Page 117 of Vows of Ruin

Margot shrugs like that kind of confession doesn’t hit her straight in the chest. “It’s mutual, bitch.”

We both laugh at that, soft, tired, but honest. She reaches over and takes the magazine out of my hand, setting it aside. “Enough pretending to be busy?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Then what do we do?”

She leans her head against mine. “Whatever comes next,” she says. “Together.”

The door creaks open behind us, we both turn. Reaper stands in the doorway. Not looking panicked. Not angry. But something in his eyes is different. Focused. Determined. Like he’s already made a choice he doesn’t plan to tell me about.

Margot and I exchange a look, the kind only best friends can translate in an instant. This is it. Something’s shifted.

Reaper stands in the doorway like he’s been there long enough to hear us, but not long enough to interrupt. His eyes move between us, two women sitting on the floor with weapons scattered around like toys, and something softens in his face.

Not tension. Not suspicion. Warmth. “Milkshakes in the hammock?” he asks, voice low, almost shy beneath the gravel.

Margot snorts. I giggle. “Did you even have to ask that?” I grin.

His smile comes slow, real and deep, the kind that lights up the scar on his cheek and puts a crack in every wall he ever built.

“I’ll make them,” he says. “Meet you out there.”

He turns and disappears down the hall, steps quiet, shoulders relaxed. The air he leaves behind smells like him, smoke, winter and leather, the kind of safety that kills anything trying to hurt me. It lingers, warm and sharp at once, sinking into my lungs in a way that steadies me.

I watch until he’s completely gone. Margot nudges me with her shoulder again. “He is madly in love with you.” She pauses. “They both are.”

I roll my eyes, but it’s useless, my smile betrays me. I stand and offer her a hand. She takes it, letting me pull her to her feet. She brushes dust off her knees, then glances toward the doorway where Reaper vanished.

“Wrenley,” she says, tone softer than usual, “You know how lucky you are to be loved like that, right? By two men who would pull the sun from the sky just to keep you warm?”

I swallow. Look back at the empty doorway. At the echo of Liam’s smile. At the thought of Max teasing me on the porch about milkshakes while the blender runs.

“Yeah,” I whisper, throat tight. “I know.”

Margot lifts her chin, smug and fierce. “Well, so am I.”

I blink. “What?”

She jerks her thumb toward the door. “Riot. Elias. Do you think either of them are here because they enjoy Wrecker’s playlist?”

I laugh, real, loud, too bright for an armory.

Margot steps toward the door, pausing just long enough to toss over her shoulder. “Go get your milkshake, queen of chaos, I’ve got boys to annoy.” She winks and disappears down the hall, leaving me smiling at the empty doorway.

I head toward the garden, to Liam, the hammock, to the only place that feels like home now.

The sun is high enough now that the garden looks washed in gold. The oak tree stands exactly where it always has, solid, patient, older than any of us. The hammock sways gently beneath it, the breeze brushing through it like a whispered invitation.

I’m standing there, just watching it, when footsteps crunch across the grass behind me. “I thought you’d already be in that thing,” Liam says.

His voice is warm, that low rumble that settles straight into my bones and makes the world feel a little less sharp.

I turn, giggling. “Last time I got in first, we both almost ended up on the ground.”

The corner of his mouth pulls up an actual laugh slipping out of him, quiet and rough around the edges. “Yeah,” he says. “We did.”

He holds out two milkshakes, frosty plastic cups with tall straws and just enough whipped cream on top to be sinful.

I take both from him carefully. “You get in first.”