Page 5

"I didn't want to be another hookup. That's why I made you sleep on the couch." He traces patterns on my shoulder. "Brought you water every hour. Held your hair when you threw up."

"Very romantic."

"You kissed me the next morning. Said thank you for being a gentleman. Then you bit my lip and said ‘but you didn't have to be one’."

"I'm smoother than I remember."

"You're perfect is what you are." His hand tightens on my hip. "And in four weeks, you'll be his."

My phone buzzes.

Dalla:

Time's up

"I have to go."

This time getting dressed feels final.

Every piece of clothing is another step toward goodbye.

Njal watches from the bed, memorizing.

I avoid looking at him, knowing one glance will break me.

"Wait." He gets up, disappears into his closet. Comes back with a small box. "I bought this six months ago. Was waiting for the right time."

Inside is a simple silver necklace with a tiny wolf pendant.

"Njal—"

"I know you can't wear it. I know it doesn't... I just wanted you to see it. To know that I was going to try. After graduation. I was going to tell your dad, tell everyone. I was going to fight for us."

"Don't do this."

"Take it anyway. Hide it, throw it away, whatever. Just... know that you were loved. Really loved. Not because of some deal or alliance or whatever bullshit. Just because you're you."

I take the box with shaking hands. "I can't?—"

"I love you," he says as I reach the door. "Past tense, present tense, future tense. That doesn't change."

"I know." It's all I can give him.

"Be happy, Rev. As happy as you can be."

I nod, not trusting my voice, and leave before I can't.

Dalla takes one look at my face and starts the car.

We're five miles down the highway before she speaks.

"How was it?"

"How do you think?"

"That bad?"

"He's thinking about seeing Ingrid, or maybe he is seeing her." I pull out the box, show her the necklace. "And he bought this six months ago."

"What?" She nearly swerves. "Fenrir's daughter? But—wait, is that a fucking wolf? Like Doran calls you?"

"I know ." I lean my head against the window. "We're all just recycling each other's heartbreak."

"Are you okay?"

"No." The honesty hurts. "But I will be."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

She reaches over, takes my hand.

We drive like that—connected, anchored—back toward Everly's.

Back toward the future neither of us chose but both of us will face.

My phone lights up with a text from Doran:

The timeline has accelerated. Two weeks to the wedding. I'll see you tonight.

"Tonight?" Dalla reads over my shoulder at a red light. "But Dad said Monday?—"

Another text:

Two prospects are dead. Your father needs to accept my help before more die.

Then:

Wear the ring, Revna. Games are over.

"Fuck," Dalla breathes.

Yeah. That about covers it.

Back at Everly's, we find her in the garden with Eira, pulling weeds while Regnor pushes Boden on the swing.

The domestic scene feels like a different universe from the one we're about to enter.

Everly asks, not looking up from her tomatoes. "How did it go?"

"About as well as expected." I kneel beside her, needing something to do with my hands. "The wedding’s been moved up. It’s in two weeks now. And we're expected home tonight."

Her hands still. "Tonight?"

"Two prospects are dead. I’ll assume it’s a cartel hit." I yank a weed harder than necessary. "Guess Daddy needs his alliance more than he thought."

"Rev—"

"It's fine. It's all fine." Another weed. "I said goodbye to Njal. I'll say hello to my future. Circle of fucking life."

Everly's quiet for a moment, then, "See these roots?"

She shows me the tangled mess beneath a tomato plant. "All connected. You can't separate them without killing the plants. That's family."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"It's supposed to remind you that you're not alone. Even when you're standing at that altar. Even when you're in his world." She squeezes my shoulder. "We're all tangled up together. That's our strength."

"Charm carried you and your sister," she continues. "Starla survived her stepfather. Gwen lived through things she doesn't talk about. We all have our stories, our connections, our complicated histories. But we survive because we're tangled together."

"Auntie Rev, look!" Eira runs over, covered in dirt. "I found a worm! Wanna hold it?"

"Maybe later, baby."

"Mama says worms help the plants grow," she continues, undeterred. "Like how babies help families grow. Are you growing a baby?"

"Not yet."

"Oh. Well, when you do, can I name it? I'm good at names. I named Boden's imaginary friend Sparkle Doom."

I laugh at the ridiculousness of the name. "Sparkle Doom?"

"It's a good name," she insists. "For a dragon or a baby."

"The best," I agree.

"Eira, why don't you show Aunt Dalla your fairy garden?" Everly suggests. "I need to talk to Aunt Rev."

Once they're gone, Everly turns serious. "I need you to understand something. What you're walking into—it's not just marriage. It's a whole world with its own rules."

"I know?—"

"Do you? Because knowing and living it are different things.

" She strips off her gardening gloves. "Regnor saved my life.

Literally. But there were days I wanted to run so bad I could taste it.

Days when the weight of the life—the violence, the loyalty tests, the constant vigilance—it nearly broke me. "

"But you stayed."

"Because leaving would have broken me worse. Because somewhere between the fear and the fighting, I found something worth staying for." She touches her belly. "Found someone worth fighting beside."

"What if Doran's not that person? What if he's just another controlling asshole with better manners?"

"Then you survive him too. And we'll help." She stands, pulls me up with her. "But Rev? Give him a chance to surprise you. These men, they're not what they seem on the surface."

Inside, we find Dalla painting her nails at the kitchen table while Eira instructs her on proper princess colors.

"Pink for the thumb," Eira says seriously. "Purple for the pointer because that's the bossy finger."

"What about this one?" Dalla holds up her middle finger.

"That's the naughty finger. Mama says we don't use that one."

"Smart mama," I say, sitting beside them.

"Your turn!" Eira grabs my hand. "You need special nails for getting married."

So I sit there, letting a five-year-old paint my nails in glittery pink while my sister does my toes in what Eira calls "mermaid blue." It's ridiculous and perfect and exactly what I need.

"Girls," Everly says from the doorway. "Your mom's calling."

The video call connects, and Mom's face fills the screen.

She's been crying—I can tell from the puffiness around her eyes.

"My babies," she says. "Are you okay?"

"We're fine, Mom," Dalla says.

"Don't lie to me. I know about tonight. Everything is so much right now. I can’t believe we lost more people." Her voice cracks. "Two kids, barely older than you. And now—" She stops, collects herself. "The wedding's in two weeks."

"I know."

"Rev, baby, I'm so sorry. I fought so hard?—"

"I know you did." I lean closer to the screen. "This isn't your fault."

"Isn't it? I'm your mother. I'm supposed to protect you."

"You did protect us. You do. Every day." I force a smile. "I'm okay, Mom. Doran's... he's not what I expected."

"What do you mean?"

"He's giving me my own room until the wedding. Letting me finish school. He's... I think he’s trying to not make me hate him, maybe he’s traditional."

Mom's laugh is watery. "Traditional. A traditional Bratva prince. That's new."

"I'm going to be okay," I tell her, willing us both to believe it. "We're going to be okay."

"Take care of each other," she says. "That's all I ask. Take care of each other."

After she hangs up, we sit in silence.

Eira's moved on to decorating Dalla's nails with tiny stickers.

"We should get ready," Dalla says finally. "Face the music."

"Wait," Everly says. She disappears, returns with three items. "These are important."

She hands Dalla a small silver compass. "This was my grandmother's. She gave it to me when I married Regnor. Said it would always point me home."

To me, she gives a worn leather bracelet. "This was Dylan's. I kept it as a reminder that I survived him. Now it's a reminder that you'll survive too."

"Everly—"

"And this." She pulls off her own necklace, a simple chain with a small pendant. "Is mine. So we're all connected. All tangled up together like those roots."

We stand there, three women bound by circumstance and choice, exchanging jewelry like warriors who exchange weapons.

The rest of the afternoon passes too quickly. We pack, we plan, we pretend we're not terrified.

Regnor pulls me aside as we're loading the car.

"He's not Dylan," he says quietly. "Remember that. Doran Volkolv is dangerous in completely different ways."

"Meaning?"

"Dylan wanted to break Everly. Doran wants to own you. There's a difference."

"Is one better than the other?"

"Depends on how you play it." He hands me something—a small knife in an ankle holster. "Just in case."

"Regnor—"

"No one has to know. But you should never be without the option to protect yourself."

I strap it on under my jeans.

The weight is comforting.

As we're saying goodbye, Eira runs out with a drawing. "For you!" It's a stick figure wedding—me in a giant dress, a dark figure beside me, and what appears to be a motorcycle with wings.

"It's beautiful, baby."

"That's you." She points. "And that's your prince. And that's his flying motorcycle because princes need cool rides."

"What's this?" I point to a small figure in the corner.

"That's me! Throwing flowers and being awesome." She hugs my legs. "Don't be scared, Aunt Rev. Mama says being scared means you're about to be brave."

Dalla and I drive toward home—toward fate—in heavy silence.

The sun sets behind us, painting the sky in shades of ending.

"Two weeks," I tell my sister. "We have two weeks to figure this out."

"We've figured out worse with less time," she reminds me.

"Have we though?"

"Remember when Dad found your birth control?"

"That's different?—"

"You convinced him it was for acne. In two minutes. While high on wisdom teeth meds." She grins. "If you can do that, you can handle one Bratva prince."