Chapter 32 – Lydia - The Double-Cross
I lie awake long after Elias’s voice fades, his words still lodged under my skin: She’s already gone to him. Obsession always looks the same.
I wanted to storm back down the stairs, scream at Elias that he doesn’t know me anymore, that he left me and he can’t pretend he still knows best. That Silas isn’t Drazen.
That I’m not just another pawn bent under the weight of someone else’s obsession.
But the worst part is… I didn’t. I never do, when it comes to Elias.
I just returned, silent as a shadow, to Silas. Walked right back into Silas’s arms. And I breathed easily when his hand curved hard against my waist, his mouth hot at my neck when he fell asleep like he hadn’t just kissed me the way a man claims his enemy’s territory.
I stare at the cracked ceiling now, the blinds casting jagged stripes of sunlight across plaster that peels in tired curls.
The whole place feels brittle, waiting for the next blow.
My wrists ache faintly where his fingers had pinned me, red ghosts in my skin.
My lips still sting from the violence of the kiss.
I can taste him if I let my tongue skim my teeth.
I hate that I don’t want the taste gone.
The air downstairs hums faintly with movement. Elias’s boots across floorboards. Mara’s lighter voice, low, steady, smoothing out edges only she can. The smell of coffee drifts up, bitter and grounding. I drag myself upright, drag my shirt back over my skin like armor, and make my way down.
The kitchen looks the same: maps sprawled, mugs steaming, guns stripped and laid bare beside stacks of notes. But it’s not the same. The air is thick, as if the walls themselves know we’re about to gamble everything.
Jax and Ren argue across the table, their words clipping hard enough to cut skin.
I stand back, leaning against the edge of the counter, watching the way their tempers bounce. It isn’t just stress. Something’s cracked open in this room, and I can feel the draft bleeding through.
Ren’s hands shake when he taps the map. Barely. Enough for me to catch it, though. “If we hit from the west entrance, we’ll have ten minutes before Drazen’s second rotation.”
“Ten minutes is nothing,” Jax snaps. “You’ll get us gutted.”
“You think you can do better?”
The words hit with too much heat. Jax spits back, but my attention stays fixed on Ren. He’s pale, sweating along the hairline. His pupils dart to me once, then away.
He’s hiding something. And in this world, hesitation isn’t nerves. It’s rot.
I glance at Elias. He’s seated, too still, eyes narrowed as if he’s already reached the same conclusion. Mara sits a few feet behind him, her arms folded across her chest, her gaze locked on Ren with the kind of restrained fear only she knows how to wear. She senses it too.
Silas lingers in the corner, not leaning, not relaxed—coiled, watching. His stare follows the rhythm of my suspicions, and when I shift my weight, he notices. His eyes ask the same question mine do: which one of them is about to break?
I don’t move closer, but my voice slices through the noise. “Ren.”
He freezes. Jax keeps talking, but I lift a hand, silencing him. My tone hardens, cool as glass. “Tell me why your mouth is dry and your fingers won’t stop twitching.”
Ren swallows. Too fast. “Stress.”
“No.” I push off the counter, closing the distance until I’m a breath away from him. The whole room tightens with me. Elias doesn’t stand—he doesn’t have to. His stare alone sharpens the air like a blade.
“Stress makes men shout. Shake. Piss blood if it’s bad enough. It doesn’t make them flinch every time Drazen’s name is spoken. It doesn’t make them look at doors like they’re expecting company.” I lean closer, letting him feel the chill of my certainty. “So, try again.”
His lips part. Nothing comes out.
Silas shifts, a slow scrape of his boot against the floor. His presence is heavy at my back, and when I catch his reflection in the dark glass of the window, I see the edge in his jaw. He already knows where this is going.
Ren stammers, eyes wide now, darting between Elias and me. “I—fuck—I didn’t—”
And that’s when the silence turns lethal.
His denial dies in his throat. What spills next isn’t language so much as panic chewing its way out.
“I didn’t mean to—” His voice rattles. “It wasn’t supposed to—he cornered me, all right? Drazen knew my sister’s name, where she lives. He—”
“You fucking rat,” Jax snarls, lunging halfway across the table before Elias’s hand flicks up, halting him like a leash.
Ren’s chest heaves, his eyes wet with something I can’t respect: fear turned inward. His voice pitches higher, desperate, a child begging forgiveness instead of a soldier holding a line. “I only gave him scraps. Things that didn’t matter—timelines, supply runs, locations already burned—”
“You sold us,” Elias cuts in. Not loud. Not fast. Just carved from granite.
Ren flinches as if those three words alone were a bullet.
Mara stands now, her face drawn tight, as though she’s bracing for a storm that’s already begun. “Ren…” Her voice is soft, human, too human for this room.
I feel it clawing at me the ghost of Kinley, the man Elias pulled out of a hole once, the man who smiled and bled with us until he didn't. His lies. His blood on the floor after the betrayal. Trust is never just broken here. It's detonated. And the echo burns years after.
Ren collapses into his chair, hands raking his hair. “I didn’t tell him everything! I swear—”
Elias finally rises. The scrape of his chair against the floor is louder than the argument, louder than Ren’s pleading. He doesn’t raise his voice; he doesn’t need to. His presence pulls gravity to him like iron.
“You think scraps matter?” Elias takes one step, then another, slow and exacting. “You think Drazen plays for scraps?”
Ren shakes his head, trembling, but he doesn’t answer.
Silas hasn’t moved, but his gaze is fixed on me now. He’s waiting to see if I flinch, if this kind of betrayal still shakes me. I don’t give him the satisfaction.
I fold my arms, tilt my head, and speak as if Ren is already a corpse. “What else did you give him?”
Ren’s breath stutters. He presses his palms flat against the table, fingers spread as if anchoring himself to this last moment of life. “Names,” he whispers.
The room fractures.
Jax’s shout is instant, violent. Mara covers her mouth. Elias doesn’t blink.
"Whose names?" I ask, ice coiled tight around every syllable.
Ren's eyes dart to me, then Silas, then Elias. And in that wild, fractured second, I know the answer.
"Yours," he admits, the word cracking. "Yours, Lydia.
After Jori went down—after Bellamy—someone from Drazen's crew reached out.
Someone I used to work with, back before Elias.
They offered money, protection, said all I had to do was keep them updated.
Where you move, who you trust, how tight you are with Elias.
" His voice drops. "I gave him pieces, but—"
But nothing.
Every bone in my body hardens. Elias’s jaw tightens, a storm locked behind his eyes.
And Silas—God help me—Silas looks at me like he already wants to tear Ren apart with his bare hands.
Ren’s face collapses under the weight of his own confession, eyes darting as if there’s a door left to run through. But there isn’t. Not here. Not with Elias standing over him like the inevitable.
“Elias—” Mara’s voice cracks, trembling but steadying in the same breath. She isn’t begging. She knows better. She’s warning.
Elias ignores her. His focus is singular, a blade of ice in human form. He leans down, resting his hands on the table, so close to Ren that every word he speaks seems to lodge inside the man’s throat.
“You don’t get to barter survival with the names of people under my protection.” His voice is calm, steady. “That is the only line I’ve ever drawn. You crossed it.”
Ren shoves back, his chair screeching against the floor. His hands shoot up, trembling palms out, as if open fingers can undo betrayal. “I swear, I didn’t mean for it to go that far! Drazen—he had me cornered, he—”
“Stop.” Elias doesn’t raise his tone, but the word cuts clean through.
For a moment, Ren actually listens. His mouth hangs open, silent, as if he’s just realized he’s already dead.
Jax mutters a curse, slamming his fist into the wall, turning away. He doesn’t want to watch, but he can’t leave. None of us can.
I feel it—the déjà vu of betrayal rotting in my chest. Kinley. His lies, the way his deceit spread like ink. And now Ren, another body proving that trust is always a loaded gun pointed back at your own skull.
Elias straightens, pulls the pistol from his waistband. Smooth. Without hesitation.
Mara gasps once, then goes still, bracing herself. Jax steps forward as if he might say something, then thinks better of it.
Ren’s knees hit the floor, his hands shaking so violently I almost pity him. Almost. “Elias, please. I can fix this. I can—”
“You already broke it.”
The shot is deafening in the narrow room.
Ren crumples, folding into himself, eyes wide with shock even as life drains out of them. The metallic tang of gunpowder coats the air, mingling with the iron scent of blood spreading across the floorboards.
No one moves for a long beat.
Jax finally curses again, low and guttural, dragging both hands through his hair. His eyes are wide, rattled, like he’s staring into a future where anyone could be next.
Mara turns away, pressing her palm to the wall, swallowing down her fear.
Elias holsters his gun with surgical detachment, his expression unbroken, as if he’d only removed a stain from the carpet. He doesn’t look at me, doesn’t look at Silas. He just says, “Clean it,” and walks out.
The door clicks shut behind him.
The silence that follows is heavier than the gunshot.
I stare at the blood pooling around Ren’s still form. My hands are steady, but inside, something sharp grinds against old scars.
And then I feel it. Silas at my side.