Page 25

Kieran

For the first time in… gods, maybe centuries—I woke without dread clawing at the edges of my mind.

No screams. No fire. No locket-shaped coffin snapping shut behind my eyes.

Just warmth.

Soft sheets. Steady breathing. And her—curled beside me, one arm flung across my ribs like she owned me.

Maybe she did.

Her hair was a mess, wild curls strewn across the pillow, cheek smushed adorably. She looked peaceful. Beautiful. Real.

And I felt… light.

My body ached in the familiar way—bruises blooming under the skin from a life that hadn’t slowed—but my chest didn’t feel like it was collapsing in on itself. For once, I didn’t wake up with my fists clenched.

I turned my head and pressed a kiss to Dahlia’s forehead, lingering there a beat too long. She made a soft sound, something between a sigh and a murmur, and burrowed deeper into the blankets.

I didn’t want to move. I didn’t want to break the spell.

But old instincts pulled me to my feet.

I stretched as quietly as I could, pulling on a shirt and combing my fingers through my hair before I padded out of the room barefoot, shadows trailing lazily behind me like smoke still not ready to rise.

The cottage was wrapped in early morning hush.

I found them where I expected—in the living room, cloaked in that strange half-light that comes before full dawn.

Silas was still tied to the chair, head tilted back against the wall, lips slightly parted in sleep. He looked older this way. Less dangerous. Less like the brother who’d shattered my life and more like a man who’d simply survived too long.

Thea sat across from him, legs crossed, her hoodie sleeves bunched around her arms and a thermos cradled in her hands. She didn’t look tired, but she didn’t look awake either—her gaze locked on Silas like a hawk watching a snake sunning itself on a rock.

Her eyes flicked up when I entered. She didn’t speak.

Neither did I.

I crossed the room, slow, cautious, like the quiet might break if I breathed too loudly. I crouched near the hearth, stoked the coals Henry must’ve banked the night before, and added a few logs with practiced ease.

The flames caught quickly. Steady. A heartbeat in the silence.

Behind me, Thea finally muttered, “He talks in his sleep.”

I looked over my shoulder. “What’d he say?”

“Names. Mostly. Yours. A woman’s. Sometimes it’s just… nonsense. Runes. Pieces of something broken.”

I nodded.

“I don’t think he’s lying about losing his magic,” she added after a beat. “But he’s still dangerous.”

“I know.”

She looked me over—really looked, brow raising slightly at the shirt I’d borrowed from Henry and the distinct lack of fury in my posture.

“Sleep okay?”

I nodded again. “Better than I have in years.”

She smirked faintly, sipping her coffee. “Yeah. You look like a man who got thoroughly comforted.”

I didn’t rise to the bait. Just watched the fire catch fully.

Silas snored softly, slumped in the kitchen chair like some overly dramatic villain caught halfway through his monologue. The rope bindings—still taut across his chest and arms—rose and fell with every breath. It was the most peaceful he’d looked since we dragged him through the front door.

Too peaceful, apparently.

A soft thump-thump of paws made me glance over. Oleander had hopped into the room like he had business to attend to, ears perked and nose twitching. He paused just short of Silas’ boots, then lowered his head, sniffed… and lunged.

With all the focus of a creature on a personal mission, Oleander sank his teeth into one of Silas’ leather bootlaces and started to chew.

I blinked. “Uh… Thea?”

From her perch on the couch, Thea didn’t even look up from where she was sipping her coffee. “Let him.”

“Let him?”

“I mean, what’s he gonna do—hop into the black market with one boot and an attitude? If the rabbit wants a snack, the rabbit gets a snack.”

“Oleander,” I whispered, half amused, half horrified, “those boots probably cost more than you’re worth.”

Oleander, predictably, didn’t care.

Another lace snapped with a soft snick . He moved to the second one without hesitation, teeth working steadily through the leather like it offended him personally. The rope around Silas’ ankles remained intact—for now—but his dignity didn’t stand a chance.

I glanced back at Thea. “He’s really doing it.”

“That’s what he gets for calling me stabby,” she said, deadpan.

Silas snorted in his sleep, muttered something unintelligible, and shifted slightly. Oleander froze for half a second, then went right back to chewing.

I let the silence linger a moment longer—let the crackle of the fire be the only sound in the room.

Then I stood.

Crossed the space with slow, deliberate steps.

And kicked the leg of Silas’s chair.

Hard.

He jerked awake with a grunt, blinking groggily as his head snapped forward, hands tugging instinctively at the restraints that still held him fast.

“Rise and shine,” I said coldly. “We’re done letting you nap off your treachery.”

Thea sipped her coffee like it was a front-row seat to a very predictable show.

Silas squinted up at me, his voice hoarse. “Morning to you, too.”

I crouched in front of him, arms resting on my knees. Close enough to make a point. Far enough not to kill him by accident. “Time to talk, brother. Really talk. I want everything you didn’t tell me yesterday. Start with what happened after.”

He blinked. “After?”

“The Rite,” I growled. “After you shattered it. After you left me in the locket and Calliope dead at the center.”

A shadow passed through his face—brief, but real.

“When I woke up,” he said slowly, “there was blood. Smoke. Burned grass and broken bodies.” He swallowed. “The circle was empty. Your body—your soul —was gone. But so was hers.”

“Gone how?” I asked. “Explain.”

“She wasn’t dead,” he said. “Not completely. The Rite didn’t finish the way I planned. I thought I’d undone her tether, rerouted the power, but when I came to... her body was missing. And the locket was gone.”

I stared at him, the breath in my chest turning to stone.

“I spent years,” Silas continued, voice fraying, “decades, trying to figure out where it had gone. What happened. There were rumors. Whispers. The Order Calliope belonged to-The Order of Alecto-they didn’t let her stay dead. They resurrected her.”

I reeled. “That’s not possible.”

“They found a way. Or something found them. All I know is, she came back. Changed. Less human than before. But still her. Still cunning. Still cruel.”

I stood slowly, fists clenched at my sides. “And the locket?”

“I never found it,” he said, shaking his head. “She wanted it. Desperately. Said it was unfinished business. But it vanished. Some say it was stolen. Others claimed it was cursed. But no one knew where it ended up—not until now.”

I didn’t speak.

Didn’t breathe.

Because I had a feeling I knew what he was going to say next.

Silas looked up at me, guilt painted like bruises under his eyes. “Calliope’s still looking for it. For you . She’s been looking for a long time. And now that you’re free…”

He didn’t have to finish.

I turned to the fire, jaw tight, mind already racing ahead. “She’s going to come for me.”

“No,” Silas said quietly. “She’s going to come for her .”

I glanced back at him.

Dahlia.

The locket’s new keeper. The woman who had woken me. The only tether I had left in this world.

My shadows responded before my heart could catch up, curling out like smoke searching for a target. Protective. Possessive. Furious.

Thea finally spoke, her voice dry. “Well. That’s just fan-fucking-tastic.”

I was still staring into the fire, every muscle wound tight beneath my skin, when soft footsteps padded into the room behind me.

Dahlia.

She wore one of my shirts—again—and sleep still clung to her eyes in soft smudges and slow blinks. Her hair was a wild halo around her face, and there was a faint pillow crease on her cheek. She looked warm. Unbothered. Perfect.

She rubbed at her eye with the back of one hand. “Why does it sound like someone’s plotting our deaths before breakfast?”

I turned slightly, catching her gaze. “Because someone is.”

Her brow furrowed. She came to stand beside me, fingers brushing my arm lightly. A grounding touch. One I didn’t realize I’d needed.

Silas let out a breath, the sound scraping raw through his throat. “The locket—your locket—I finally tracked it down a few weeks ago. That’s how I knew where to find you.”

Dahlia crossed her arms. “You tracked it to Henry.”

He nodded. “Word came from a former contact in the Black Veil—someone who owed me more favors than I’ll ever see repaid. He said an artifact had resurfaced. Something old. Bound. Dangerous. A silver locket carved with moonlight and blood.”

Her hand drifted unconsciously to the chain at her throat, now empty.

“I followed the trail straight to Brookside,” Silas said. “To Henry’s shop.”

I clenched my jaw. “You weren’t just looking for the locket. You were looking for her.”

Silas’s gaze flicked to Dahlia, then back to me. “I didn’t know who had it. Just that someone had broken the seal. That someone had woken you . And that if Calliope found out before I did... she’d burn everything to the ground to claim it.”

Dahlia didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. I could feel her pulse ticking under her skin like a war drum.

Silas went on. “There’ve been whispers. For years. That Calliope survived the Rite. That she didn’t just rejoin the Order—she took it over from the inside. Quietly. Ruthlessly. Anyone who challenged her disappeared.”

Thea gave a low whistle from her chair. “And here I thought your exes were dramatic.”

Silas ignored her. “She’s risen through the ranks of the Hollow Court—what remains of it. The old bloodlines bent the knee. Or bled.”

My chest tightened.

He looked directly at me now. “She won’t stop. Not until she’s reclaimed the locket. Not until you’re dead. Not until she —” he nodded to Dahlia “—is bled dry and bound into the Rite again.”

“She wants immortality,” Dahlia said softly, voice barely above a whisper. “Real, complete, untethered. And she thinks I’m the key.”

“You are ,” Silas said. “Because you’re the only one who’s ever opened it. The locket. It shouldn’t have responded to anyone. Not after all this time.”

Dahlia swallowed. “But it did.”

“Which means you’re part of this now,” Silas finished grimly. “Whether you want to be or not.”

The fire popped, a coal cracking open in the grate.

No one spoke.

Then I turned to Dahlia, her face pale but steady. Her jaw was set, her shoulders squared. She didn’t look afraid. She looked ready.

And gods help the world if they tried to take her from me.

I stepped closer, just enough that our arms touched.

“We protect each other,” I said quietly. “No more lies. No more running. We find out how to stop her—and we end this.”

Dahlia nodded once. “Together.”

Thea kicked her boots up onto the coffee table and pulled a dagger from her belt. “I always did hate secret societies.”

Silas leaned his head back against the chair with a weary sigh. “Then you’re going to love what comes next.”