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Hadria shoves the doors wide open and reaches behind her for Aurora’s hand. Aurora, who has been completely silent since telling me off downstairs, brushes by me to take her fiancée’s hand, but she gives me a cold look worthy of Hades herself.
Lyssa’s grip tightens on my own hand as she leans in, her lips a hair’s breadth from my ear. “Keep your mouth shut and let me do the talking.”
I give a tiny nod, letting her pull me into the room beyond. This must be the fabled “war room,” though it’s much more understated than I expected, especially compared to the rest of this place. Granted, it’s clearly still under renovation of sorts, the air thick with the scent of fresh wood lacquer and the faint traces of sawdust.
A long table dominates the center of the space, flanked by rows of high-backed chairs. And at its head rests a single, enormous chair that wouldn’t look out of place in a throne room.
Someone around here has a well-developed flair for the dramatic.
Hadria heads straight for that throne, of course, and Aurora takes the seat next to her left hand.
My gaze instinctively tracks to the vacant chair immediately to its right, which remains empty even as the rest of the Syndicate flows in around Lyssa and me. I bet that’s where Lyssa usually sits, there at Hadria’s right hand, ready to enforce the will of Hades.
But Lyssa doesn’t move from my side, standing tall and firm beside me at the foot of the table. I wish I could borrow just an ounce of that unshakable confidence right about now.
The last of the Syndicate members onsite have come in, and someone closes those big doors so that the muted scuffles and hushed murmurs sound even louder in what I think must be a soundproofed space. Some take seats while others cluster behind, standing in loose knots, staring at Lyssa with undisguised curiosity.
They must be the new recruits, I realize. They haven’t yet earned their places at the table.
Hadria doesn’t keep the group in suspense for long. She stands up and the murmurs die at once. “This...” Her tone drips with cold disdain as one long finger extends in my direction. “Is the assassin who took the lives of Eddie Torres, Bulldog Brassi, and Yuri Petrov. The same wretch Lyssa claimed to have eliminated with her own hands.”
A low rumble of outrage ripples through the room at her words. Faces contort with anger as the Syndicate takes in the implications.
“I’ll fucking kill her myself!” someone mutters, and that starts everyone off. Death threats, profanities, and accusations hurl through the air toward me until it feels like a matter of seconds before they tear me apart with their bare hands.
Then, cutting through the noise, Lyssa speaks. “Scarlett is under my protection. Anyone who moves against her will answer to me.” A hush falls again as shock and thinly-veiled fear cross faces, flash in eyes.
I’m under her protection?
Something warms inside me, something aside from the rage and the hatred that Grandmother liked to stoke. Something…nice.
But then Hadria speaks again. “So you admit to deceiving us? To sheltering this assassin after she slaughtered our people?”
I don’t think Lyssa’s blood pressure has even risen, she’s so calm. “I do.”
“And now you expect to be forgiven for your betrayal?”
This is probably my only chance. If I have any hope of salvaging some sliver of redemption, I have to seize it. And I don’t want Lyssa taking the blame for the things I’ve done.
Ignoring Lyssa’s furious glare, I let go of her hand and take a step forward. “Lyssa has done nothing compared to me. And I know I can’t ask for your forgiveness. What I did was…unforgivable.” A tremor races through me as I force myself to meet their scowls one by one. These people—my victims’ brothers and sisters in arms. What right do I have to beg for mercy from them?
But what else can I do?
“If I could go back, if I could undo the damage I’ve caused, I would. In a heartbeat. But please don’t blame Lyssa for what I’ve done. She—she really did mean to kill me, if that helps…”
I trail off.
I don’t think it does help. Hadria doesn’t even deign to respond, merely fixes me with a look that makes my insides curdle. I’m pretty sure the next words out of her mouth are going to be my death sentence.
But it’s Lyssa’s clear voice that sounds next. “We killed the wrong man.” She takes a step to be there beside me, and one more, to be in front of me. Shielding me. “For Mrs. G,” she clarifies. “And for Sarah. We killed him, Hades, even though he wasn’t guilty.”
“He was guilty,” Hadria says frostily. “If not of Sarah Graves’ murder, then?—”
“But that’s why we killed him,” Lyssa insists. “And I know it doesn’t sit right with you. Because it doesn’t sit right with me, either. And how are we any better than Scarlett, here, if that’s what we did?”
Hadria remains silent as she slowly shifts her scrutiny from Lyssa to me, then back again. “And what would you have me do, Wolf? I can’t change the past. But I won’t let someone who’s killed our own walk free.”
There’s a murmur of agreement around the room, but Lyssa doesn’t flinch. She just leans into that icy glare with her own flinty resolve. “Right now, Hades, I don’t care what you do. I’m leaving to hunt down Grandmother, as ordered. And I’m taking Scarlett with me to do it. I’m going to finish what you sent me to do from the start—and then after that, we can figure out the rest of this mess. Scarlett is not the priority right now. Grandmother is.” She takes a step backward. “Scarlett. Come with me.”
