Page 84 of Reverence

Asher Braun

Stephanie Leeds

There were only a handful of people I had ever trusted with my life.

Most of them were dead.

Brutally murdered in enemy territory while I fought for my own survival—before I was captured, abducted, and tortured.

If these people refused to end their manhunt for me, then I would make certain they experienced exactly what I had endured.

Only tenfold.

I never imagined I would live long enough to watch my own daughter become the very thing I hated most.

She had her mother’s face, but everything else was unmistakably mine—my intensity, my stubbornness, my ambition.

And ambition had a way of getting people killed when they weren’t careful.

I had never been afraid to get blood on my hands.

Not even when the blood belonged to my own flesh and blood.

There was a saying I used to tell my comrades:

Todo el mundo es un villano para alguien. Solo depende de qué lado de la línea estés.

Everyone is a villain to someone. It just depends on which side of the line you’re standing on.

Twenty Seven

Amala

Chamomile tea always calmed me down, and God knew I needed it.

My heart was still hammering against my ribcage after what had happened between us only minutes ago.

I exhaled slowly, lifting the cup to my lips and took a cautious sip. I held it between both hands, my feet planted firmly on the footrest of the barstool.

My eyes wandered from the kitchen toward the living room. Ares’ house had shocked me to my core.

The décor was minimalist yet sleek, everything neat, tidy, and deliberately placed.

During my last visit, I hadn’t paid much attention to my surroundings, but now, with sunlight filtering through the blinds and nothing but silence accompanying me, my eyes had the freedom to wander.

The color scheme was predominantly black and grey, broken only by stainless-steel appliances and the occasional pop of red.

My gaze drifted toward the coffee table, where magazines and loose papers had been stacked neatly beside a lone candle.

That’s when I noticed something slightly out of place.

A manila folder.

Tucked beneath the stack of papers, almost as though it had been deliberately hidden.

My brows furrowed, I set my cup on the countertop then hopped off the stool and moved closer.

We weren’t allowed to take case files from the Bureau and this certainly looked like a case file.