Page 59

She sat on the tiled floor and finally, finally let her mask slip.

That confident, assured, stone-faced woman crumbled like a wall with a wrecking ball crashing right through the middle, sending shards of chipped brick in every direction.

Soon, she was only a lonely, naked girl playing at being an adult, curled into a fragile crouch, shivering hard enough to crack a bone and crying as loud and as hard as she possibly could.

When she finally dragged herself from the shower, she was bone cold, her breath a hoarse rasp of sound. She pulled on her pyjamas and dug her burner phone out from the false bottom in her bedside table. It was 3:00 a.m. There was a new message.

Amina Al-Fahim: One week until the drop. I don’t know who you are, but thank you for what you’ve done.

She deleted the message and returned the phone to its hiding place, climbing into bed.

Her hand slipped beneath the spare pillow, and her fingers wrapped around the frigid barrel of her gun.

It had all started when the Sigma came to Ironside, and now it was ending because of that same Sigma, because the day Isobel Carter’s photo appeared in that horrible, disgusting book was the day Olivia decided she simply couldn’t take it any more.

It didn’t actually have anything to do with Carter.

It was just a matter of timing and strange circumstance.

That photo appeared the day Olivia snapped, like divine intervention.

The reason Olivia snapped was because it wasn’t Callum sticking the new photo to those pages.

It was Olivia’s sixteen-year-old cousin.

Fresh into her internship. Brought to Ironside by Olivia’s executive uncle.

Callum had sat behind his desk, smirking as he remarked to Olivia that her cousin looked just like her when she was younger.

What came over her was … inexplicable, like she wasn’t even in control of her own body.

Copying over the entire collateral database to a USB had been a moment of rage-filled insanity.

Getting away with it was pure dumb luck.

Tipping off Amina Al-Fahim about the Stone Dahlia had been suicide, but all she could think was finally .

Finally, she had the strength to commit at least something resembling suicide after all these years.

Better late than never.

Approaching Ivan to act as a middleman could have easily toppled the entire precarious tower, but Olivia had trusted that he was just as motivated as she was.

One of his little pets in the Mojave Settlement had been recruited into the Stone Dahlia—and the Dahlia had not been kind to her.

He burned for revenge as hotly as Olivia craved for the cold, numb victory of justice.

When Ivan asked her what the fuck he was supposed to do with the evidence, Olivia couldn’t get Carter’s picture out of her head. Suddenly, the path ahead seemed so … obvious.

It was a plan built on haste and desperation, and somehow, so far , it had worked.

If she had believed in a god, she might have thought that each lucky break had been a carefully plotted step in a larger plan, because she couldn’t help but feel that if she had tried something similar at any other point in time, it would have surely failed.

In any case, there was no going back now. She had gone too far and done too much. She had made sure the trail stopped cold with Ivan—that nobody could link her to the journalist—but it was only a matter of time until Callum figured out what she had done, one way or another.

Maybe he’d be in jail when he did …

Or maybe …

She curled her fist tighter around the gun.

Maybe she would have to end this another way.

The song was still playing on the speakers when Isobel glanced at Moses from where she sat beside him.

The last haunting note faded into silence, and then the low buzz of the recording equipment settled in, filling the space between them with a need for feedback.

They had spent weeks working on the song together.

Hours stolen here and there outside of their normal schedules as they fought over lyrics and practised harmonies, bleeding themselves dry—and it wasn’t even for the fans.

She had discovered, during the process, that Moses was just as much a perfectionist as she was.

They could have easily messed around and cobbled up a fun song for people, but it wasn’t in either of their natures to do the bare minimum.

They kept working at it until it was something they could both be proud of.

They had finally released it on Sunday morning, and now, here they were in the evening, back in the recording studio, trying to figure out what they had done wrong.

Because … nobody gave a single shit about their song.

Nobody cared.

Sophia and Bellamy had swept to the top of Ironside’s popularity ladder. They were every headline. They were the tragic, beautiful fairy tale the world wanted, and Ironside, ever obliging, was determined to deliver.

Isobel and Moses’ song had turned into background noise, and according to Gabriel and Elijah’s social theories, they weren’t allowed to push things that the fans weren’t interested in. There would be no promoting this one. It was going to fall to the bottom of a stack, completely forgotten.

Isobel took off her headphones, and so did Moses, both of them turning their chairs to face each other.

“I think we made a flop,” she said, expression carefully neutral. The absurd urge to laugh was tickling the back of her mind, making her feel a little bit crazy.

Moses didn’t answer at first. Then a chuckle slipped out from between his lips, dry and surprised.

And then she was laughing too. It started softly but grew louder.

It built until she was wheezing, until her eyes stung, until she wasn’t sure if she was laughing or crying.

The torrent poured from her body until she was depleted, a huge weight gently lifting from her shoulders.

“Shit,” she gasped, pressing her sleeve to her face.

Moses was watching her, quiet again, the faintest smile still curving his mouth. It was beautiful to see that rare, unguarded emotion shining from his usually stoic features.

They had worked so hard , and with anyone else, she might have been annoyed that it had amounted to nothing, but for some reason, her and Moses producing a flop together was just … so funny .

Her lingering laughter tapered off completely, and all that was left was the weight of his gaze on her, that little smile drawing her eye, causing her pulse to pound heavier and heavier.

Their knees were touching— had he moved closer?

The room was quiet. It was private . One of the only project studios not being recorded.

Maybe this was her moment. There was nobody else around and nothing else to focus on, especially now that their song was done.

But Moses was … Moses. She had no idea how to hit on him.

She had no idea how to start something. She was mildly terrified that she might accidentally slap him instead.

He had made a move on her all those weeks ago in the Stone Dahlia, but it had been to distract her from the fights he could sense were making her uncomfortable.

Afterwards, he had backed off again. Still waiting for her.

Still challenging her. Still forcing her to close that distance and demand the relationship she wanted.

“Isobel.” Her name on his lips was a dry rasp of sound. “What are you thinking?” The question came out tightly, the hint of a demand underlying it.

She hesitated, her breath hitching. And then she said, “I’m wondering how to seduce you.”

He huffed a low breath of laughter. “Congratulations,” he said, deadpan. “You succeeded. A long fucking time ago.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she stared at her hands. “I’m serious.”

“So am I.” And he looked serious. His stormy eyes darkened, his jaw flexed.

Still, she kept hesitating. Fidgeting. Delaying the inevitable. Her fingers curled and lengthened in her lap. His attention was too heavy for her to look him in the eyes anymore.

Moses let out a long-suffering sigh, then relaxed back in his chair, spreading his thighs slightly. “Illy,” he snatched at her attention again, voice rough, “come the fuck over here.”

Her heart thudded. Oh shit, it was happening . She swallowed and moved, climbing onto his lap to straddle him, her exercise shorts and oversized shirt offering a flimsy barrier against the stifling heat of his body.

She hesitantly circled her arms around his neck, waiting to see what he would do.

He let out a short laugh, and she knew it was at her expense. He shook his head lightly. “I helped you enough already.” The taunt was there, always there, raising her hackles and heating her skin.

She flushed deeper, and there was that urge again, flashing up inside her. The sensation that confused her so much. She had no idea if she wanted to kiss him or slap him. Both, maybe.

“I’m the princess of Ironside,” she sniped sarcastically. “There’s no limit to how much I can be helped.”

He laughed at her again, though he didn’t really make a sound. She could see it in the mocking glint of his eyes and the way his fingertips skimmed threateningly against her hips.

“You’re too heavy to sit on my lap forever,” he goaded, tilting his hips up to jostle her, though it only served to prove how easily he could lift her much slighter weight, “so you’d better?—”

She pressed her mouth to the terrifyingly firm line of his, her heart hammering so hard in her chest, she thought she might hyperventilate.

Moses didn’t kiss her back immediately, increasing her terror.