

A flicker of a memory surfaced—foggy and distant. My father’s voice, ranting about nobility, his grip bruising my arm as he dragged me somewhere dark. A flash of someone else crying out in pain. A spray of blood across my face.

“I’m so sorry for that,” Slater croaked. “Just watch your back, okay?”

“I will.” My chest tightened. “Send me those messages. I’ll talk to Hunter.”

“Already did.”

When the call ended, I went over and sat on the edge of the bed, exhaling slowly.

I had to be better.

For Pandora.

For myself.

Gumdrop floated nearby, fins flicking in that judgmental way only he could pull off.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” I muttered, staring at the gumdrop-themed tank. “Sorry, Gumdrop. Didn’t mean to freak you out.”

He stared, unimpressed, before swimming off to his corner.

I chuckled softly.

Standing back up, I walked toward the desk in the corner and grabbed a pen and paper. I let the words spill.

I wrote a poem for my mate, but also for me. It was a promise inked in shaky lines on a page—one I needed to keep.