Page 56 of Whispers of Ruin

Look at her. Look at what she just did.

My little fox.

I nuzzle into the curve where her shoulder meets her neck, inhaling her sweat, her fear, her triumph. I don’t give a fuck that Julian’s corpse is still bleeding out at our feet.

Let it bleed. Let the whole fucking world burn.

I tilt her chin up roughly, forcing her to meet my eyes. She is dazed, tears clinging to her lashes, but she has never looked freer.

More mine.

“You did it,” I let out. “You chose yourself. You choseus,baby.”

She blinks, shivering, still lost somewhere between shock and euphoria. I lean down, brushing my forehead on hers with a tenderness that feels almost savage after everything we have just unleashed. She just buries her face against my chest, small gasps tearing from her lips, and it guts me.

“You’re okay, little fox,” I whisper against her hair. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

I scoop her into my arms, cradling her onto my torso like the precious treasure she is. Then, I walk toward the corridor to kick open the bathroom door to set her down inside. She sways on her feet while I keep a hand wrapped around her waist to steady her. The hot water roars to life, steam filling the small space.

I grab a cloth and start cleaning her carefully, washing away every drop of blood. Her skin pebbles under my touch. Goosebumps everywhere. Never once does she pull away. I catch a glimpse of her reflection in the foggy mirror—wide, hollow eyes.

She ismine.

Mineto protect.

She is also mine to put back together.

When I’m done, I wrap her tight in a towel, lift her again, and carry her out like she weighs nothing. I settle Mira onto the couch, tucking the bath sheet around my girl. She curls up instantly, fists clenching the fabric as if it is the only thing tethering her to the world. I kneel in front of her, brushing a damp strand of hair from her face.

“I’m right here,” I tell her, voice low. “I’m not going anywhere, ever.”

I stay there for a long moment, just watching her breathe until I finally pull away and grab my phone.

I wipe my hands off and lean back against the kitchen counter, watching her sleep on the couch. Still nestled in place, still haunted.

A pause. Lucian’s never fast, but he always answers.

I glance over at her. Her hair’s stuck to her cheek. There’s a streak of blood near her collarbone I did not manage to clean off.

I grit my teeth.

I glare at the screen like it just called me a simp.

Attached?Please. I have practically engraved her name on my ribcage—but I am not going to give Lucian the satisfaction of knowing that.

I almost laugh. That says it all, doesn’t it? A man who spits out a line like that could never love anyone—only owning, controlling, corrupting.

Another silence. A longer one.

I sit down beside her, careful not to wake her as I lower myself onto the verge of the couch. She is curled in on herself, her hair’s still damp, skin flushed from the heat of the shower—and everything that came before it.

For a long time, I just stare. Watching the slow rise and fall of her chest. The faint crease between her brows, even in sleep, her body’s still holding on to some last shred of fear or rage. I want to smooth it away with my thumb. I want to carve the world clean, so she never has to wear that expression again.

This girl walked into my life like a goddamn match dropped in gasoline. And instead of running from the flames, I lit one right back. I have killed for her. Lied for her. I just watched her become darker and stronger than anyone thought she could be—and fuck, I have wanted nothing more than I wantthis. Her. A future. Something real in the wreckage.

I was not supposed to feel this way. Was not supposed to let her in. But I see it now. Clear as day. She is not just a mission anymore.

She is the whole fucking reason.

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