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H EART HAMMERING, I RUSH THROUGH THE CASTLE.

I check every room, forcing myself to remain methodical despite my mounting fear.

The parlor. The tea room. The library. The white corridors feel like they’re closing in, like we’re under the mountain instead of on top of it.

Leonie’s reminder hangs over me, changing into a nightmare. They’d kill you in a heartbeat.

I damn my own careless words.

It’d be easy.

What has Volenvell become in the past half hour? Not a labyrinth. Not a vault. Not a prison. Not a sanctuary.

A tomb?

No. Please, no.

I hunt every corridor, pushing through panic.

Memories chase my every footstep. Jackson admiring the Christmas lights on Zurich’s cobblestoned lanes, watching the snowy mountains in wonderment from our train window.

His hands caressing me in the dark. The way he smiled whenever he noticed me watching him on the soccer field, my math homework forgotten. Movie nights in my room.

I round another corner. Then another.

Our prom selfie. Ice cream dates.

Hey, new girl.

I hit the grand staircase. I head for Leonie’s study, and Dash’s room.

Empty.

With the Volenvell vault raided, I’d just started to imagine what life could look like when we return home. Instead of the doubt and self-consciousness I hid in our post-wedding-heist relationship, we could finally understand each other without uncertainty or insecurity.

We could have more, maybe. College soccer for Jackson, while I found my own way, using the uncounted millions from the vault. New plans, with or without my favorite accomplice. A house in Pennsylvania with my name on it. The not yet he promised me.

Our new world.

Gone now, if my fear is confirmed.

Finding the upstairs vacant, I return to our wing. I check Jackson’s old room. The stripped emptiness of it nearly knocks the wind out of me. As if he were never here.

And I pushed him out.

Dread climbing up my throat, I stop hard right in the middle of the hallway. I pull out my phone and call Jackson.

It rings once and goes to voicemail.

Defeat’s cold grip closes over me. Numb, head spinning, I continue to my room. Pushing open the door, I’m hitting his contact a second time—

And I nearly drop my phone.

Because he’s here. Jackson. In my room. Seated on my bed. Perfectly handsome in his tux. He looks calm, unharmed, and clear-eyed.

He’s safe.

I nearly laugh with joy. Phone forgotten, I run to him. He grins, welcoming the collision when I hug him close. “I was so worried,” I say. The relief exhausts me instantly. My voice wavers. “I called you.”

Surprised, he pulls out his phone. “I’m sorry, Olivia. My phone died,” he explains, showing me the darkened screen. “I’m fine, though. I just wanted you to enjoy your party, and I figured we could talk after.”

I pause. His demeanor is welcoming and kind, his voice gentle. His words make sense.

Or—mostly make sense. He really didn’t notice his phone had died? There’s a charger on my end table. If he did notice, did he not want me to reach him?

Recovering from my fear, I recognize my carelessness. I dumped him, coldly and without warning. He probably needed to gather his thoughts for this conversation without interruption.

It doesn’t matter. He’s safe. He’s okay. Whatever’s on his mind, we’ll figure it out.

Incredibly, my father’s words return to me. Wrapped in our performance for Leonie, yet full of undeniable feeling.

Words I owe Jackson.

I preempt him. “I’m so, so sorry, Jackson,” I say with my whole heart.

“I’m sorry for everything I did. I was trying to protect you from the Knives, but I was also trying to protect myself.

I know that now. I thought I was cursed to hurt you or drive you away or change you.

I thought I wasn’t… good enough for you. ”

Ironically, it was my grandmother who helped prove it to me. She made the selfless choice after years of selfishness. If I’m like her—which I fear I am—I’m not beyond hope.

He watches me. Not resentfully or in pain. Just… unlike himself. Careful. Inquisitive. Waiting.

“But I should have listened to you all along,” I go on, undaunted.

“I am good enough. Tonight, I could have destroyed my father or my grandmother. I didn’t.

I’m not them—I’m heiress only to the legacy I make for myself.

And I want that legacy to have you in it, Jackson.

I want all our differences. I want you to make me better and I want to help you never settle for less than you deserve. ”

I fall to my knees in front of him. Where he sits, his face is level with mine.

I complete my confession. “I love you,” I say. And it’s wonderfully easy. Even for the daughter and granddaughter of liars, he’s my truth. Full of feeling, I kiss him, pressing my lips to his with the vault of my heart wide open.

The moment I do, I know something’s wrong.

Jackson’s hands grip my elbows, desperate, yet his mouth meets mine stiffly. His kiss is cold. Combative. Lips locked in confrontation, not passion.

I draw back, heart plummeting. He’s not going to dump me , will he? I—

Out of the corner of my eye, I see gold flash on Jackson’s wrists.

I only need the momentary glimpse to recognize them. The shining insignia I’ll never forget. Knives.

Cuff links.

Drawing back, I gasp. On instinct, I rise clumsily to my feet, hasty to distance myself from him. Crossed-knives cuff links. I remember when he remarked on them in my father’s drawer, in my old home, asking if he could wear them. It feels impossibly far from here now.

Jackson regards me. I hardly recognize the way emotion roils under his features. Emotions never used to roil with Jackson. They either were or they weren’t. Now, instead, defiance, pride, wounded guilt, and determined power churn within his impassive gaze, dark things writhing under the ice.

He stands, imposing his height over me.

“You made a deal with the Knives. In exchange for what?” I demand. Every icy pinprick of panic from my run through the Volenvell halls comes stabbing back. Every thawed piece of my heart freezes.

“You deserve to know what happened to your grandfather, Olivia,” he says, his voice soft. “I know you want them to pay, but there’s more you need to know—”

I cut him off, furious. “You didn’t need to do this for me.”

“I wanted to.” His tone is firm. He looks… unmovable. Unreachable.

“No,” I protest weakly. “Jackson, you need to get out. They’ll make you do something for them to officially join. I can help you find a way to escape before—”

When he speaks, the humor is gone. The pain comes forth.

“You said I didn’t fit into your world. I tried to show you this week how nothing you asked of me was too much.

How I wasn’t afraid to be your partner in this,” he says.

“You didn’t believe me. It was never your job to decide how good I am or what I was willing to do. ”

He meets my eyes.

There is nothing sweet in them now. They shine like daggers in the darkness.

“I told you, Olivia,” he declares, his voice low. “I make my own choices. Now I’m part of your world. Forever. The Knives have threatened you. Your family. You don’t have to fear them now. We can fight them from the inside,” he implores me.

“We can’t. You’re one of them . You’re my adversary,” I retort, dizzy with dread. Feeling unstable, I reach out for my favorite handholds. Plans. Schemes. I’ll—I’ll fix this. I’ll outmaneuver Otto. Jackson can still come home with me, the first person to withdraw from the Knives. I’ll—

“Well, I’d rather be your adversary than your self-sacrifice,” Jackson fires back.

Instantly, I realize I miscalculated.

He wants this. He’d rather oppose me than lose me.

While I, infatuated and unsuspecting, ignored him—another heist was in progress. Moment by moment, insecurity and isolation were stealing Jackson’s heart. Not in the way I wanted to. No, the sticky fingers of power and loneliness were prying the diamonds of kindness and loyalty from him, leaving…

This.

It doesn’t matter. I have to fight. I have to. “This isn’t you. This is dangerous, Jackson. You need to—”

“ Listen to me , Olivia,” he demands.

Startled, I fall silent.

Jackson draws closer. Standing over me, everything I yearned for is transformed.

His sharp, square shoulders. His restless mouth.

The charisma he commands effortlessly. Everything I found lovable is now…

formidable. “You may be the mastermind of your crew, but you don’t get to mastermind my heart.

I’ve made my choice,” he says. “What will yours be?”

There’s no combination, no mechanism or cipher I can use to unlock this conversation, to free the Jackson I want. There’s nothing.

I permit myself one more moment of hope, gazing into the eyes I love.

Then I close the vault door.

“I can never trust someone in the Knives,” I say.

Jackson’s mouth tightens.

“Very well. I’m no longer your pawn,” he replies.

He’s close enough to touch. His voice cold enough that I’m afraid to.

I know I’m going to cry when he leaves. For now, though, I refuse. I hold my head high, focusing on the damnation of history repeating. I wanted one thing here more than diamonds or gold—freedom from ending up just like other members of my family.

Instead, we find ourselves here. Imprisoned in echoes. Frozen in fate. Cursed.

“But I have to do what I came here for,” he declares, his voice indicative.

I look up. For a moment, I don’t know what he means, until—

You deserve to know what happened to your grandfather, Olivia. There’s more you need to know.

“Hate me, distrust me, doubt me—fine,” Jackson continues. “I’ve survived it before. It doesn’t change the fact that you deserve closure. You loved your grandfather. You deserve to know what I know.”

He remains only inches from me, the proximity making my heart race. Honestly, the question of Andrew Owens, of what the shadowy Knives Club did to him, had disappeared from my mind under the dark weight of Jackson’s decision.

Unwavering, Jackson holds my gaze. He pauses, as if he knows what the information will do to me. I wait, defying the painful clenching in my chest, until Jackson’s next words.

“Andrew Owens is alive,” he says.

My thoughts freeze and shatter.

It can’t be true. It can’t be.

I stifle the embers of hope in my chest, crushing them in cold. I can’t trust Jackson, not now. Now that he’s in league with my enemies who have done nothing but deceive, manipulate, and use people for their own merciless ends.

“Check, Olivia,” he says, passing me. “Your move.”

Then he leaves, closing my door on his way out.