The latest discoveries, the truths dragged into the light, have forced my timeline forward. What I thought I had months to enact; I now have only days, weeks at the most. Every second wasted is another chance for them to strike again, another chance for me to lose the few people I have left. No, this isn’t about patience anymore. This is about immediate action.
Tonight, the clock resets.
Tonight, the killing begins.
Chapter Three
Emerson
The air is gone, ripped clean out of our lungs. Rage only burns so long before it sputters out, leaving behind smoke and ash. You can scream, swing, bleed against your best friends until your body gives, but when the dust settles, you’re forced to see the truth—you’ve been fighting the wrong enemy. And that video… that fucking video shoved every jagged piece of the puzzle into place, whether we were ready for it or not. What happened to Berk. To Reign. Proof that Reign didn’t take her own life, that she didn’t just… break. Our fathers killed her. They hurt them both. And worse—they set her up to carry their sins after death.
A low grunt escapes me as I slide down the wall, my knees buckling, the weight of it all slamming into me harder than any fist ever could. My palms scrape the floor as I catch myself, but the sting doesn’t register. All I can feel are the realizations colliding in my skull, each one sharper than the last. They hurt the girls; destroyed them. Probably killed Reign outright. They killed Berk’s dad to cover their tracks. They tried to kill Berk. Then Ronan became the target. After him, it’ll be us.
The chain reaction fires through me, memory after memory flashing, each link connecting with cruel precision until it pins me to the ground, leaving me gasping like I’ve been gutted. My stomach turns, bile clawing up my throat again, because there’s no escapingit now. Our fathers—my father—aren’t just corrupt men with dirty hands. They’re monsters. Murderers. And every drop of blood spilled lies at their feet.
I bury my face in my hands, fingers digging into my skull like I could claw the thoughts out, but it’s useless. The truth is branded into me, searing hot, permanent. And the part that cuts the deepest? I let it happen. I spent years looking the other way, pretending the world we were born into wasn’t rotting from the inside out. Now the rot is here, choking us, and I don’t know if we’ll ever scrape it off.
We’ve been silent since Ronan threw it in our faces that we’d never be good enough for Berk again. The part we can’t outrun. He’s right. Dead fucking right. The truth of it sits heavy on my chest, sharp enough to slice through bone, and for once I don’t bother fighting it. Instead, I let the weight of it drag me down where I belong. The first step in making anything right is admitting where you went wrong, and lord knows we’ve got plenty to own.
“You’re right, you know,” I finally say, my voice rough, quiet. The words scrape like gravel up my throat, and I can’t look at either of them when I say it. My gaze fixes on the floor instead, on the cracks in the wood, anywhere but their eyes. “I should’ve had more faith. Not just in my gut that told me our dads’ story didn’t add up, but in you.” The confession tastes bitter, years of stubborn pride burning on the way out.
When I force myself to lift my head, I meet Ronan’s eyes and hold them. He deserves to see I mean this, every fucking word. “You’ve always seen the patterns the rest of us miss. Have alwaysbeen able to find the path in the dark. And the one time it mattered, I chose to ignore it. I let my anger blind me. I was hurting, pissed off, feeling like I’d been betrayed. Acting like some stupid fucking kid who thought the world revolved around the fact the girl he loved didn’t choose him.” My chest tightens, and I swallow hard, forcing the truth out. “But the real betrayal? Was me. Because I didn’t just doubt you. I doubted her. Berk. I didn’t have faith in her either. And that…” My voice breaks, a choked sob clawing its way up my throat before I crush it down. I don’t get to cry about this now. I don’t deserve to.
The fight sparks back to life in my bones, raw and relentless, and I drag my gaze between both of them, locking eyes with my brothers like a vow. “If it’s the last fucking thing I do, I’ll make this right. I’ll make it up to you. To Reign. But most of all, to Berk. Because, fuck, I miss her. I miss her so much it feels like my ribs are breaking apart just breathing without her. I don’t care if she never forgives me. I’ll still spend the rest of my life trying to earn the chance. I’ll do whatever it takes, even if it kills me.” The words leave me raw, stripped bare in a way I haven’t been in years, but it’s the truth. The only truth I’ve got left.
“Same,” Rowan breathes, the word so quiet it’s nearly swallowed by the silence in the room. His voice is rough, raw, like every syllable scrapes against his throat before it makes it out. When he finally lifts his head, his eyes lock with ours, and the sight guts me. His gaze is rimmed in red, the shadows beneath them carved deep, hollowed out by nightmares he’ll carry for the rest of his life. There’s no escaping that kind of torment, not even if Berk were toforgive him—which, God willing, she might one day. But Rowan? He’ll never forgive himself. I can see it written across his face, etched into every line of his body.
And the truth eats me alive. Because I let him do it. Worse—I encouraged him. I stood by and told my best friend to use the skills he honed in the dark, skills no one should have ever had to learn, to dig for answers we were too ignorant, too fucking arrogant, to think we could handle. We were so sure the truth was just out of reach, so sure we could take whatever came with it. And now? That burden is crushing him, poisoning him, and it’s my fault for putting the weight in his hands.
Rowan straightens, his shoulders squaring, a violent edge cutting through the broken guilt clouding his expression. His voice hardens as he looks between us, steel replacing ash. “I don’t care what it takes,” he says, and it’s not a statement—it’s a vow. “I’ll protect her. I’ll tear apart every man, both our fathers, every goddamn monster that laid a hand on her or stood by while it happened. They’ll beg for mercy before I’m done, and I’ll burn this entire empire to the ground if that’s what it takes to make sure she never feels that helpless again.” His hands tremble, but his jaw is locked tight, eyes burning with a promise only death could break.
In that moment, I see it clearly: his self-hatred, his guilt, his vow. He may never forgive himself, but he’ll turn that punishment outward, carve his redemption from the flesh of the men who ruined us all. And I know without question, he’ll keep that vow until his dying breath.
Ronan whoops, the sound sharp and ragged, but laced with a fire that feels like it could ignite the whole damn house. “It’s about fucking time you two pulled your heads out of your asses,” he barks, pointing a bloodied finger at both of us. His eyes are wild, furious, alive in a way that makes my chest tighten. “Don’t get me wrong—I’m still pissed as fuck at the both of you. I haven’t forgiven a damn thing yet. Not even close. But…” His lip curls into something feral, almost a grin. “I know your hearts are in the right place now. And I’ll use it. Every fucking ounce of it.”
He takes a step toward the door, limping slightly but refusing to let it show. “Emerson,” he snaps, jerking his chin toward me, “patch me up. Pump me full of whatever shit you’ve got. Then we burn this motherfucker to the ground.” The way he says it isn’t just a threat—it’s a promise written in blood. Without waiting for us to respond, he turns on his heel and stalks down the hallway, the heavy tread echoing like a war drum as he makes his way to his clinic of a room.
Rowan and I exchange a look that needs no words and carries more than either of us is ready to say. His eyes mirror my own—equal parts fear, determination, and the grim acknowledgment that there’s no stopping this now. Ronan isn’t just angry. He’s on a murder mission. A calculated, burning path of vengeance that won’t end until every last one of those bastards who ruined us is buried six feet under.
If I’d had any doubts before about the downfall of our fathers, about how this would all play out, those doubts are gone now. The path is clear, carved sharp and straight through fire andblood. This doesn’t end in survival or compromise. It ends with bodies. It ends with them dead. Slowly. Painfully. One by one.
Well, I guess that’s it then. The final nail in the coffin. I let out a breath and shrug, though there’s nothing casual about it. “There’s no way in hell we can move slow anymore,” I mutter, my voice low, more to myself than to Rowan. “We need to find Berk and start working together, because if we don’t, we’re finished before this even starts. Patching things up would be great—hell, it’d be the dream—but,” the lump rising in my throat chokes me, splintering the words. I swallow it down hard, grinding the weakness into dust, and force steel into my voice. “Don’t expect that from either of them anytime soon.”
Rowan doesn’t respond. He just sits there, eyes vacant, staring into the wreckage of the room like he’s seeing ghosts. His shoulders sag under the weight of what he’s lost—and what he’s responsible for. My chest tightens because I know this room. I know it too well. Reign’s room. Their triplet bond woven into every thread of fabric, every photo on the walls. Rowan hasn’t set foot in this room for years. Not once. Until tonight. And now he’s drowning in it.
I rake a hand through my hair, the strands tugging roughly between my fingers, trying to drag myself back from the spiral. “Get your shit together while I patch your brother up,” I tell him, my voice harsher than I mean, but necessary. “We’ve got a long road ahead of us, and this is just the beginning.” He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even blink. Just stares off into space, as if moving might shatter him completely.
I leave him there, my boots heavy against the floor as I make my way down the hall. Each step is an effort, my chest rising and falling with the steady rhythm of breaths I force myself to take. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Keep it together, Emerson. One foot in front of the other.
Rounding the corner, I find Ronan in his room, already halfway into a pair of jeans. He’s moving stiffly, but the bastard still carries himself with a reckless swagger that only he could pull off after nearly bleeding out. He glances over his shoulder at me, and the grin that flashes across his face is equal parts crazy and alive, lit with an excitement that borders on feral.
“I tore a couple of stitches punching Ro,” he says, almost bragging, like it’s something to be proud of. The smile he gives me is sharp, pleased with himself, as if spilling more of his own blood is nothing but fuel for the fire burning in his chest. He tugs the jeans into place and smirks wider. “Fix me up, Em. I’ve got a long night ahead of me after we finish here.”
“Fine,” I snap, sharper than I intend, but my patience is hanging by a thread. My hands ache to be doing something useful, to channel all this restless fury into something I can control. I point toward the mattress, my tone leaving no room for argument. “Sit your ass down on the bed and let me get this done.”
Ronan smirks like it’s a joke, like bleeding all over the place is just another game, but I don’t budge. My jaw locks, my arms cross, waiting. The sting of disinfectant, the tug of a needle, the tight pull of new stitches—this is the kind of pain I can manage for him. The rest—the betrayal, the guilt, the storm of everything we’veuncovered—none of that I can fix. But I can keep him on his feet. I can make sure he lives long enough to take his pound of flesh from the bastards who put us here.
I glare at him, steady and unflinching, until he finally drops the grin and lowers himself onto the edge of the bed with a grunt. It’s not surrender—it’s Ronan, after all—but it’s the closest thing I’m going to get. And for now, it’s enough.