Page 59 of Whispers of Ruin

“I never wanted this,” I whisper, barely audible.

Xan does not respond at first. Instead, he takes a step back, running a hand through his hair in that familiar gesture of impatience. When his eyes find mine again, they carry something different. Something gentler—close to understanding.

“No one ever does,” he says quietly. “But you’re here. And this… it’s your reality from now on.”

I close my eyes, the weight of his words pressing down on me. What’s done is done. Julian will not come back, and neither will who I was before. I am still breathing, that is what matters.

I don’t know how long I stood there, feeling the gravity of everything we’ve made, everything I have become. When I open my eyes again, Xan is still watching me.

“You want to know what happens next?” he asks, cutting through the silence.

I nod slowly, not trusting myself to speak.

“Well now,” he says with a glint in his eye, “we continue your ascension, little fox.”

Iwas not sure what I was expecting—but it definitely was not this.

The building is nothing like I imagined. From the outside, it’s a fortress. Cold, imposing. The walls are not the familiar red brick I have seen in Brooklyn’s older buildings; they are charcoal-gray, almost black. The kind of color that swallows the light, leaving the whole place drenched in shadow. The windows, narrow and grimy, are covered in what looks like years of neglect. It is as if the building’s been standing here forever, untouched by time.

The street is quiet, too quiet. No hustle, no noise of life. Just the low hum of the city a few blocks away. Even that feels distant, muted. This place feels forgotten by the world. I guess that is the point.

Xan is walking beside me, his presence solid and unwavering, yet I can feel the tension in his step. His eyes are scanning the surroundings, alert, as if expecting anything or anyone to jump out of the dark. He leads me through an old iron door; the metal screeching slightly as it opens.

The moment we step inside, I feel the shift. Immediately, the room sucks the air out of my lungs. The space is cavernous, endless, yet suffocating, with its high dark ceilings and the shadowy corners that stretch on forever. The floor is cold beneath my feet, the wood worn and untouched by a mop in what looks like years. The lights flicker overhead, their dim glow casting everything in an eerie, almost haunting hue.

It is not the atmosphere that makes my heart pound the most—it’s the people. Every man who looks at me—because every single one of them does—is wearing the same mask.

Sleek. Black. Leather.

No mouth, no expression, just two dark eye slits and smooth, seamless lines stretched over bone and intent. A mask that does not hide identity—it erases humanity. They all wear it. Like a uniform. Like a warning. Identical and faceless, yet somehow each gaze feels more ravenous than the last.

Predators in tailored black.

And I? I am the only one unmasked.Exposed.

I hear the hushed murmurs the instant we enter. A wave of heat rises to my face as I feel dozens of pairs of eyes latch onto us, like creatures scenting blood. There is not even a pretense of hiding it. I can practically hear them salivating.

They’re circling.

The room is a sea of motionless bodies, yet every one of them is taut with tension, ready to strike. There is a hunger in their gaze, a kind of primitive thirst impossible to ignore.

I have just stepped into the wolf’s den.

I can feel their eyes on me, stripping me down, analyzing, dissecting. They are not just curious—they are calculating. They want to know why I am here. They want to see if I am worthy. And the sickest part? They’re not even hiding it.

They want to possess me.

I glance up at Xan. His body is like a wall next to mine, tense, vibrating with restraint. His hand slides down my back, not gently, but with a pressure that says I am his. A growl rumbles in his chest, barely audible. His head sweeps over the room, locking onto the closest group of watchers as I feel a tension thick enough to cut. His presence is magnetic, the type of force that commands space without a single word.

“They’re fucking starving,” he says, barely loud enough for me to hear. His grip tightens, a silent warning. “Like wolves on a fresh kill. And they will tear into you if you show any sign of weakness. Don’t give them the satisfaction.”

I swallow hard, my pulse quickening. I have stepped into a hive of predators, and they all want a piece of me, clearlynotin aBritney Spearskind of way. This is not attraction—it is a power play, a test of dominance, and I have just stepped in as the next prey.

Xan pulls me closer, his body practically enveloping mine as he guides me forward, moving with purpose, not an ounce of hesitation in his stride. The crowd parts as we walk through, their gazes following us like a ripple through the water, unblinking, unyielding.

One man—tall, with icy eyes and a smirk in them that screams arrogance—takes a step forward. He wants to speak, but Xan is faster.

“Keep your fucking distance if you want to keep your head attached to your damn body.”

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