Page 104 of Vows of Ruin

She goes still. The shift is subtle but absolute, her posture turning rigid, her expression flattening into that quiet, lethal focus that makes even the bravest men hesitate.

“Where is he?”

“Wren—” Max starts, but she cuts him off.

“Where. Is. He?”

We share a look, the same one we shared when she wanted to finish Tiffany. The same unspoken fear. Not that she can’t handle it. That she’ll handle it too well. That she’ll become the thing she’s trying not to be.

Torque clears his throat, unable to take the silence. “He’s in the war room. With Riot.”

I close my eyes for half a second. “Jesus, Torque.”

He only shrugs.

Wrenley doesn’t wait. She pushes past him, shoulder checking Elias on her way to the hall. Her bare feet slap against the floor, her hair swinging with each step.

“Wrenley,” I call, following. “Little warrior, wait—”

She spins, with fire in her eyes. “NO!”

The sound cracks through the hallway, raw and furious.

“This isn’t happening again! You don’t get to protect me from this, Liam. Not this. He is one of us. Or was one of us. He’s the reason Sebastian’s inside our walls, and I’m not going to sit here and let someone else clean up that mess. I will get the answers we need.”

“Sparrow—” Max’s voice softens, pleading. “You don’t need to carry it.”

She turns on him, shaking her head. “I’ve carried worse. I shot my own mother. In case anyone here forgot.”

There’s no more argument after that. She turns and stalks down the hallway, every step a promise. Max and I share a look, but I already know how this ends. There’s no stopping her once she decides something belongs to her, not vengeance, not truth, not even pain.

I mutter under my breath to Max. “Think this will break her?”

“No,” he says quietly, already following her. “It’ll just remind her and us that she’s never needed saving.”

The sound of the war room door slamming open hits like thunder. We walk into it right behind her. Noah sits in the metal chair at the center of the room, wrists zip-tied, a strip of blood cutting through his eyebrow. The energy shifts the second he locks eyes with her.

The war room starts to feel smaller as everyone files in. Too many people, too much heat, not enough air. Riot stands off to his right, arms folded, eyes flat and watchful. Torque leans against the wall, pretending to be calm. Nobody is fooled. Everyone else takes up spots behind Wrenley, watching and waiting for what she does next.

Wrenley doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t even look at me or Max. She just walks across the room, the soft drag of the chair legs screeching against the floor as she pulls one forward and drops into it, right in front of him. The scrape echoes like a blade drawn from its sheath. She sits there for a beat, elbows on her knees, eyes on Noah. Not speaking. Just looking.

Max and I move almost in sync, stepping forward until we’re a single line behind her, flanking her chair like shadows. Neither of us says a word.

Noah lifts his head. His gaze sweeps the room, Riot, Torque, Wrecker, Elias, Margot, before settling on the two of us. I can see the flicker of nerves when he realizes just how close we are. Then his eyes find Wrenley’s.

Everything else falls away. She doesn’t blink. Doesn’t breathe. Just studies him like she’s dissecting the lie beneath his skin. He tries for arrogance, but it dies halfway to his mouth. There’s something hollow behind his eyes now. Anger curdled into regret, resentment twisted into fear.

The silence stretches, heavy and unbearable. Hugo sits near the door, head on his paws, tail flicking once. Even he’s waiting. Wrenley leans back slightly in the chair, tilting her head just enough to break the stillness. Though she hasn’t spoken yet, the message is clear.

You start talking, or I start breaking things.

The air vibrates with it, that quiet, lethal promise only she can make sound like poetry. Beside me, Max doesn’t move. He’s watching her the same way I am, not with fear, but with something darker. Pride. Awe. The kind of reverence reserved for things too wild to cage.

Because she’s not soft. Not something that needs saving. She’s the storm we built, the blade we sharpened without meaning to. I’ll be damned if we ever stop her.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Wrenley