Page 89 of Chaos Crown

What we learned the day before brought Legend back to me, and drove Cairo out of reach. Over and over again, his speech rang in my head. Cairo was as sick of being everybody’s puppet as I was of being everybody’s fool. That’s where my understanding stopped.

Why did any of that mean we couldn’t be together? Yes, his family wronged mine, but that was his family. Cairo was the first person to eat my guilt. To crack me open, find the darkest spots of my soul, and indulge them like a fine wine. He was the first to show me that I didn’t have to be strong and ready to fight at all times.

I could surrender. Be taken. Be broken. And someone I loved would put me back together again.

What we have transcended decades’ old betrayals. It was me, Cairo, Arsenio, Legend, Jacques, and Roan now, and the day they found out who they were beyond the Bedlam Boys would be amazing... because that’d be the day they found out they were mine.

I wanted to say all of that to Cairo. None of it came out.

The gap between us was widening and I no longer knew how to reach him. According to Cairo, he didn’t want me to try.

“I think we turn here,” I rasped. “Beaumont Street. Should be the house on the end.”

Cairo acknowledged the break in silence by sliding into the next lane. He turned on Beaumont Street, passing by rows of cute little houses and neat lawns. Jack told me the man we were going to see was an old buddy from the police academy. Rhys Martin retired years ago after being injured on the job.

The two hadn’t kept in much contact, but Jack assured me he trusted the man completely. He kept my inheritance safe all these years, so I was inclined to trust him too.

“541,” I said. “This is it.”

Cairo parked on the curb and climbed out. It seemed like he was waiting for me when he paused in the driveway, though the second I stepped to his side, he walked off—taking the laid cobblestone path to the door.

Mr. Martin’s place was as charming as the other homes in the cul-de-sac. He planted a little flower garden on the front lawn, and the fountain by his front door was filled with real, croaking frogs.

Cairo shot out, grabbing my hip. “Wait.”

“What? What is it?”

“Look,” he murmured.

Following his line of sight, I saw what he noticed instantly. The front door was cracked open.

“Why would the door be open?” I whispered.

“Hang back.”

“You’re not going in there alone. Let’s just go slow.”

Cairo jerked his head, agreeing. Together we moved to the door, approaching like it might swing out and attack. I flattened my palm on the wood and pushed. My eyes bugged.

“Mr. Martin? Mr. Martin, are you okay!”

I rushed in, ignoring Cairo’s shout. A man lay on the living room carpet. Hands and legs bound, he groaned in the pool of blood dripping down his skull.

“Mr. Martin, can you hear me?” I grasped his chin, gently patting his cheek. Martin’s lids fluttered, showing me the white of his eyes. “Cairo, what do you think happened? Was he robbed? We should call the police.”

“Pretty sure I know exactly what happened.”

Something in his voice made me look up, though Cairo wasn’t looking back. Dread filling my bones, I shifted toward the hall entrance, and the man stepping out of a bedroom.

Tall. Raven-haired. Silver wings at the temple. Disarmingly handsome.

“Henry Gold.”

“Ivy.”

“What are you...?” I looked from him to the man groaning at my knees. “What have you done?”

Henry winced. “This is quite awkward. I intended to be long gone before you arrived.”

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