Page 196 of Hymns of the Broken

He gives me a two-finger salute and disappears down the hall, leaving me alone again in the kitchen—only this time, not quite as adrift.

Because I’m not the only one fighting shadows tonight. And maybe I don’t have to keep fighting them alone.

RIOT

The basement smells of damp concrete, mildew, and the copper tang of fear. There’s one swinging bulb overhead, flickering, making everything look meaner than it already is. But I don’t mind. Not tonight.

Blake is chained to a chair in the middle of the room. His wrists cuffed to the handles and his ankles are shackled. He’s barely conscious now, eyes swollen, lip split from Jasper’s last visit.

I lean against the wall, arms crossed, watching him try to lift his head. Pathetic. Every inch of me wants to break something new. But I force myself to stay cool.Thisisn’t about losing control. It’s about sending a message.

He coughs, spits blood onto the concrete. “What, you here to play good cop?”

“Nah. Never been much for cops.”

He tries to glare, but it looks more like fear. “Sawyer’swon’t forgive you for this, you know. She’s gonna hate you both when she finds out—”

My fist connects with his jaw before he finishes the sentence. Not hard enough to break, just enough to silence him. I crouched down, close enough that he could see the promise in my eyes.

“You ever say her name again in this house, I’ll rip your fucking tongue out,” I snarl. “You don’t get to talk about her. You don’t get to think about her. You sure as hell don’t get to act like you still matter.”

He laughs—a thin, desperate sound. “She didn’t even fight me, you know? Not really. I know girls like her—”

I punch him again, harder this time. Blood sprays, teeth rattle. I don’t look away.

“You had her chained up, you fucking prick. You think that makes you a man?” I whisper, voice low and mean. “Have you ever wondered why you’re the one in chains now, Blake?”

He spits at my feet, pain turning his voice ragged. “You’re both sick. Obsessive freaks—”

“Me? Obsessive?” I snort, leaning in so he can see every inch of fury on my face. “You kidnapped her, you’re obsessed. What we feel for her? That’s love, asshole. Twisted, maybe, but real. And it’s more than you’ll ever have.”

He’s trembling now, sweat slicking his hair to his forehead. “What are you gonna do to me?”

I shrug, smiling wide. “Whatever Sawyer wants, man. Your fate isn’t in my hands. Or Jasper’s. It’s hers. That’s what makes this beautiful. You took her power. Now she’s got yours. And I’m gonna enjoy every fucking second of watching you squirm while she decides what happens next.”

I straighten, roll my shoulders, and look at him. He smirks like he has nothing to worry about.

“She survived you,” I say, voice soft but lethal. “But you? You won’t survive her.”

I flick the bulb as I head for the stairs, letting it swing shadows across his ruined face. He screams at my back—threats mostly. None of it matters.

The kitchen’s all bright tile and high ceilings—too clean, too peaceful, like it doesn’t belong in the same house where Blake’s bleeding in the dark. I yank the fridge open, half-starved, and grab the first thing I see. Cold pizza. Doesn’t matter. I rip off a slice and turn, teeth already sinking in.

Ash is perched on the counter, swinging his feet like a kid, a soda can dripping condensation down his wrist. Jace leans against the pantry, arms folded, dark eyes tracking every move. Macee’s got her phone propped up, typing with one hand, eating grapes with the other.

She glances up, eyebrow raised. “Rough night?”

I snort, chewing. “You have no idea.”

Jace looks at me, real steady. “You done down there?”

I shrug, dropping into a chair. “For now.”

Ash pipes up, grinning. “You want me to bring him a snack? Maybe a Capri Sun and some cookies?”

Macee laughs. “Yeah, and maybe a coloring book, Ash. Jesus.”

I grin around another mouthful. “I’d say lethimstarve, but I think Jasper wants him alive for now.” Jace’s jaw ticks. “He better. We don’t need the cops crawling around here asking questions.”