“Is that what this is?” I ask. “What you feel?”
He meets my gaze, something unguarded flickering there for half a second.
“Yeah,” he says. “Maybe it is.”
I don’t believe him.
I don’t call him on it either. With men like us, truth comes when it’s ready—or not at all.
“If there’s anything you’re running from,” I say evenly, “or after…you have enough brothers to run with you.”
He snorts, shaking his head. “Konstantin, you have enough problems of your own.”
I smile, slow and sharp. “There’s always room for one more.”
He laughs under his breath, then slaps my shoulder, firm. With his other hand, he turns my face back toward the surveillance feed.
“We’ve got work to do,” he says. “Let’s concentrate.”
The screens glow in front of us—moving pieces, shifting threats.
And just like that, the banter dies.
War mode settles in.
Chapter 17 – Raelyn
The mansion feels too full—of guards, of tension, of Konstantin’s tightening orbit around me. He barely lets me walk from one room to another without a shadow at my back. I understand why. The bullet. The note. Reed’s lies. The revelation that I am no longer being hunted for who my father was, but for what he uncovered.
Still…I need air. And something else: myself.
I push open the balcony doors, letting the sharp evening wind slap against my cheeks. The world outside sways violently—the trees bending and leaves clattering like a restless orchestra. For a moment, it’s loud enough to drown out the pounding of my own heart.
I grip the railing, knuckles white, trying to ground myself. Each gust of wind feels like it’s trying to shake the fear and fury out of me. I close my eyes, let the wind whip through my hair, and for a fraction of a second, I remember what it feels like to just exist.
But then I want more. To actually touch grass. To be outside.
I turn and head to the door. A guard stands there, alert, eyes sharp. I brace myself for resistance. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t speak. He just watches as I step past him. Over two hours have passed since Konstantin left for his meeting with his brother, and he hasn’t returned. I can take a break too.
I slip down the stairs, careful not to make a sound, the guard trailing behind me, silent but steady.
“Where are you going, ma’am?” he asks, voice low, cautious.
“The garden,” I say simply. “Just to breathe.”
He hesitates, eyes flicking toward the open door leading outside. Then, finally, he nods.
I step outside, and the cold air hits me like a wave. My lungs expand, chest rising for the first time in days without the weight of walls pressing down. Grass bends under my shoes, wet and alive. For the first time since Reed’s words and the bullet and the notes, I feel like I’m breathing in a world that belongs to me—even if only for a moment.
The wind tangles in my hair, carries with it the faint scent of earth and life, and I close my eyes, letting it wash over me. Freedom is small. Fragile. But I like how it feels.
When I open my eyes, I see a familiar figure walking toward me from the gate, guards fanning out behind her like shadows. For a second, my brain refuses to catch up. Then my heart slams into my ribs.
“Ellie!” I scream.
“Ray!” she yells back, already breaking into a run.
Ellie Carver. My best friend. My anchor from before all of this—before bullets and lies and Konstantin’s dangerous gravity, before grief hollowed me out and rage took its place.