Page 145 of Killaney Fire

"I’ll live," I say, shoving the door open myself and stepping out before Declan can even get a word in.

My bare feet hit the cold stone. The night air slices through the torn fabric of my dress, making my skin sprinkle with goosebumps. I'm filthy. Blood crusted on my forearm, dirt smeared across my legs, my hair tangled and reeking of smoke and that damn incense.

Callum comes around the car to see me and stops dead in his tracks. His gaze drops to my forearm, where the makeshift bandage Declan gave me on the way over from his glovebox is already stained red.

"Who did this to you? I'll fucking kill them," he says, his voice dropping to something dangerous.

I don't respond. There's nothing to say that will make this moment any less horrifying.

Declan climbs out of the driver's seat, his phone already pressed to his ear.

"Don't worry," he says, glancing at Callum. "I'm calling Lyra. She'll be here soon."

Callum's eyes dart around, scanning the line of SUVs behind us. His jaw tightens.

"Where the fuck is Octavian?"

Declan looks at me first. I look back, then nod toward the SUVs behind us. "In one of those," I say.

"Well, is he hurt? Dead? What the hell is going on?" Callum demands, his voice rising.

Declan steps closer, gripping Callum's shoulder. "Come inside, brother. You'll want to sit for this."

We walk into the house, past the staff who try their best not to gasp at my disheveled presence. I don't blame them; I look like something straight out of a horror movie, complete with tattered gown, bloody arms, and dirt on my feet.

Declan stays on the phone with Lyra, his voice low as he explains what happened. I catch fragments, and each word makes the M on my arm burn hotter, like it's branding me all over again.

We reach the office, and Callum shuts the door behind us.

"Sit down and tell me everything," he says, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk.

"Do you want to wait for Lyra?" Declan asks, glancing at me. "I mean, she's bleeding, Cal."

Callum looks at me.

"No," I say. "It's fine."

I lower myself into the chair, gripping the armrests. My hands are still shaking.

Declan takes the chair next to me, and Callum sits at the desk.

I take a deep breath and start from the beginning, telling it as it comes back to me.

Arriving at the gala. Meeting Elizabeth and how she took us to Shadowharbor's special gallery. The statue of the Morrígan, towering and terrible, its three faces looking down. And then, falling into darkness, slamming into cold ground.

When I come to the part about waking up surrounded by red-robed figures, their faces hidden, their voices rising in a chant I didn't understand, Callum's face barely twitches, but I can see him simmering.

Then the altar, the statue, and the knife carving the M into my skin.

Declan shifts in his chair, his hand curling into a fist. Callum keeps his face neutral, but the vein in his neck pulses, and the muscles in his jaw twitch.

I pause because this is the hardest part, which is why I waited until the end.

"He knew his name," I say quietly.

"Whose name?" Callum asks.

"Octavian's. He said he let them take me."