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I didn’t feel the heat at first. Orange and yellow reflected off the boat’s burning, pristine white paint. The floor beneath us splintered. Water forced its way up. The explosion ripped the hull in half. I tried to move, but Dad was on top of me, covered by an enormous piece of the collapsed roof.

That marked my final moment, my last words with my father. He was bleeding out from the gunshot wounds, but it was too slow. The fire was faster. He begged me to kill him as the fire burned his body, telling me to wrap my hands around his neck and make it stop.

So I did.

But then I was left behind.

Who would end it for me?

I was stuck, unable to move. The water rushed in. I knew if I could wait until we sank, I might be able to get free. Water soaked my legs and back, but the fire was at my side. I could see the fuel’s shiny reflection in it, as a black pearl streaked with orange and purple. Once the water reached my chin, the boat shifted, taking on too much water. The slipping ceiling above Dad dragged him halfway under and crushed him. He seemed minuscule, like an ant dwarfed by a giant’s stride. Ironically, I felt like the ant—dad the giant—my whole life. He was so strong, so calm, so mighty. Yet nothing more than bullets, fire, and the boat’s ceiling destroyed him.

Deeper into the oil-slicked water his body sank. I watched as it ate at him, pulling back flesh, revealing the truth. He was a man after all—bone, tissue, ligament, and then nothing.

Boom. A second explosion. Freedom.

Or was it?

The icy water burned more than the flames. That’s when I started to feel it all. I kicked and thrashed, finally able to move. Then the water overtook me. I had to face my new fear, to swim toward the flames and find the surface. I remember emerging, sucking in air, screaming.

I clung to the wreckage, refusing to swim to shore. I kept looking in the burning water for my father, waiting for him to emerge. I stayed for hours, my skin pruned, pain clutching me deeper than anything I had felt before. Eventually, a search team came; they pulled me from the water, but I never really left it.

Fire and ice—they rule me now.

Alister told me Nelson had died. All the other BANKS Corp founders corroborated. They steered me to focus on my recovery, on filling my father’s spot.

It was all a lie—Nelson was alive. He made a deal with The Rites of Passage and gave them a terrorist in exchange for a life in prison. That was better than what the founders would have done to him. Deep down, I know Alister wanted to kill his twin but couldn’t go that far. So he agreed to lie to me and keep Nelson’s still-beating heart a secret.

I only found out when Anders approached me. He said he was disappointed that I had settled. I asked what he meant; I remember his smirk, full of deception. That’s when he revealed Nelson was alive and well, sitting in a cell.

You see, Anders wanted something from BANKS Corp that he could get by making a trade. Before, he would have taken it by force, but now as a leader in The Rites, he had to act with strategy and offer a deal.

That’s where my lust for revenge came in. He baited me, I baited Alister, and so on.

Inside The Rites, Anders did not rule alone. The kings met to vote. That was what I was waiting for. If they agreed, Anders would call Alister and give him Nelson.

“I know that look. Come on, lost boy, run back home,” Anders says loud enough to break me from my reverie. “I love when my demons dance in my head,” he sings to himself.

My lip twitches. Reaching up, I rub my eyes. I widen my stance as my senses settle back down. “Why?” I ask, as I lick my lips, trying to find moisture.

His eyes drop to my scars, proudly on display. “Gives me purpose,” Anders replies, his knuckles whitening around the ax.

“I thought demons didn’t control you now,” I spit, wishing I had put on a shirt so he could not see all of me.

“They don’t,” he agrees with a nod. “It gives me purpose to slay the fuckers and control myself.” He doesn’t move from the wall, still leaning against it like a deity watching a mortal man struggle. “Don’t lose control, Steffen. Not now.”

“As if you care!” I spit.

“Careful,” he smirks, slithering to the right side where my brother sits.

Torben doesn’t flinch. He’s more used to Anders’s games than I am. Torben and Anders spent months together training in the wild.

“You gonna murder your own cousins now?” I hiss.

That’s right. Anders is my third cousin. Our blood is what traps us in The Rites.

“I’d do much worse because you are family,” Anders rebuts. “You represent me now. I own you. Don’t snarl at me. You fall under my division in The Rites.”

“Then you should have left me out of this and forced Alister to give you what you want!”