Epilogue
Tati
“Talia, Widow called you to her office,” Izzy states, tapping me on my shoulder. “I’ll take over until you return.”
Nodding, I reply, “Thanks. Can you watch Lettie?” I ask, and she nods. Then, I kneel, rubbing between her ears. “Auntie Izzy is going to watch you, then I’ll take you outside. She purrs, nuzzling into my palm for a moment longer before I pull back my hand and walk away.
I peer back to ensure she isn’t following me as I lightly jog across the training center and then up four flights of stairs.
It’s been six months since I got my vengeance, gutting the vile creatures that sent my world into a tailspin. But we still haven’t uncovered the organization Mikah was rambling about. I’m inclined to believe it was all in his head.
Striding down the hallway, I stop at the door that can only be accessed with multi-factor authentication.
Before you make it up the third flight of steps, it’s measuring your body chemistry, and nothing can ever be off, or else you’ll be in a world of pain before your death.
Placing my palm on the scanner, I wait for my pulse and body temperature to be checked. There’s a beep and click before the door unlocks, opening to another corridor.
This walk is far shorter. The door is only feet away. I don’t have to knock. Widow already knows it’s me. Seconds later, the door clicks open, and I step across the threshold into the expansive office.
Widow is seated behind her desk, but my step falters when I notice the older gentleman sitting on the brown leather couch. I immediately recognize the father of the man I’ve been dodging for six months.
I was instructed to take six months, and I did, but I didn’t leave the property. It didn’t stop Brax from sending gifts. I snickered at the look on everyone’s face when the daily gift appeared.
Confusion blankets my face as I walk further inside, nearing Widow’s desk.
When he notices me, he stands, a warm smile appearing on his face.
Brax better not have been a tattletale and told his dad. That would be some sophomoric bullshit. This game is between the two of us. Not anyone else. If he can’t catch me, he doesn’t deserve to. I mentally shrug, wiping the emotion from my features.
“You must be Talia,” he says, holding out his hand once I make my final approach.
I study him before extending my hand. “That would be me.”
“This is Mr. ōshiro,” Widow introduces, and we exchange the typical pleasantries of proper society. In my head, I’m screaming all sorts of shit.
Did Brax punk out and tattle?
Why are you here?
I didn’t send for your son, so tell that fucker not to send for me.
“You’re familiar with his son, Braxton.” It’s a statement, not a question. She’s seen too many of his between my legs.
I nod. “I do in fact know him.” I try hard to keep my wiseass rebuttals under lock and key, but that one managed to slip through the cracks.
Amusement dances in Widow’s eyes, and I already know whatever comes next will be some serious, next-level, out-of-this-world bullshit.
“You two are getting married.”
And she doesn’t disappoint. I’m ready to tell her we’re adults, and he shouldn’t have involved you when her words sink in.
“You two are getting married.”
My eyes fly between Widow and Brax’s father before whirling around, desperately searching for the Punk’D team to appear because this has to be a joke.
“Does Brax know about this?” The question rolls off my tongue before I can snap my big mouth shut.
Mr. ōshiro and Widow speak at the same time—their words—a true echo, only distinguishable by the tone of their voice.
“He doesn’t have a choice.”
Mr. ōshiro turns, and our gazes meet. “Your father saved my life, and I swore to keep you safe.”
“I don’t—”
His hands raise, silencing my protest. “Braxton is lethal and fiercely loyal. I couldn’t imagine safer hands to protect you, Miss Al-Adil.” Mr. ōshiro pauses, measuring my reaction.
A glint lights in his eyes. My scowl is doing nothing to shake his resolve. Then his face loses a bit of its light, a sternness I recognize as the powerful head of the Yakuza.
“A war is coming, and I will do everything in my power to keep my oath to your father.”
I want to ask him when he met him, why they didn’t come for me, and why now, but my tongue feels like a fifty-pound weight in my mouth. No words can be formulated. Instead, I stand in stunned silence, part indignant and part sorrowful.
Mr. ōshiro doesn’t know it, but he ripped the band-aid off a festering wound. My parents are my Achilles’ heel, an obvious weakness I only share with those I feel safe enough to be vulnerable with—Keres.
This place is more than a command center—
It’s a home that provides security when you feel unsettled.
It’s your fist until you’re strong enough to throw a punch.
—It’s a family, a sisterhood, for all the nomads who’ve had to walk this world alone.
My gaze shifts to Widow’s, and she shakes her head, affirming the decision. “But—”
I’m cut off again when Widow’s door bursts open, and Izzy comes storming through it with Imara hot on her heels.
Izzy slams her palms on Widow’s desk. No one gets the opportunity to speak before Izzy announces through gritted teeth, “The Chemist never died.”