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CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

Knight

Eva's footsteps fade down the hallway, leaving me alone. I stay where I am, muscles locked as if moving might shatter whatever fragile control I have left. The stitches in my shoulder and side burn like they’re being ripped apart, each pulse a brutal reminder of just how fucked I am.

She’s gone. Just like I made sure she would be.

This is what I wanted. What I needed.

So why does it feel like I’ve driven a blade into my own chest and twisted?

The chair creaks as I lean back, trying to ease the pull on my injuries. I'm not alone for long. Bishop's shadow fills the doorway.

“You’re really doing this then?”

I don’t need to ask what he means, and I don’t need to look at him to know he isn’t impressed.

“She got attached. It happens.” My voice is flat, disinterested. A fucking mask I’ve worn so long it’s fused to my skin. “Better to end it now before she builds it into something it’s not.”

“Bullshit.” One word, hitting like a brick to the face.

"Don't start." My voice comes out low, warning. "It was never going to work."

"That's not your choice to make." Rook's voice carries from the hallway as he steps into view. "And you can drop the act. We know you better than that."

"There is no act." My fingers curl into the armrests, the move pulling at the stitches in my shoulder. "She saw what she wanted to see. Built up some fantasy about who I am. Not my problem."

“You’re a fucking liar.” Bishop’s words cut through my attempt at indifference. “Every moment you spent with her, every look, every touch, every goddamn breath—you expect us to believe you were acting, that none of it was real? You don’t let anyone that close to you, Knight.”

“I never said I was acting. But if that’s what it takes to make her leave, then I’ll make her believe it.” My voice betrays the battle I’m waging to stay in control. “She deserves better than this life, Bishop. Better than what we are.”

“So you’ll destroy her instead?” Rook says. “Do you really think she’s safer if she’s broken? That you’re doing her some kind of favor?”

“Yes!” My voice breaks on the single syllable, my control splintering. “You’ve seen what happens to people in our world. What they become. What’s done to them.”

“And what about you?” Rook steps closer. “Do you think what you’re doing is any less dangerous? The lesser of two evils, maybe?”

I laugh, the sound humorless and sharp. “Oh, I’m definitely the worst option. That’s why she’s gone. Congratulations, you cracked the code.”

“Don’t be an asshole,” Bishop snaps. “You’re not fooling anyone, least of all us.”

“I’m not trying to fool anyone,” I bite back. “I’m stating facts. You want to romanticize this shit? Go write poetry about it. She’ll be safer without me.”

Footsteps approach from the hallway, silencing the three of us, and Victor and Michael step into the room a second later. They pause, the tension between me and my brothers thick enough to choke on.

I look up, meeting Michael’s eyes. “You should go and help your sister pack.”

“She won’t thank you for this.” He looks from me to Bishop, then back again. “She’ll never forgive you.”

"Good. Maybe she'll realize that her first impression of me was the right one."

Eva appears behind her brother, her features composed despite the redness around her eyes. The sight sends something sharp through my chest that has nothing to do with the bullet wounds.

"Michael." Her voice wavers slightly. "We should pack. Apparently we're leaving."

Her brother opens his mouth to speak, but she cuts him off with a shake of her head. He gives me one last look before following her down the hall.

"You’re a fucking coward." Bishop doesn’t bother lowering his voice. “All this bullshit about her getting attached? You’re the one terrified because she got past your defenses.”

"Think what you want."

"Teach her. Train her. Show her what this life means. Let her choose with her eyes open.”

“Like you’re doing with Eden?” My attention shifts to Rook. “Or what happened with you and Magdelena? I won’t turn her into someone who has to watch every shadow, question every connection, live every moment waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

"Like you did to yourself?" Victor's voice carries decades of understanding.

Before I can answer, Eva reappears. Her face is a mask of composure, but I see the cracks—the red around her eyes, the tightness in her jaw. Each step closer twists the knife in my chest.

“We’re ready.” Her voice is steady, stripped of the warmth that used to set me on fire. She doesn’t look at me, doesn’t give me the satisfaction of her anger. She focuses on my brothers, discussing travel arrangements like I’m already dead.

The moment stretches, filled with everything I should say. Everything I want to say. Everything I can’t fucking let myself say.

Bishop sighs, and walks out.

"Knight."

I glance over at it, and look away when the pain in her eyes nearly breaks my resolve. "Last chance to tell me what really changed."

"I told you, nothing has changed." I force the lie past my lips. "This is who I am."

"No." She steps closer, the scent of her skin almost unraveling what little resolve I have left. "This is who you're choosing to be. There's a difference."

The sound of the garage door opening reaches us, and she straightens, her composure snapping into place like armor.

“Goodbye. I hope whatever you’re protecting yourself from is worth what you’re throwing away.”

She turns and walks away. Michael follows her. Car doors slam. An engine roars to life. Tires crunch against pavement.

She’s gone.

"Feel better?" Rook's question is barbed. "Now that you've convinced yourself you never cared?"

"She's alive, and she's safe, so yes, I feel great, thanks."

"Keep telling yourself that. Maybe some day you'll believe it."

Fresh pain radiates from my shoulder and my side. A reminder of everything I’ve thrown away. I need to change the bandages, and take something for the pain. But all I can do is sit here, the sound of her leaving replaying in my head like a fucking funeral march.

"You should rest." Rook's voice allows no argument. "Unless you're planning to make more spectacularly stupid decisions today?"

“Oh, I don’t know. I was thinking of maybe going for a jog or wrestling a bear.” My sarcasm is weak, but it’s the only defense I have left. “But sure, let’s go with rest.”

“You should?—”

“I’m fine. Leave it alone, Rook.”

"You're not fine." He steps closer, stooping to peel back the gauze on my shoulder. "You haven't been fine since the first moment she walked through your door."

He gives the bed a pointed look. I sigh, and stand, allowing him to help me back to the bed.

"Take some painkillers and sleep." Rook straightens. "Or don't. But you need to rest before you collapse."

“You know, I really love these pep talks. So uplifting.” But I can’t hide the pain and exhaustion that’s threatening to drag me under. “I’ll be sure to send you a thank-you card.”

He doesn’t reply, but his disgust is hard to miss. Mostly by the fact he walks out, and leaves me there, surrounded by evidence of everything I've thrown away. Of every connection I've severed. Of every wall I've rebuilt stronger than before.

Outside, birds continue their morning songs like nothing significant just happened. Like I haven't just destroyed the one real connection I've allowed myself in years. Like my chest isn't being hollowed out with every breath she takes further away from me.

This is survival.

This is protection.

This is necessary.

I repeat the words until they almost sound true.

Almost.