Page 27

ORION

I tore my gaze from the daema’s lifeless body, its mangled form crumpled on the floor where Ragnar had finally dropped it, to study him instead.

He looked like hell—head to toe in blood and soot, his chest heaving with barely contained fury.

His near-volcanic glow had faded, but the fire behind his eyes was still burning, sharp and volatile, as though the creature’s last words had carved straight into him.

Ragnar lived for control—it was stitched into every inch of him. That control was now hanging by a thread, and it showed in every taut muscle and clenched fist.

I leaned against the nearest pillar, watching him as he yanked the chain free from the corpse. His jaw was locked tight, and his shoulders were rigid.

“Do you think the harpy was telling the truth?”

Ragnar froze for a fraction of a second—so small, most wouldn’t have noticed. But I knew him better than most, and that pause was loud enough to shatter glass.

“No,” he said finally, his voice low and hard, like he could shut me down with one word. “She died. She’s gone just like the rest of them.”

I raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. The silence between us stretched, thick with everything Ragnar wasn’t saying. I knew that look—the one he wore when the truth was too heavy to say out loud. He was in denial.

“You know, for someone who’s been real vocal about going home this whole time, you’re acting real funny all of a sudden. Picking fights. Snapping at me every five minutes. Torturing these sad sacks until they pass out. Should I go on, or are you going to share your thoughts with the class?”

Still nothing. Just the sound of his boots scraping against the stone as he dragged the body, jaw clenched like it was the only thing keeping him from exploding.

I tilted my head, studying him like he was the one bound in chains, then it dawned on me. The tension. The silences. The fire.

“You think it might be her,” I said quietly. Even saying it out loud felt wrong, like it might make it real.

Ragnar’s glare snapped to me, molten heat flickering behind his eyes. “Eve is nothing like her.”

“Oh really? Because you’ve been acting weird from the moment she showed up, and now we have proof that the daema are hunting for someone of great magic. I thought you didn’t believe in coincidences?”

He continued as though he hadn’t heard me, but I knew the question would be eating at him.

“Ragnar,” I pressed, following behind him as he dragged the body towards the pile of corpses we still had to burn. “Do you seriously think this has nothing to do with her?”

He froze, his hands tightening on the chains. “No,” he said, too quickly, too forcefully.

“Really?” I shot back, the pieces clicking into place faster than I could voice them. “You’ve been arguing nonstop that she’s hiding something. But maybe she’s as in the dark as we are. She might not even know she’s from Titan.”

That got his attention. Ragnar turned to face me, his eyes narrowing with a storm of doubt and something darker—anger, maybe, or fear.

“Think about it,” I said, holding his gaze. “The timelines match. The Divide was sealed twenty-five years ago, right around the time Eve was born. It’s not a stretch to think she—or her family—might’ve been involved in the exodus.”

“You’re reaching,” Ragnar growled, his voice sharp and dangerous.

“Am I?” I challenged, stepping closer. “Titans living a nomadic life on Earth isn’t uncommon. It might sound like a stretch, but that doesn’t mean she’s not connected. You said it yourself, someone had to start that fire. What if it really was her?”

“Just because I said she was hiding something doesn’t make her a fucking Phoenix! That magic died on Titan.”

“Maybe she doesn’t even know what it is. What if she’s the key to all of this and we’re just missing the bigger picture?” I tilted my head, daring him to argue. “You heard what that bastard said—they’re hunting her.”

Ragnar’s lips pressed into a thin line, his silence louder than any argument he could’ve thrown back at me.

We worked in an uneasy quiet after that.

I twisted the ring on my pinky as I worked, its weight a familiar comfort.

My thoughts drifted to Columba and the fire she’d carried, the gift she’d left us when the gates had closed for the last time.

The matching rings she’d crafted for me and my brothers weren’t just tokens—they were a reminder of what we’d lost. We hadn’t seen another Phoenix since her, not on Titan and certainly not here.

But what if there truly was another?

The idea struck like a lightning bolt. If another Phoenix existed, their power could reopen the gates.

They could take us home.

The thought was staggering, dangerous. We still didn’t know the true extent of the Phoenix fire, but we knew that power had come at a cost. We’d watched Columba burn for that gift. If Eve really was the next Phoenix… what would it take from her?

I glanced at Ragnar, who was cleaning up the last of the mess with methodical precision. His jaw was tight, his movements mechanical, but I knew him well enough to recognize the turmoil brewing beneath the surface. He was grappling with the same doubts—the same fears.

By the time we finished burning the bodies, Ragnar hadn’t said a word, his heavy footsteps echoing in his wake.

I stayed behind, leaning against the crumbling outer wall, my thoughts a whirlwind of possibilities and dangers. I wanted to tell Eve. I wanted to lay everything out in front of her—the demon’s warning, my suspicions, the threads we’d started to unravel.

But I couldn’t. Not yet. Not until it was undeniable.

The thought of her panicking, of watching the trust in her eyes crumble, stopped me in my tracks. I’d promised her I’d tell her if I found something, but what if this was nothing? What if I was wrong? I couldn’t put her through that—not until I was sure.

The guilt gnawed at me as I stepped off the sidewalk and set off towards the truck.

I’d promised her the truth.

But I didn’t say when.