Chapter 14
Rook
The house doesn’t sound right anymore.
I notice it in the mornings — the rhythm of footsteps, the pattern of voices, the faint, discordant hum that sits under the quiet like a pulse out of sync.
For years, the Riders have been a perfect machine. Every man with a purpose. Every breath in time with the others. No friction. No weakness.
Now there’s her.
And everything’s slipping.
At first, it was subtle. A softer tone from Saint. The hint of hesitation in Ash’s reports. Wraith hovering longer outside her door than any order required. Mateo laughing too loud.Now it’s chaos wrapped in civility — smiles at breakfast, jokes at dinner, tension like a wire beneath every word.
She’s a catalyst. I know it.
I just don’t know for what.
I sit in my office, the London skyline stretching gray and endless beyond the rain-streaked windows. The sound of traffic hums below — far away, completely irrelevant. I used to like this view. It made me feel above it all. A reminder that I could claw my way out of any gutter on top.
Now it feels like a mirror. Cold. Impenetrable.
I drag a hand through my hair and look down at the files spread across the desk. Photos. Reports. A timeline that doesn’t fit.
Owen Calloway’s operation should have been simple. Drugs, weapons, falsified shipments through the Russians. I gave the order, Wraith carried it out, and the body disappeared into the Thames like every other ghost we’ve made.
But Ember Calloway doesn’t move like the sister of a street rat. She watches like some trained operative. And when she lies, she does it too well.
If she’s what I suspect — or worse, what I’m starting to believe — then every choice I’ve made since the night Owen died has been a noose tightening around my own neck.
I close the file. My patience has limits, and lately, they’re shrinking.
There’s a knock on the door — not light, not hesitant. Heavy. Familiar. “Come in,” I say immediately.
Wraith enters like he always does. A bulky frame that always towers over everything else. He’s quiet, eyes darker than usual. He closes the door behind him but doesn’t move closer.
“You wanted to see me,” he says.
“I did.”
I nod to the chair opposite me, but he doesn’t sit. Typical.
I study him for a long moment. Ronan Black. My enforcer. My oldest ally. The only man in this house who’s ever seen me bleed and lived to speak on it. Not that he ever would. He’s way too fucking loyal for that. But…
Lately, he’s not right either. And if I had to guess, it has something to do with a certain redhead sleeping in my bed.
“Something on your mind?” he asks, arms crossing over his chest.
“Plenty.” I lean back, steepling my fingers. “You, for one.”
His brows lift slightly. “Me?”
“You’ve been… off.”
He grunts, unimpressed by my line of questioning. “Define… off.”
“Distracted,” I say. “Less disciplined. Less loyal.”
That gets a reaction — a slow, dangerous look from under his lashes. “Careful, Caelum.”
“Am I wrong?”
He exhales through his nose, jaw tightening. “You’re paranoid. That girl’s got your head twisted.”
“My head,” I echo softly, “is fine.”
“Then why are you asking me questions you already know the answers to?”
Because I need to hear you say them, I think. Because I need to know if you’ve fallen too. Instead, I say, “Because I don’t like loose variables. And she’s becoming one.”
He doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t even blink. He stays quiet and steady in that insufferable sort of way. “You think she’s dangerous,” he says.
“I think she’s not what she claims to be.”
He studies me, then asks the question on the tip of his tongue. “You think she’s lying about her brother?”
“I think she’s lying about everything. It’s just a matter of determining which lie is the most important,” I counter, refusing to acknowledge the way the thought of her fucking us over makes my stomach twist.
Something flickers across his expression — too quick to catch, but it’s there. Guilt. Or maybe memory.
“Ronan.” My voice sharpens. “You’re the one who pulled the trigger. You sure you got the right man?”
His jaw flexes, venom spewing from his lips. “Owen was dirty. We had proof.”
“Proof you never fully received. Only a snippet that was meant to damn him.”
He steps forward, and for a moment the air between us tightens. “You signed the order.”
“Yes,” I say. “And now I’m wondering if I signed the wrong one.”
The silence that follows is heavy. Old loyalty and new doubt colliding like stones.
“You’re letting her get to you,” he says finally.
“Am I?” I question, refusing to give a name to the feeling racing through my chest.
He huffs out a bitter laugh. “Yeah. You are. She’s in your head, and she’s in mine, and she’s in every room of this house like a goddamn ghost.”
He’s right, but I won’t give him that satisfaction. “Then maybe we should start exorcising,” I say dryly.
He doesn’t smile. “She’s just a girl,” he mutters. “Stop making her more than that.”
I rise from my chair, crossing to the window. “If she’s just a girl, explain why every man under my command is changing because of her.”
He doesn’t answer. I turn, my reflection fractured in the glass — one half light, one half shadow. “Mateo’s reckless, Saint’s distracted, Ash is unpredictable, and you…”
“Say it,” he growls.
I turn to face him again, wanting to look him in the eyes when I say it. “You’re conflicted.”
He takes a step closer. “You’re projecting.”
“Am I?” I quirk a brow.
He laughs once, low and humorless. “You think you’re the only one who sees it? The way you look at her?”
That stops me. For a heartbeat, neither of us breathes.
“I look at her,” I say evenly, “the way I look at every threat.”
“Then maybe you should stop looking,” he snaps. “Before one of us does something we can’t take back.”
The words hang between us — raw, honest, and far too late. He turns to leave, but I stop him with one more question. “If she’s the key, Ronan—if she’s what’s been missing from all this—what happens when she remembers?”
He pauses at the door, his hand on the handle. Doesn’t turn.
“Then, brother,” he says quietly, “we burn.”
The door shuts behind him, leaving me alone with the rain and the ghosts of my own design.
For a long moment, I just stand there, staring out at the city I built, wondering how long before it all falls apart.
And wondering, not for the first time, if Ember Calloway is the weapon sent to finish what Owen started.