Page 92 of Ruthless God

For a moment, I see it. The anger. The grief. The sheer force of whatever is raging inside him. And I know. He’s not going to change his mind. So instead, I dip my head, giving him the smallest nod. Go ahead. Do what you need to do.

He turns back to the casket.

“How do I open it?”

One man exhales slowly. “There’s a lever right there, sir. Just push it in and lift.”

Claudius nods. And then he does just that.

The hinges creak, the sound sharp and unnatural in the silence.

I hold my breath. I don’t know if I want to see this, but I can’t look away.

Claudius’ entire body goes rigid as the lid lifts, his shoulders locked, his breath held.

And the sound he makes? A raw, guttural noise, somewhere between rage and devastation. I’ll never forget it.

“What in the fuck is this?” His voice is pure fury, snapping through the air like a crack of thunder. He turns on the men, eyes burning. “Is this some kind of sick fucking joke?”

The taller man pales, stepping back from the murderous rage radiating off Claudius.

“Sir, you were with us the entire time.” His voice is steady, but barely.

The other man nods quickly. “He’s right. We—we didn’t touch it.”

But Claudius isn’t hearing them. His fists clench, his entire body vibrating with barely contained violence.

A cold dread slithers down my spine. I have to see what’s set him off. I step forward, slowly closing the distance. And then I stop.

My hand flies to my mouth.

The casket is empty.

Except for one thing.

A single note, crisp white paper resting in the hollow space where a body should be.

I force myself to look at the words.

Here lies Gabriel.

The air suddenly feels suffocating.

Claudius stares at the note, his chest rising and falling in dangerous, uneven breaths. And in that moment, I realize one thing. Whoever did this wasn’t just taunting him. They were declaring war.

Agnes steps forward, her voice carefully measured, but there’s no mistaking the urgency behind it. “Sir, we should get you inside.”

Claudius doesn’t even glance her way. “I’m not fucking leaving until I get some answers.” He turns back to the men, eyes burning. “Dig deeper.”

One of them hesitates. “Sir?”

Claudius’ jaw tightens. “My brother clearly isn’t in this fucking casket, which means he’s somewhere in that hole. Dig.”

The taller man hesitates, shifting uncomfortably. “Sir?—”

A vein bulges at Claudius’ temple, and both men step back. The shorter one, braver or maybe just more exhausted, exhales hard and shakes his head.

“Sir, there’s nothing in this hole. You could dig all the way to the other side of the world and not find your brother.” His voice softens. “I’m sorry. Truly, I am.”

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