Page 121 of Vows of Ruin

“And I made you a promise. ‘Always.’ I meant it. I meant it when I said it the first time, and I mean it now. But sometimes… sometimes the only way to keep a promise is to break it. Sometimes protecting the people you love means walking away before the world rips them apart to try to reach them. I know you don’t want to hear that. I know you’re probably furious. But I need you to understand something, this is how I protect you. This is how I protect all of you. By going after the monster that’s coming for us all, before he ever has the chance to touch what’s mine.”

I lean closer to the camera, voice barely above a whisper now.

“And you… Wrenley Hayes-Blackwood… you were the best thing in my entire life. The best thing I ever touched. The best thing I have ever held. The best thing I have ever loved. If I don’t come home, it won’t be because I didn’t try. It won’t be because I didn’t fight hard enough. It’ll be because I traded my life for yours, and I would do it again without hesitation.”

My breath comes out unevenly. The song reaches the softest, most aching part.

“I will love you for the rest of my life,” I say, voice breaking on the words, but I don’t allow it to stop me. “And after. And after that. And every version of the world where I get to find you again.”

My eyes close, and I can’t stop the tear that rolls hot down my cheek.

“And I will find you again. In this life or the next.”

I reach out and turn off the camera. The song plays for three more seconds before the room goes quiet.

The war room feels too quiet now. The video file glows faintly on the monitor. Max’s folded note lies beside it. Hugo sits at my feet, ears pinned back, tail unmoving, sensing more than any human ever could.

I pull my shirt over my head and lift the blade. My skin prickles. I’ve done far worse things to far worse people. But somehow, cutting this piece of metal out of my own body feels like betrayal. Not to myself. To her.

The blade dips beneath the skin at the base of my neck, cold and sharp. I grit my teeth as I work the small tracker free, a sting, a burn, a brief flash of white behind my eyes, then it’s out.

A bead of blood rolls down my spine. I set the tracker on the war room table next to Max’s note. Hugo whines. “I know,” I say quietly, wiping the blade clean. “She’s not going to like that either.” He rests his chin on my boot.

I pack the gear with practiced efficiency, the weapons she hates me using, the one she thinks I keep locked away, a few tools, a burner phone, exactly enough ammo to do what needs to be done, and no more.

No overkill. No margin for hesitation. Hugo watches every movement. When I sling the bag over my shoulder and reach for my jacket, he stands abruptly, tail stiff, pacing. He knows. He always knows.

We make it halfway down the hall before he tries to walk in front of me, blocking the path to the front door. “Hugo,” I whisper. “Move.”

He shakes his head. The damn dog shakes his head. My chest cracks. I kneel in front of him, taking his face in both my hands. His fur is soft, warmer than usual, like he’s heated himself trying to stay between me and whatever I’m walking into.

“I know you love her as much as I do,” I murmur, forehead pressed to his. “You stick close to her. You hear me?”

His ears twitch like he’s arguing. I kiss the top of his head, letting my lips stay there a beat too long. “Stay quiet,” I whisper against his fur. “Don’t wake them up yet.”

He huffs, a sharp, frustrated, heartbroken sound, and sits down, perfectly still, like he’s obeying something that’s tearing him apart to follow. I stand walking to the front door. I open it slowly, carefully, the hinges barely whispering.

The house is dark behind me. Breathing. Alive. The only home I’ve ever known. I step outside and close the door softly, the latch clicking like a goodbye. The air is cold. Halfway down the steps, I stop. I don’t want to turn around. I don’t want to look. But I do.

I look at the mansion, the windows still lit from Daisy being awake earlier, the faint glow from the hallway lights, the shadows in the upper rooms where Max and Wrenley sleep, tangled together.

My throat burns. “I’m sorry,” I whisper again into the night. I walk to the garage. My bike sits waiting, dark and silent. I roll it out by hand, slow, steady, careful, the wheels whispering against the concrete. The engine stays dead until I reach the gate at the end of the long, winding driveway.

Only then do I swing a leg over it. Only then do I allow myself one more look over my shoulder at the mansion that holds my whole goddamn world. Then I fire the engine, quietly as possible, but still loud enough that it echoes through the trees. I ride into the dark. Alone.

Chapter Forty-Five

Wrenley

The house feels too quiet. Not peaceful. Not sleepy. Empty. I pad barefoot down the stairs, one hand on the railing, Liam’s shirt hanging loose off my shoulder. The wood is cold under my feet, the kind of cold that raises tiny bumps along my arms.

“Liam?” I call softly, half-expecting him to answer from the kitchen. Nothing. In the kitchen, the lights are off. The counters are untouched. The coffee machine sits dark and silent. No mug. No spoon. No half-filled pot left for everyone else. He always starts the coffee. Always. My stomach sinks.

“Liam?” I say again, louder this time. Still nothing. When I step into the foyer, Hugo is there, stretched out on the rug, head on his paws, eyes fixed on the door with intensity that twists something in my chest.

“Hugo?” My voice sounds small. He lifts his head slowly and looks at me… then looks back at the door, and whines. Not a soft sound. Not a greeting. A mourning. My breath stalls.

“What’s wrong, boy?” I kneel beside him and run my hand over his head. His ears flick back, his body tense under my palm. He looks at the door again and whines once more, louder. It feels like a warning.