บททั้งหมดของ Three Mates One Betrayal: บทที่ 1 - บทที่ 10

KESSA There’s a rule every prisoner learns on the first night, whether anyone says it aloud or not: the door only opens for people who want something from you. Guards want compliance. Council wants silence. When the door finally screamed open on its ruined hinge at an hour with no name, some small, starved animal part of me was already asking — what do you want, that you’ve come so late to take it? The footsteps weren’t the guard’s. His were heavy, bored, a man who’d stopped caring what he guarded a long time ago. These were fast. Three sets, moving in a rhythm I hadn’t heard in so long I didn’t trust my own ears to have kept it — and my body, still learning the shape of every crack in this ceiling by heart, went rigid before my mind caught up to why. I knew that rhythm in my bones before I placed it in my head. Dorian first — always first, always the one who couldn’t wait for the others to catch up to whatever he’d already decided. The moonlight found his face in the doorway and I

DORIAN I’d told the night clerk I was pulling supply requisitions for the border patrol schedule. It wasn’t a lie so much as a lie’s older, more respectable cousin — technically I did have border patrol business, technically I could justify being here at two in the morning with a key that still worked because nobody had thought to revoke it. In an archive that smelled like dust and old paper, the particular silence of a room nobody visits unless they’re looking for something they’d rather not find, that excuse felt thinner by the minute. I found the imprisonment file where I expected to. Where I’d expected to for longer than I want to admit, and never once made myself come looking. That was the truth I hadn’t said out loud to anyone, not even Ronan, not even Cassian on the nights we drank enough to say things we meant. I could have looked at this file at any point since it was filed. I’d had the access. I’d had the key. I’d had every single night since the sentence was carried out t

Four sets of boots on an old trail, moving slower than any of us wanted to admit. Cassian had said tracking spelled the real trouble — but I think all of us needed the miles more than we needed the caution, needed a body doing something simple while the rest of us tried to hold what the letter had done to the shape of everything.Ronan walked beside me. He’d walked beside me since the cabin, close enough to matter, far enough to leave me room, and I’d let him without deciding what letting him meant.“Tell me something,” I said, when the trail narrowed enough that Dorian and Cassian fell back a few paces ahead of us, close enough to hear a shout, far enough that this could still be private if I wanted it to be. “Something you haven’t told me yet. Something you’ve been holding onto because you think it’ll make me hate you more, not less.”He didn’t answer right away. I watched his jaw work through something before any words made it out.“Why?”

KESSAGrief doesn’t wait for a good moment to arrive. I learned that in a cell where grief had nowhere to go and no one to witness it, and I was learning it again now, walking a service road with my father’s weight between two men who used to be strangers to loss like this and weren’t anymore.I didn’t cry. I want that on record, even now — not because I didn’t feel it, but because crying required a kind of surrender I didn’t have room for yet. There’d be time to fall apart later, assuming later ever arrived. Right now there was a body, and a road, and the specific, narrow kind of attention it takes to put one foot in front of the other when the alternative is collapsing somewhere a killer might still be watching.Dorian walked beside me, close enough that his shoulder found mine every few steps, an anchor he didn’t ask permission to be and I didn’t have it in me to refuse. Ronan and Cassian carried my father between them, careful in a way that made my thr

CASSIANThe cottage had gone quiet enough to think in. Ronan slept restless by the dead fire — the particular sleep of a man who’d carried too much for too many hours. Kessa’s breathing had evened out behind the bedroom door twenty minutes ago, and I’d checked twice to be sure before I let myself sit down at the table with a torn scrap of paper and a pencil stub that still smelled faintly of smoke.I wasn’t going to wait for the pieces to arrange themselves. I was going to arrange them myself.Who knew what, and when.I wrote Dorian’s name first, and under it, one line: the letter, the night before the lodge. Hours of lead time. Not months.Ronan’s name went beneath it. Same night. Same hours. I was fairly certain of that — a long habit of watching people carry secrets teaches you what carrying one looks like on a face, and neither of them had worn that face until Dorian came back from the archive.Malachi’s name I circled instea