Page 73 of Lords of Ruin: Cherished

I blink up at her. “Dad hadherinitials on his watch?”

Mom nods. “She gave it to him when he got his first job out of college. Told him time was the most valuable thing you could ever give someone.”

I trace the letters with my fingertip, my throat tightening. Time. That was something Dad could never get was enough time.

I take a deep breath, closing my fingers around the watch. “I think I want Damien to have this.”

Mom studies me for a moment before nodding. “I think your father would like that.”

I smile, pocketing the watch carefully. "Alright," I say, standing and dusting off my jeans. "I have a birthday to get to."

Mom grins. "I will meet you back at the house. Have fun. But remember—thin walls, Willow."

I groan, heading straight for the door before she can say another word. "Goodbye, Mother!"

Her laughter follows me down the hall.

The heavy clouds from earlier have cleared, giving way to a crisp evening sky. I make my way to my Dad’s old car that Cast wants to sell but I think it still has another two years in it before I will allow him to buy me a new car. Dad’s car—a ten-year-old sedan that has seen better days—waits faithfully in the driveway. The silver paint is dulled with age, and there's a small dent in the rear bumper from that time I misjudged the distance to a concrete pillar, the first time I learned how to drive with Dad.

Normally, Vincent and Cast would insist on bodyguards and chauffeurs but Mom convinced them that it was fine and we did not need the added stress of surveillance as we packed up Dad’s room. And despite Damien also demanding security, Mom put on her I don’t give a fuck voice, putting all three of my guys in their place, which I totally need to learn how to do because it was equally scary and amazing.

I slide into the driver's seat, the familiar creak of worn leather greeting me. Dad's watch is a comforting weight in my pocket, and I touch it briefly, like a talisman. The restaurant is only fifteen minutes away, but I want to get there early to make sure everything is perfect for Damien's surprise. I've been planning this night all week—the private corner table with the view of the koi pond, the special sake I pre-ordered, and the watch that I will carefully wrap in handmade paper.

The engine rumbles to life on the second try, and I pull out onto the main road, humming along to the radio. Vincent’s favorite song—Death of a Bachelorby Panic! at the Disco—fills the car, the familiar melody curling around me like a warm embrace.

I drum my fingers against the steering wheel, letting the rhythm carry me forward. The evening air seeps in through the cracked open window, and for the first time in months, I feel light. At peace.

That's when I feel it—the slight stutter in my chest. Not pain exactly, more like hesitation, as if my mechanical heart has momentarily forgotten its rhythm. A cold wave of dread washes over me.

"Not now," I whisper, tapping my sternum gently with tremblingfingers.

The light ahead turns green, and I accelerate, trying to ignore the faint fluttering beneath my ribs. Another stutter follows, stronger this time, like a record skipping, followed by an alarming whirring sound I've never heard before. My vision blurs at the edges, the streetlights smearing into long streaks of yellow against the darkening sky.

I try to pull over, my fingers gripping the wheel so tight my knuckles go white. Sweat beads on my forehead despite the chill in the air. The car swerves slightly, earning me an angry honk from the vehicle behind. The display on my dashboard swims before my eyes—I can't make out the street names anymore.

The third stutter comes with a jolt that makes my whole body seize. It's different this time—a white-hot spark that seems to ricochet through my chest cavity, setting off alarms in every nerve ending. I gasp, the air suddenly too thick to breathe. My heart isn't just stuttering now; it's screaming.

My foot jams down involuntarily—on the gas, not the brake. The car lurches forward with frightening speed.

"No, no, no," I rasp, fighting to regain control, but my limbs won't respond properly.

The world tilts sideways, reality slowing to a terrible, crystalline clarity. I see everything: the horrified face of a pedestrian diving out of the way; the flash of red tail lights ahead growing larger at an impossible rate; the glint of Dad's watch as it slides from my pocket onto the passenger seat.

There's the squeal of tires against asphalt, the blare of a horn that seems to come from everywhere and nowhere, the sickening crunch of metal folding against metal. The airbag explodes in my face with stunning force—a white supernovathat tastes like chemicals and dust. My body is thrown forward, then back, a rag-doll in the hands of physics.

Glass rains around me in a beautiful, terrible constellation of shards that catch the streetlights like diamonds. Something warm trickles down my face. The mechanical heart in my chest gives one massive convulsion, then settles into an erratic, fading rhythm—like a music box winding down.

And then, nothing.

22

CAST

Iknow the moment her heart gives out. The exact moment everything in my life ceases to be, and the tendrils of death and fear threaten to choke the life out of me.

I feel it as a physical blow—a sudden hollowness in my chest that mirrors what must be happening in hers. The alert on my phone is almost an afterthought, a mechanical confirmation of what my soul already knows.

"Willow's heart," I snarl, immediately hitting a u-turn towards the hospital near her house. The car fishtails violently, tires screaming against asphalt as other drivers blare their horns in protest.

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