Chapter 76 Bond Over Ice Cream #3
Ghost watches me the way he does when something is shifting under the surface and he needs to understand the fault line before it breaks.
I don’t soften.
“This isn’t a discussion,” I say. “It’s a notice.”
Bones swears under his breath. “You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
“How soon?” Ghost asks.
“Now. Valentine’s on his way to get me.”
The street goes quiet in that strange way it does when something irrevocable is said out loud.
Honey exhales shakily. Ghost’s gaze sharpens. Hatchet’s attention locks on me completely.
Snow pushes off the wall. “You can’t.”
“I can,” I reply. “And I will.”
Nightshade turns on Snow, voice deadly calm. “Then you’re done.”
Snow looks at each of them in turn, then back at me. Whatever he sees there finally settles it.
“I won’t follow you,” he says.
I nod. “I know.”
He steps back. Once. Twice.
Then he turns and walks away.
No explanation.
No goodbye.
Just absence.
And in the sudden stillness he leaves behind, I realise this isn’t just a choice anymore.
It’s a declaration.
And everything after this is going to hurt.
Snow disappears around the corner without looking back.
For a moment, no one moves.
The street feels too open now, like something vital has just been torn out of it. Early morning traffic hums at the far end of the road. A delivery van passes. Life continues, indifferent.
Nightshade’s jaw tightens, anger flaring sharp and immediate. “You went behind our backs.”
“I went in front of my own life,” I reply. “There’s a difference.”
“You could have told us,” Bones says.
“I did,” I answer. “Just now.”
Ghost drags a hand through his hair, breathing still hard. “Kayla—”
“No,” I cut in. “I’m not explaining this. I’m not negotiating it. If Snow hadn’t intercepted me, I’d already be long gone.”
Honey looks between us, mouth opening, then closing again. He tries for lightness and misses by a mile. “Maybe we don’t decide this on the pavement, yeah? Let’s go back inside. Regroup.”
“There is no regroup,” I say. “There is only now.”
Ghost steps closer, gaze steady, voice level. “You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
Hatchet watches me without blinking. He doesn’t ask. He just nods once, like he’s already adjusted his internal map and moves a fraction of a step closer to me. Choosing.
“Are you planning to go back alone?” Honey asks.
I meet his gaze. “If that’s what it takes.”
Nightshade hasn’t taken his eyes off the street where Snow vanished. When he finally looks at me, there’s something raw and dangerous in his expression.
“No,” Nightshade says immediately. Too fast. Too sharp. “Absolutely not.”
“You don’t get to forbid me,” I say. “You lost that right when you decided to wait.”
The words hurt. I see it in his face – pain, anger, regret colliding without anywhere to go.
“You think I didn’t want to tell you?” he snaps. “You think this was easy?”
“I think,” I say calmly, “that you chose the system over my agency. And I’m done pretending that didn’t happen.”
Silence stretches again, brittle this time.
“You don’t have to do this alone,” he says.
“I know. That’s why I’m being clear.” I step closer to them, forcing them to cluster, forcing this into the open where it can’t be delayed or diluted.
“I am going back to the island,” I say calmly.
“Not because they want me to. Not because Valentine thinks I will. But because it’s the only place left that holds the rest of the truth.
I think we all need answers, but I know I do.
And I know that’s the only place I’m going to get them. ”
Bones swears under his breath. “You think they’ll let you walk in and ask questions?”
“I think they’ll try to stop me,” I say but before I can continue I’m interrupted.
Honey’s face tightens. “We should wait for Snow.”
The words land badly.
I turn to him slowly. “Snow made his choice.”
“He didn’t—”
“He absolutely did,” I snap, cutting him off. “He chose silence. He chose to manage me instead of trusting me. And I’m done letting people decide my life from the shadows.”
Nightshade stiffens at that, but I don’t soften it for him.
“I’m not asking for permission,” I continue. “I’m telling you what’s happening.”
Ghost steps forward, grounding the moment. “If you go back now, they’ll control the environment. They’ll dictate terms.”
I nod. “Yes.”
“And you’re still going.”
“Yes.”
Bones exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “You know this could end very badly.”
“I know,” I say. “But not going ends worse.”
Honey looks at each of them, then back at me. His voice is quieter now. “You’re not asking.”
“No,” I say. “I’m telling you what I’m doing.”
Ghost’s jaw tightens. “And if we think it’s a mistake?”
“Then you don’t come.”
That finally does it.
Bones looks at me like I’ve struck him. “You’re just going to walk back into their hands?”
“I’m walking back with my eyes open,” I say. “There’s a difference. And besides, this time I have a bargaining chip.” I place my hands over my stomach. “I have what they want. And so long as I have it, they’ll accommodate me to keep me on side.”
Hatchet steps forward, placing himself at my side without a word. It’s not defiance. It’s alignment.
Honey exhales slowly. “You always do this,” he mutters. “You decide, and the world has to keep up.”
“Yes,” I agree. “It does. And I won’t apologise for that.”
Silence stretches between us again, but this one is different. This one is charged.
Nightshade steps forward, stopping directly in front of me. His voice drops, raw and controlled with visible effort. “If you walk back in there, you’re walking into a cage.”
“I’ve lived in cages my whole life,” I reply. “At least this one will have answers.”
“And if they don’t give them to you?”
“Then I’ll take them by force.”
That stops him.
Bones lets out a slow breath. “Christ.”
Ghost nods once, decision settling. “Then you won’t be alone.”
Honey groans softly. “I hate it when she does the calm voice thing. Means she’s already decided.”
“Yep,” I agree. I look at all of them now, really look. “With me or not. But I am not waiting. I am not hiding. And I am not being escorted like a problem that needs managing.”
“Then we’re with you,” Nightshade says, glancing at the others who all nod. “All of us.”
I don’t thank them.
I don’t promise anything.
Because this isn’t a rallying cry or a bonding moment.
This is a line in the sand.
And the moment it’s drawn, the air shifts again.
Slow.
Measured.
Then the air shifts before I see him.
It’s the same sensation I felt earlier – pressure redistributing, the sense of being observed by something that isn’t improvising. The others feel it too. I can tell by the way their attention snaps outward, by the subtle realignment of bodies into something more alert, more defensive.
Valentine steps out from the side street like he’s been there the whole time. Like he’s been waiting for the decision to finish being made. His gaze sweeps over the group, taking in their stances, the bruises, the blood. He smiles faintly, like a man pleased with the efficiency of an outcome.
No rush. No urgency. No surprise at the blood on the pavement or the bruises blooming across faces. His gaze sweeps the group once more, taking inventory, then settles on me.
“You’ve decided,” he says.
Not a question.
“Yes.”
He nods, faint approval flickering across his expression like a box ticked on a form. “Good.”
Nightshade moves immediately, placing himself half a step in front of me. Protective. Instinctive. Too late to change anything.
Valentine doesn’t react.
“Shall we?” he asks.
I meet his eyes without flinching.
“Yes,” I say. “Let’s.”
“And the rest of us?” Nightshade demands.
Valentine considers the question, then looks back to me. “That’s up to her.”
Every head turns.
I meet Valentine’s gaze. “They’re coming.”
Nightshade stiffens. Bones’ jaw sets. Ghost doesn’t move at all.
Valentine inclines his head. “Then you’ll all be processed.”
Honey grimaces. “Hate that word.”
Valentine’s mouth twitches. “You’ll get used to it.”
The sound of an engine cuts through the street – low, controlled, expensive. A black car rolls into view at the end of the road, slowing as it approaches like it already knows exactly where to stop.
This is it.
No countdown. No ceremony.
Just inevitability.
Valentine steps aside, gesturing toward the car. “It’s time.”
I don’t move immediately.
I look at them – really look this time. At the bruises. The tension. The lines already being redrawn in their faces.
“With me,” I say quietly. “Or stay. It’s okay to stay. I won’t hold it against you.”
No one answers.
They just move.
And as the car idles at the curb, waiting, I feel something settle into place inside me – not fear, not excitement. Somewhere deep in my chest, beneath the anger and the certainty and the rising inevitability, something colder settles in.
Because I’m not being taken back.
I’m returning.
Because whatever happens next, this isn’t something being done to me anymore.
It’s something I chose.
And this time, the experiment doesn’t get to pretend it’s in control.
I glance toward the dark horizon where the island waits, already braced for me, already wrong in the way only family can be.
Apparently, I have unfinished business with my psychotic bitch of a mother but I don’t imagine we’ll bond over ice cream…body counts seem more her speed.