Page 43 of The Reckoning
“A shadow of my former self,” Aries finishes bitterly. “I get it.”
“It’s just strategy,” Arson says, his tone lacking its usual edge. “We need to maintain the illusion a little longer. Just until we figure out what they’re planning.”
Aries holds his twin’s gaze for a long moment, something unspoken passing between them. Then he nods once, a sharpdownward jerk of his chin. “Fine. But you follow Lilian’s lead. No improvising, no heroics, no confrontations.”
“Agreed,” Arson says, the easy acquiescence surprising me. “In and out. Information gathering only.”
“And if something goes wrong?” I ask, the knot of anxiety in my stomach tightening. “If they try to keep me there?”
“That won’t happen,” Aries says with absolute certainty. “I’ll be nearby, monitoring. At the first sign of trouble, I’ll extract both of you.”
“How?” I press. “You can’t exactly walk in the front door.”
A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “There are ways into that house that even Richard doesn’t know about. Benefits of a misspent youth exploring every inch of the property.”
The hint of the old Aries—the one who used to sneak me contraband candy when my diet was restricted, who found ways around every rule our parents set—makes something in my chest loosen slightly.
“Okay then,” I say, meeting their identical gazes with newfound determination. “Let’s plan this properly.”
And as we bend our heads together over the table, three conspirators united against a common enemy, I feel stronger than I have in years. Not because I’m no longer afraid—I am, terrified in fact—but because for once in my life, I’m not facing that fear alone.
I have them. Both of them. Different as night and day despite their identical faces, bound together only by their shared desire to protect me.
For now, that’s enough. More than enough.
It’s everything.
THIRTEEN
ARSON
“This is bullshit,” my brother says for the third time, pacing the length of the warehouse like a caged animal. The irony isn’t lost on me—him, free but trapped by circumstance; me, the architect of his captivity, now willingly walking back into the lion’s den.
“We’ve been over this,” I reply, adjusting the cuffs of my—his—shirt. It still feels strange to wear clothes that were made for him and tailored to his measurements. Stranger still that they fit me perfectly. “You can’t go. Not looking like that.”
He stops pacing long enough to glare at me, hatred simmering just beneath the surface. It’s the same look he’s given me since the moment he realized who I was—who he was. The brother he thought was long dead came back to destroy everything he thought was his.
“And whose fault is that?” he asks, voice tight with barely controlled rage. “Who kept me locked in a concrete box for months? Who stole my life, my identity?”
“Focus,” I snap, tired of his self-pity. “You want to protect Lilian? Then stick to the plan.”
At the mention of her name, something shifts in his expression—the anger giving way to something more complex, more vulnerable. It makes my skin crawl to see it, to recognize the same emotion I’ve been fighting against since she crashed into my carefully orchestrated revenge.
“I should be the one going with her,” he insists, raking a hand through his hair—thinner than mine now, duller, the physical evidence of his captivity that no amount of borrowed clothing could disguise. “I’m her?—”
“Her what?” I cut him off. “Her stepbrother? Her protector?” I let my lip curl in disdain. “You had years to be those things, brother. Years to claim her, to protect her from them. What stopped you?”
He flinches, the barb hitting its mark. We both know the answer—his cowardice, his compliance, his willingness to play the dutiful Hayes heir even at the expense of his own desires.
“Stop it,” Lilian says from the doorway, her voice quiet but firm. “Both of you. This isn’t helping.”
She looks different today—harder somehow, more determined. She’s dressed simply in jeans and a sweater, hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. No makeup, no jewelry, nothing to hide behind. Just Lilian, raw and real and unafraid to show it.
“He started it,” I mutter, falling back into childhood patterns I didn’t know still existed. Another surprising side effect of finding my twin after all these years—the immediate regression to behaviors I thought I’d left behind.
“Doesn’t matter. I’m ending it,” she says, moving into the room. “Arson will come with me as Aries. You’ll monitor from outside, ready to extract us if needed.” She looks between us, daring either of us to challenge her. “That’s the plan. Are we clear?”
My brother’s jaw works silently, the struggle evident in every line of his body. Finally, he nods once, sharply. “Fine. If anything happens to her?—”
