Page 26 of The Devil's Thorn
Kellan shifts, something flickering behind his eyes. “You think it’ll take days?”
“Maybe,” I say. “Maybe weeks.”
Ash’s jaw tenses.
Kellan runs a hand through his hair.
But I already know what they won’t say—because I’ve already accepted it.
It could takemonths.
And I’m ready for that. Even if it kills me.
Because I’ve spent too long in the dark not to burn for the truth now.
I turn toward the coat rack, picking up the sleek black trench they gave me with the uniform. It’s soft in my hands. Expensive. Lined with silk. Designed for someone far less dangerous than I am.
I sling it over my arm and grab the small black purse with the ID, lipstick, and backup blade Kellan insisted I take.
I glance once more at both of them—Ash’s silent fury, Kellan’s restless concern.
Then I exhale.
“Let’s go.”
The door clicks shut behind me with a soft finality.
My coat hangs over my arm. My heels click against the marble floor of the hallway as I walk toward the elevator, Kellan and Ash flanking me like shadows carved from war. Neither of them speaks, but I can feel the weight of their eyes on me—on my spine, my shoulders, the tension I refuse to show.
They’re waiting for me to crack. To say I’ve changed my mind. That it’s too soon. That I’m not ready.
But I don’t say anything. Because I am ready. Even if my heart is pounding hard enough to bruise bone.
The elevator dings softly. The polished metal doors slide open. Kellan steps in first, followed by me, then Ash. The second the doors close, the hum of silence wraps around us.
Three floors pass before anyone speaks.
“You know the moment he sees you,” Ash says, voice low, “he’ll remember.”
I meet his gaze in the reflection. “Good.”
“You’re not afraid of being recognized?” Kellan asks from beside me, arms crossed.
I shake my head. “He’s never seen me. Not really.”
Kellan tilts his head, watching me with narrowed eyes. “But you’ve seen him.”
“Every nightmare,” I whisper. “Every damn one.”
The elevator slows, and my stomach dips as it descends toward the underground garage. Kellan leans in a little, his voice quieter now. “We’re still not entirely sure he was behind it.”
My jaw locks.
“No,” I say. “But he was there. And that’s enough.”
The doors open to cool concrete and the low, echoing sound of a car door shutting somewhere nearby. The air down here smells like oil and electricity. Sterile. Controlled.
Ash leads the way to the car—black SUV, tinted windows, familiar. Safe, even when nothing else is.
