Page 87 of Violence and Vice

Then Sysco says what we’re all thinking, his voice low and serious. “Cliff didn’t just vanish. He opted out. And maybe we should all be asking why that suddenly feels like the smartest move anyone’s made all year.”

There’s weight to the words he just spoke. To the idea he’s just sparked.

But holy shit. Cliff Morgan. Alive.

Gone.

Harry leans back in his chair like the wind just got knocked out of him. “I can’t believe he really left.”

I stare at the wall, but I’m not seeing it.

We’ve been sitting in this security room fordays, sifting through information and every digital ghost trail we can find. But the therapist? The one who made Ares a killer with a touch and a whisper?

She’s a shadow.

We’ve been hunting a ghost—and we’re no closer to finding her than we were on day one.

I turn to the others. “When she starts the next purge…” My voice comes out hoarse, but I don’t stop. “She said she will use one of us. She was specific. Me. Ares again. Sysco. You, Harry.”

Sysco goes still. Juliet’s brows pinch.

“How will you stop her?” I ask, locking eyes with Sysco. “Or you, Harry?”

They both flinch.

Ares finally speaks. His voice is low and sharp with truth. “I don’t want anyone else carrying what I’m carrying. Waking up with blood on their hands and no idea who they’ve killed. Realizing they had no control.”

Juliet glances at him, somber. Roman remains stone-faced, arms crossed, but his jaw clenches.

Sysco exhales through his nose and scrubs a hand over his mouth. “We can’t all just… leave,” he says, though his words sound conflicted. “We own half the damn city. We’ve got businesses, real estate, staff. Roots.”

But the words sound hollow, even as they leave his mouth. His gaze flickers toward the door, like maybe he’s already picturing what it would be like to walk through it and not come back.

Harry, though—he doesn’t even flinch. He shakes his head. “No. I won’t let her win. I’m not giving New York up. We regroup in the morning,” he says, sharp and clean. “We keep looking.”

No hesitation. Of course. Harry’s one of the last standing Barons in New York now. He breathes this city. If anyone was born to belong here, it’s him. There’s no part of him that would even consider running.

One by one, everyone gathers their things. Quiet, subdued.

Goodbyes are mumbled.

No one mentions that it feels like the walls are closing in.

We step outside into the city’s dying light. Juliet and Roman fall into step beside me and Ares.

I keep expecting Juliet to crack a joke, to say something snarky just to ease the tension—but she doesn’t. Instead, we walk for a block in silence, the hum of the city swelling around us, making it all feel smaller somehow. Quieter.

I sense it before I hear anything. A tension. Uncertainty. Finally, I look back over my shoulder and see Roman giving Juliet this… look. I don’t know exactly how to define it. Hesitancy? Wariness? Juliet’s face is clearly sayingcome onnnn…

They both see me looking, their eyes snapping to me. My feet falter, and I pull Ares to a stop beside me.

Juliet casts one last look at Roman, one that says she’s doing this, and he better not stop her. Roman just raises his hands in surrender.

“Look, Chicago has always been a sanctuary of sorts,” Juliet dives in. Roman is staring at her in a fixed way, like he’s trying to telepathically tell her to watch how much she says. “Things are… different there. It’s a little less… human?”

“Juliet,” Roman growls. He folds his arms over his chest and stares at his wife with impatient adoration.

She grimaces as she looks back at him, as if this is physically painful to not be able to say what she wants to say. “It’s not like New York, okay? I’ll just say that you’d fit in there. Thebothof you.”

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