Page 176 of The Devil's Thorn

His smile was faint. Tired. “No. I want to see which one of us shatters first.”

And somehow, I think we already know the answer.

He watched me in silence for a moment. That kind of silence that wraps around your throat and dares you to speak first. But he didn’t give me the chance.

“You think I’m stupid?” he said, voice low but laced with that same cruel calm he’s mastered. “You came to my casino that night to provoke me. Not seduce. Not manipulate. Provoke.”

I stayed still, but my spine tightened.

“You gave me the necklace,” he continued, gaze never leaving mine, “not because you wanted answers. But because you already had your suspicions. You’re not as subtle as you think, Isabella.”

His voice dipped darker.

“You’re chasing a ghost. And you think the devil might’ve worn my face when he took your parents from you.” A pause.“So tell me…” He leaned forward again, elbows on his knees, that usual blade of precision back in his tone. “What happens when you realize you sold your life to that same devil just to find out it wasn’t me?”

My heart didn’t skip. It slammed. Because he’s not wrong. Not entirely.

I swallowed, jaw tense, and slowly rose from the couch—not because I wanted distance, but because I needed to move, to think, tobreathe. I crossed the room and sank onto the edge of the bed, letting the coolness of the sheets ground me.

My voice came out quieter than I expect. “Then maybe I’m already where I belong.”

He tilted his head slightly. Watching me the way one might watch a flame to see if it flickers out—or explodes.

I lifted my eyes to him. “I don’t trust you.” It came out sharper now. More like me. “And I didn’t come here to be saved. I came to burn every name off my list until one finally bleeds the truth.”

He leaned back in his chair, lips twitching into something that’s not quite a smile. “And what if there’s no truth waiting for you?”

I shrugged, my voice steady. “Then I’ll take the devil I know over the silence I’ve lived with for fifteen years.”

His eyes narrowed, just a fraction. And mine burned right back.

Because Idosuspect him. Or someone close to him. I’ve seen the clues, the whispers. But I’ve also seen him bleeding on my couch. Letting me stitch his wound. Letting me stay close enough to watch him unravel—even if just a little.

The tension hummed between us like something electric. Something inevitable. Still enemies. Still coiled tight in our own damage. But something else is forming here, too—something I can’t name yet. And maybe I don’t want to.

I lie back slowly, pressing my head into the pillows as my gaze found the moon through the glass. Its light cut through the dark like it always does—soft, pale, distant. Untouchable.

My body ached with the weight of the night. Not from movement, but fromstillness. From having to sit across from him and act like the blood on my hands—his blood—was just another shade of red I was used to.

And maybe I am. Maybe I’ve always been.

I didn’t hear him move, but I felt it when the mattress dipped under his weight. He sat on the edge of the bed, close enough that I caught the faint scent of his cologne and copper. Still faintly blood-soaked. Still himself.

I didn’t look at him right away. I just stared at the moon. “Do you ever sleep?” I asked softly.

A pause. Then, “Only when I forget what I’ve done.”

His voice was steady, like the truth costs him nothing. But I knew better. I heared the ghosts laced in every word he says. I think he knows I do, too.

I turned my head slightly to glance at him, and for a moment, I forgot the war we’re in. I forgot that I once imagined putting a bullet between his ribs.

He leaned forward, forearms on his knees again. That unreadable look on his face—half interested, half like he’s waiting to see if I’ll shatter.

“I wasn’t talking to anyone important earlier,” I murmured. “Not to you, anyway.”

He didn’t move.

“She’s… her name’s Anna,” I continued. “I met her a few years ago. She was a neighbor at first—somehow got under my skin when no one else could. We never talked about the past, not really. But she has this way of just… being there. Like she already knows.”