로그인EMBER'S POV
The path is narrow, tucked away from the main flow of guests, designed for staff to move unseen.My heart races from the dance floor, from the decision I've made to leave with him, from the understanding that I'm walking toward something I don't fully comprehend.He opens a door. I step through.And forget how to breathe.The observatory is a glass-domed room at the top of one of the resort's towers. The ceiling is entirely transpaKNOX’S POVNathaniel takes the corners so fast the tyres scream against the ice, and I don’t tell him to slow down because I can feel her.Without pictures or words, I feel her through the unnamed connection living between us. It’s a proto-bond, an immature thread that usually hums when she’s close and goes quiet when she’s safe.Right now, it is doing neither.Right now, it’s a siren inside my chest, a frequency of wrongness that gets louder with every mile, and my hands are shaking against my thighs.“Faster,” I say.The engine screams as we violently weave through traffic, pulling manoeuvres that would earn us a century’s worth of tickets.The first thing to appear is a black car. A sick feeling guts me the second I see it, because I know damn well it isn’t Ember.Then the crossbow bolts embedded in the trees lining the driveway are next, and my blood goes cold because I know those bolts.I know the fletching, and I know the broadheads, and I know the man who favours this particula
EMBER’S POVI’m fighting so hard against the men holding me that my shoulders feel like they’re going to dislocate.I reach through to Sapphire with every ounce of willpower I have, I scream, and I thrash, but there is no release of the power we had at the Bacchanal. There is no release of strength or divine fury, or a miracle.All there is the ugly stench of death.I can see down the hallway into the storage room — Maurice on the floor, chest wound bleeding, his eyes open and blinking.Gale slumped against the pipe, still, with two holes in his chest. Harrison is standing between them with blood running down his arm from where Maurice’s knife is still embedded.He looks at what he’s done. His son’s body. The blood. The man gasping on the concrete beside him.He looks up the hallway, and his eyes find mine, and what I see in them is not triumph or righteousness or the cold satisfaction of a mission completed.What I see is a man who just murdered his own child and is feeling the full,
EMBER’S POVI can see everything from where I’m pinned in the kitchen. The hallway is short — bathroom, bedroom, storage room at the end, the door hanging open.Maurice is inside the room. I can see his back, his body positioned between the doorway and where Gale is chained, and in his hand is a kitchen knife that he grabbed from the drawer on his way through.His hands are shaking so badly that the blade is catching the light in irregular flashes.Harrison reaches the doorway and stops. He looks past Maurice at Gale, who is pressed against the wall as far as his chains will allow, wild-eyed, tear-streaked, the pathetic desperation of a man who has just realised his father didn’t come here to rescue him.“There you are.” Harrison’s voice carries down the hallway to where I’m pinned, and the sound of it is the worst thing I have ever heard because it’s CALM. Conversational, almost. Like he’s greeting his son at a holiday dinner and not standing in a doorway with a loaded gun. “Look at y
EMBER’S POVMaurice is already on his feet and heading down the hallway toward the storage room, pulling the key from his pocket as he goes.I hear the padlock rattle, hear him wrenching the door open, hear Gale’s panicked voice — “What the fuck is happening? What’s going on out there?” — and Maurice telling him to shut up and hold still while he works on the chains.I press myself against the wall beside the front door, heart slamming, counting. Fifteen. That’s what Maurice said. Fifteen seconds before the next volley.Twelve. Eleven. Ten.From the back of the house, the screen door creaks. Queenie is making her move.The car is only twenty feet from the steps.The plan is simple: Reach the glovebox. Get the gun. Take the shot. We can survive this.Nine. Eight.Then, the sound. It’s not a car door slamming. It’s a scream — Queenie’s scream — cut short by a heavy, muffled thud.My stomach drops. Of course, Harrison covered the back.Five seconds.Five seconds until the next volley of a
EMBER’S POVNobody moves.The six arrows point at the house, and Harrison stands before them with his one remaining arm raised, and the silence that follows his words is not the kind that invites a response.“Thirty seconds,” Harrison says. “Bring him out, or my men come in.”I back away from the window.My phone is on the kitchen counter where I left it beside the cold tea, and Queenie’s is in her jacket pocket, and Knox is an hour away at minimum doing whatever Knox is doing with Logan.Even if I could reach him right now, he would arrive to a house full of arrows and dead bodies.Calling Knox is not a plan that would work right now. Even by some miracle, we’d all be dead before he arrives.“Everyone away from the windows,” Maurice says, and there’s a quality in his voice I’ve never heard from him before. “When those arrows come, they’ll punch straight through the siding. This place is weathered and old, and I doubt it can do much to protect us against those reinforced arrows.”He g
KNOX’S POVWhatever just happened to Gale — wherever he is, whatever is being done to him right now in a storage room in a shabby house where I put him — Logan FELT it. Through whatever bond they share.My phone buzzes in my jacket. The vibration travels through the silver haze like a distant drum.Logan hears it too.His head snaps toward my pocket with the speed of a predator acquiring a target, and I see the calculation happen behind his wild, bloodied eyes.Faster than thought, faster than language, the rapid-fire processing of a desperate man assembling a plan from broken pieces.His hand moves to his pocket. The remote.“Logan, wait—”He presses it.The silver DETONATES. Every thread in the restraint ignites simultaneously, and my entire nervous system goes dark like a city losing power in a storm.My muscles lock. My legs fold. I hit the concrete floor face-first, and the impact splits my lip, but I barely feel it because the silver is everywhere — in my blood, in my bones, in
EMBER’S POV(PRESENT)We stay tangled together for a long time, neither of us willing to be the first to let go. His hand strokes through my hair.My fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt. The room is quiet except for our breathing and the distant hum of something mechanical — a generator, mayb
KNOX’S POVHe blinks, the picture of innocence. “I’m not sure I understand. I explained the purpose quite clearly at the beginning of the evening. Conflict resolution. Closure. An opportunity for all parties to—”“Bullshit.”The word is deadpan, and I see Logan’s head snap up, see Gale’s sobbing st
EMBER'S POVI'm terrified this will ruin the moment. This fragile, beautiful thing we've built under the Northern Lights.But I'm tired of everyone telling me what to think about Knox. Tired of Gale's poison and Rayana's warnings and rumors whispered behind hands at cocktail receptions.We don't ow
EMBER’S POVI stare down at Knox on his knees, my pulse slamming so hard I can feel it between my legs. He's grinning up at me like a wolf who's already tasted blood, gold eyes glowing, fangs just barely peeking past his lip.I fold my arms, pretending my thighs aren't already trembling."What do I







