Page 121 of Claiming Pretty

“The Raven,” I whispered, the words feeling foreign and jagged on my tongue. “I’ve read it before—”

In his “recipe” book.

The recipes he’d derived by experimenting on their mother.

My stomach roiled at the thought. That book had beenthe pinnacle of his depravity. None of us had dared touch it since we pulled it from the secret lab.

But now… now I had to.

My hands trembled as I reached for it, partially buried under the pile of journals.

I hesitated again before flipping it open, each creak of the binding feeling like an accusation.

The pages smelled faintly of mildew and chemicals, an eerie testament to its contents.

My breath quickened as I leafed through the entries, each coded potion more sinister than the last.

And then, finally, there it was—The Raven.

My hands shook as I read the ingredients, the twisted scrawls detailing its effects.

“The riddle,” I said, my vision blurring, my voice cracking. “The initiation. It’s clear now…”

Ciaran’s voice cut through the fog. “What? What does it mean?”

I forced myself to speak despite the tightness in my throat.

“Ciaran has to bringmeto the passagetomb tonight—unconscious.”

AVA

“No fucking way,” Ciaran snarled, slamming his fist on the table. “I’m not drugging you and dragging you to some goddamn tomb like—like a sacrifice.”

“You have to,” I said, my voice steady despite the turmoil swirling inside me. “It’s the only way.”

“For once,” Ty said, from across the table, “I agree with him. It’s reckless, Ava. It’s too dangerous.”

Ciaran paced the room like a predator caught in a trap, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. Each step he took radiated barely restrained fury, his movements sharp, precise, and entirely focused on me.

Ty sat stiff and silent, his usual calm tinged with visible tension. His knuckles were white as he gripped the edge of the table, his body angled toward me, protective but no less stern.

Their eyes burned into me, both of them waiting for me to say something, to refute them, to justify the plan I hadn’t even fully voiced yet.

But my tongue felt heavy, glued to the roof of my mouth as I stared at the scattered journals on the table before me.

The room was thick with tension, shadows from the lamp stretching across their faces. My silence only amplified it, the air between us humming like a live wire ready to snap.

My stomach churned at the thought of what I was about to ask them to do, the risks I’d have to take, the lives we’d all be gambling. The stakes towered over me like mountains.

If I went through with this, if I let Ciaran carry me into their lair, he’d pass their initiation, but I’d be risking my life—and Ciaran’s too.

One wrong move, if they got even an inkling of our true plan, and the Sochai would kill us both without hesitation.

I could enter that passagetomb and never come out. This could be part of the High Lord’s plan, to capture me once and for all.

My mind reeled with possibilities, each one more terrifying than the last.

But if I refused, if I walked away… we might not get another shot at taking them down. It could take months, years, to find another crack in their twisted fortress, if ever.

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