Page 46

T he wreckage of my room is a disaster of my own making, the chaos perfectly mirroring the storm ripping through my head. Torn pages from composition notebooks litter the floor like my thoughts, scattered and useless. They’re the remnants of my senior year’s work—weeks, months, whole nights spent pouring my soul into melodies that now feel hollow, meaningless.

None of it fucking matters.

Shreds of sheet music stick to the walls, curled and jagged, the ink smudged where my fists have slammed into them. My knuckles throb, split and raw, pulsating with rage. Blood streaks across the jagged remains of my latest notebook—the one I ripped apart with my bare hands in a fit of rage not even twenty minutes ago. The pieces of me that once felt whole are now fragments, just like this room.

Just like Kai.

I haven’t slept. The pale light of dawn filters through the blinds, but it only highlights the destruction. The bed’s unmade, the pillow torn at the seams from where I yanked it apart in the middle of the night—a faint ringing hums in my ears, mixing with the steady, maddening ping of my phone.

I don’t want to look, but I do. The phone sits on the floor where I threw it hours ago, its screen cracked. I reach for it, my hand shaking with fury as I lift it and read the latest message from the Syndicate.

Unknown Number

Surgery was a success. Stable. Still unconscious.

Stable. Fucking stable.

I let out a bitter laugh, the sound dry and hollow. They act like that’s supposed to be enough.

Like I’m supposed to feel relief, gratitude, something other than this gaping void. My throat tightens, rage bubbling to the surface.

It’s not enough.

None of it is.

With a snarl, I hurl the phone onto the bed, the cracked screen flashing briefly before going dark again. My hands clench into fists at my sides, nails digging into my palms until I feel the sting.

My eyes dart to the piano in the corner. Its once-polished surface is marred with scratches and a dent in the lid from my earlier outburst.

My heart pounds, each beat drumming louder in my ears. Without thinking, I grab the nearest object—a lamp—and hurl it across the room. It smashes against the wall, the sound sharp, splintering through the silence. The shards scatter across the floor, glittering like tiny, malevolent stars.

But it’s not enough.

Nothing is.

The next ping of my phone draws my attention again. I snatch it up, prepared to throw it, but the screen catches my eye.

Automated Message

Join us for the New Year’s Eve party at the Catacombs. Midnight. Don’t miss it.

A party. A fucking party.

The absurdity of it sends a maniacal laugh tearing from my throat.

They’re joking, right?

A party.

They want us to party while the world crumbles around us. My brother is fighting for his life, bleeding out in some Syndicate-controlled hospital, and these assholes think we should toast to the new year?

Celebrate?

Pretend everything’s fine?

A black hole opens in my chest, sucking every ounce of reason and control with it.

My hand clenches around the phone, the plastic creaking under the strain. I can’t stop the shaking now, the tremor spreading from my fingers to my arms, my whole body vibrating with the weight of rage.

I should’ve seen this coming.

I should’ve stopped it.

I should’ve done something.

My eyes lock onto the closet, and my legs move before my mind catches up, opting for the steel bat that is lodged in the back of my closet.

I turn toward the piano in the corner of the room.

That damn piano.

My so-called sanctuary.

The place where I poured out every ounce of pain, frustration, and hope into music that never mattered.

Not now.

Not when I’ve failed.

It’s a mockery, sitting there unscathed while everything else is falling apart.

The first swing comes down hard, the bat slamming into the piano’s side with a deafening crack. Wood splinters under the impact, scattering like shrapnel across the floor.

“Fuck you!” I roar, the words ripping from my throat as I swing again.

The second blow cracks the lid, sending it crashing inward. The keys jangle in dissonant protest, their once-beautiful melody now a riot of pain. I see my reflection in the shattered pieces. My face twisted with fury, eyes wild and unrecognizable.

And still, it’s not enough.

“Fuck you!” I scream again, my voice breaking. “Bring him back.” Tears blur my vision, hot and unrelenting, but I don’t care. “Please, goddammit, I’m begging.” I bring the bat down once more, the vibrations shooting up my arms, and for a split second, the pain is enough to drown out the guilt.

But only for a second.

I raise the bat for another swing, but a hand latches onto it, stopping me mid-motion. I whirl around, ready to fight, my heart pounding in my ears.

“Levi! Stop!” Dayton looks at me, his gaze hard and unflinching.

“Get out!” I snarl, shoving him back with everything I have. The bat falls to the floor between us with a dull clatter, but neither of us moves to pick it up.

“No.” His voice is steady. His jaw is tight, his eyes locked onto mine. “You’re destroying yourself, and I’m not letting you do this.”

We’re chest to chest, breaths coming fast and shallow. I can see the tension in his muscles, the way his hands curl into fists at his sides, but he doesn’t back down.

“Let go.”

“Not until you stop acting like a goddamn idiot.”

“Fuck you!”

I shove him again. He stumbles back a step but doesn’t retreat. Instead, he steps right back into my space, his presence suffocating.

“You think breaking everything is going to fix this?” he snaps, his voice rising. “You think it’s going to bring Kai back faster? Or find the killer? Wake the fuck up, Levi!”

“Shut up!” I roar, my fists balling at my sides, my whole body shaking with the effort to hold myself together.

Dayton moves fast, his hands shooting out to grab my shoulders. Before I can react, he slams me back against the wall, the impact knocking the breath out of me. His forearm presses hard against my chest, pinning me in place.

We’re both breathing hard now. His face is inches from mine, his light eyes burning with a mix of fury and pain. I know the others are hurting. I know Sable is devastated. But I can’t bring myself to be with them. His grip is tight, and for a moment, I don’t know if we’re about to fight or fall apart.

“You’re not the only one who’s scared,” he hisses. “You’re not the only one who feels like they’re failing.”

My chest heaves, and I turn my head away, trying to escape the intensity of his gaze. “I should’ve done more. I should’ve seen it coming. I should’ve protected him.”

“You’re not alone in this, Levi,” he says quietly, his tone softening. “You’ve never been alone.”

His words settle over me, and for the first time in hours, I feel something other than rage. It’s not a relief, not exactly, but it’s enough to keep me from falling further into the abyss.

“We should have never trusted the Syndicate.”

The Syndicate doesn’t just take what you love—they twist it, crush it, and turn it into a weapon against you. They don’t care about what they destroy in the process. And Kai… they’ll never bring him back to me. If anything, he’s already gone, and they’re just dangling the hope of him in front of us like bait. They never wanted him to exist in our world in the first place. What’s stopping them from ending his life the moment we fulfill their demands?

Dayton steps closer, his hands briefly brushing my shoulders before dropping to his sides. “Levi…”

My gaze drifts to the shattered remains of the piano in the corner of the room. Its splintered keys and broken strings feel like a perfect reflection of everything inside me—destroyed, irreparable.

“Levi,” Dayton says again, softer now, drawing my eyes back to him. “I love you. Not just as a brother. But in… whatever-the-fuck this is.” He swallows hard, his throat bobbing. “We’re in this together, and we need you. I need you.” His hand comes to rest on my shoulder. “Silas has a plan. We’re going to get him back, but we can’t do it without you.”

My throat is too tight to respond, so I nod instead. It’s small, but it’s enough. Dayton’s lips twitch into the faintest hint of a smile.

Dayton’s grip tightens for a moment before he steps back. “Let’s go get our boy back.”