Page 37 of The Shadow King's Brother

And then he’s gone, leaving me alone in the garage.

I sink back against the cold concrete wall, head in my hands, exhaling a shaky breath. My thoughts are a tangle of suspicion and shame. I was so close to the truth—and still, I got it wrong.

The weight of it settles over me, pressing down like a second skin.

Then—

A shadow falls across my body, cutting off the light.

Before I can react, a hand clamps around my throat, cutting off the air.

He’s tall. Solid. His face hidden beneath the hood’s shadow. His grip is iron, squeezing tighter.

“Stop asking questions, bitch,” he rasps, his breath hot and foul against my skin.

I freeze—just for a second—long enough for the panic to dig its claws in.

Then I fight.

My hands claw at his wrist, nails scraping skin, lungs screaming for air as the world tilts—sharp and spinning.

“Wh—who are you?” I manage to choke out.

His eyes—young, wild—burn with rage. “Keep digging and you’ll end up dead. You sided with the De Lucas—you basically signed your own death warrant. Galli in, Galli out.”

Then he hurls me down.

I hit the concrete hard, the pain ripping through me like fire. A scream rises in my throat, but I bite it back, teeth clenched against the agony searing up my arm.

And just like that—

He’s gone.

I scramble to push myself up, but the rough concrete rakes against my skin, leaving a bloody trail as my elbow connects with the ground. A rush of blood pours from my arm, the sharp, metallic scent filling my nostrils.

Shit.

I try to follow him, forcing myself to stand despite the pulsing pain, but he’s already gone, disappearing into the shadows of the garage with a speed that’s unnatural.

I stagger to my feet, the world tilting as dizziness sweeps over me.

Fuck, I curse inwardly, frustration and rage mixing with the searing pain. I can’t believe I lost him.

I slump to the cold concrete floor, my back against the wall, my arm throbbing, and look in the direction he disappeared, my thoughts a whirlwind.Galli in, Galli out? What the hell was that about?

He knew me… Was that a threat? If yes, it was weird.

* * *

I stumbleout of the parking garage, the concrete rough beneath my feet. My arm throbs with each step, but I push the ache aside, burying it beneath my sleeve. I force myself through the heavy glass door of a local pharmacy, the harsh glare of fluorescent lights hitting me like a punch.

I move quickly down the aisle, grabbing bandages and antiseptic, making sure to keep my arm still. I pay with my phone—a tap, done—but the throbbing doesn't stop.

Who the hell was that down there?

Back in the car, my breath comes in shaky bursts as I clean the wound. The antiseptic stings—sharp, burning pain—and I grimace, gritting my teeth as I press the bandage against my skin, trying to focus on anything other than the pain.

Then my phone buzzes. It’s my mom. The screen lights up with three short, hesitant texts from my mother, the words almost pleading.

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