Chapter 22
Rook
Morning breaks gray and unkind. The kind of London morning that seeps into your bones and reminds you you’re still alive when you shouldn’t be.
The house feels different, somehow. Quieter—like it’s holding its breath.
She’s downstairs already. I can feel it. The sound of her footsteps on marble, light and careful, reaches even here — up in the study where the rest of us gather before the storm.
Vale’s leaning against the wall, cracking his knuckles like he’s warming up for a performance.
Saint sits in the corner, head bowed, thumb running along the edge of a silver cross he no longer believes in.
Ash stands near the monitors, silent, watching feeds that show nothing but stillness.
And Wraith—he hasn’t spoken since last night.
The tension between them is a living thing. It hums under the surface, low and dangerous. I pour myself a cup of black coffee and let the silence sit.
No one dares break it. Not until Vale finally grins and says, “Feels like a funeral in here.”
I glance up. “If you can’t take this seriously, leave.”
“Who says I’m not serious?” he says, smirk widening. “You want her to talk, I’ll make her talk. Might even enjoy it.”
“Not happening,” Wraith growls.
Vale laughs, sharp and amused. “Oh, right. Forgot you’re her knight in bloody armor now, aren’t you?”
Wraith’s chair screeches back as he stands. “Say that again.”
“Enough,” I bark, the word cutting through their noise like thunder.
They stop. Barely. Saint looks up, eyes cold. “This is madness. We don’t even know what we’re accusing her of.”
“We’re accusing her,” I say evenly, “of playing us.”
Ash’s voice is quiet, detached. “She’s hiding something, Caelum. Something she thinks is worth dying for. You can see it every time she looks at us.”
Wraith crosses his arms. “And you think dragging her down here like a prisoner is going to make her talk?”
“That’s exactly what I think,” I say.
He laughs, low and bitter. “You’ve lost it.”
“Maybe,” I admit. “But I haven’t lost control.”
He doesn’t believe me, not that I blame him. I don’t entirely believe me either.
I drain the rest of the coffee and set the cup down. “Ash, bring her in.”
He nods once and disappears down the hall. Vale hums a tune under his breath, some old Spanish hymn turned obscene. Saint mutters another prayer. Wraith paces, jaw tight.
I stay still. Stillness is a weapon.
When the door opens again, the air shifts, tightening like a noose around my neck.
Ember steps inside, wearing black again. Not the same dress, but close enough to make it hurt. Her hair’s still loose, her expression carefully composed. But her eyes—they flick over each of us like she’s already measuring escape routes.
“Morning,” she says softly.
Vale grins. “Morning, Red.”
“Sit,” I tell her.
She hesitates, then obeys, sliding into the chair in the center of the room. It’s not quite an interrogation table, not quite a trap—but close enough.
Ash takes his place by the wall, tablet in hand. Wraith stands behind her, too close, every muscle coiled. Saint keeps to the far corner, watching like he’s already judging us all. Vale perches on the edge of the table, eyes bright with interest.
I stay where I am. Leader. Judge. Executioner.
“You’ve had a comfortable stay,” I say. “Good food. Warm bed. Clothes you didn’t earn. All we’ve asked for in return is honesty.”
She meets my gaze, cool and detached. “I’ve been honest.”
“You’ve been selective.”
Her chin lifts. “I don’t owe you everything.”
“No,” I agree. “But you owe me something.”
I circle the table slowly, my footsteps echoing against the marble. “You know what I think, Ember? I think you’re not just a thief or a bystander. I think you’re trained. And I think you and your brother were working for someone—someone who wants what we have.”
Her eyes flicker, just once. But it’s enough. It tells me everything I need to know about why she took the drive.
Vale notices it too. He leans in, voice soft. “That hit a nerve, didn’t it?”
She doesn’t answer.
“Let’s start simple,” I continue. “Who are you working for?”
“No one,” she answers calmly.
“Wrong answer,” I say.
Vale smiles. “Want me to loosen her tongue?”
“Touch me,” Ember snaps, “and you’ll lose your hand.”
Vale laughs, delighted. “She’s feisty today. I like it.”
“Vale,” I warn. He shrugs but doesn’t move away. I refrain from pinching the bridge of my nose, no matter how badly I want to.
Ash moves to my side, speaking quietly in my ear. “Caelum, let me try something else. She’s good under pressure—this won’t break her. But if I feed her misinformation, see how she reacts—”
“Do it,” I say.
Ash nods, stepping forward. His voice drops to a near-whisper. “We already know, Ember. The CIA, MI6—take your pick. You’re not the first agent we’ve crossed paths with. But you’re the first one reckless enough to get caught.”
Her reaction is small. A pause, a flick of breath, a tightening of the jaw. But it’s there.
“Interesting,” Ash murmurs.
“Enough,” she says quietly. “I’m not—”
“Trained?” Wraith cuts in. His voice sounds wrong—too rough, too personal. “You move like one. Think like one. You stare at exits before faces. You remember every weapon in the room.”
Her throat moves as she swallows. “Maybe I’ve just been around too many killers lately.”
Vale laughs again, low and cruel. “Maybe you like it just as much as the rest of the monsters in the room.”
Saint’s voice snaps like a whip. “Enough, Vale.”
He grins. “Relax, Padre. She’s not your confessional.”
“I said enough,” he seethes, irritation flashing in his icy gaze.
“Both of you,” I interrupt. “Quiet.”
The room falls silent again. I walk closer until I’m standing right in front of her. She looks up at me, defiant and trembling all at once. “I’ll make this simple,” I say. “You tell me who you’re working for, and I’ll consider letting you walk out of this house alive.”
Her lips part. For a moment, I think she might give it up.
Then she smiles — small, soft, devastating. “You won’t kill me.”
Vale tilts his head. “What makes you so sure?”
“Because,” she says, voice steady now, “you don’t know what happens if you do.”
Silence answers her, and I pause briefly. We already know about the drive, but what else is she hiding? Wraith’s breathing changes behind her. Ash looks up from his tablet. Even Saint’s eyes flicker.
I stare at her and feel the shift — something cold and certain sliding into place. She’s waiting.
And for the first time in years, I can’t tell if we’ve caught our enemy… Or if she’s caught us.
Ember
The silence that follows my bluff feels like a living thing. It stretches between us, heavy and electric. Rook’s gaze doesn’t move from my face. Not once. He’s studying me like I’m something that crawled out of the dark and started speaking in tongues.
“Everyone out,” he says finally.
It’s not loud. It doesn’t have to be.
Vale looks disappointed. “Already? I was just starting to enjoy myself.”
“Now.”
Ash hesitates, searching my face once more before slipping out. Saint follows, muttering something low under his breath, maybe a warning or a prayer. Wraith lingers. His eyes find mine—one last time—and then flick to Rook. “You sure you want to be alone with her?”
“I said out.”
Wraith leaves last, jaw tight enough to crack. The door clicks shut behind him, and suddenly it’s just us.
The air feels different now. Thicker. Charged with something I don’t quite have a name for.
Rook doesn’t sit. He stands across from me, all sharp lines and restraint. Every inch of him screams control, but I can feel the tremor underneath. The kind that precedes destruction.
“Brilliant bluff,” he says finally, voice low. “Almost believable.”
I arch a brow. “Almost?”
“Almost.” He leans in slightly. “You don’t have anyone coming for you, do you, Ember?”
I meet his gaze head-on, even though my heart is thundering in my chest. Crap, he’s so onto me. Maybe I’m a bit rusty. “Maybe. Maybe not,” I argue, trying to ignore the way my voice wavers.
“Don’t lie to me,” he says, voice low and stern.
“Then stop asking questions you already know the answers to.”
His jaw tics. “You think this is a game?”
“No,” I say, leaning forward. “I think it’s survival. You want to make my life hell? Fine. But don’t think I won’t make sure you regret every second of it.”
Something flashes in his eyes—amusement, anger, hunger. I can’t tell which. He steps closer. “Careful.”
“Why?”
“Because if you keep talking like that…”
“What?” I whisper.
His hand slams down on the table beside me, and I flinch before I can stop myself. He doesn’t miss it. He leans in, voice dropping to a quiet growl. “You’ll make me forget who’s in charge here.”
I should be scared. I know I should be. But my pulse is hammering for an entirely different reason, a reason I don’t even want to acknowledge.
He’s close enough that I can see the pale ring around his irises, the shadow of stubble along his jaw. He smells like clean steel and something faintly smoky, the kind of scent that shouldn’t make me dizzy but does.
I open my mouth to say something cutting—something that will save me from this—but he moves faster. His hand slides to the back of my neck. The kiss hits like impact—rough, desperate, claiming.
It’s not tenderness, it’s punishment—for both of us.
I gasp, caught between resisting and leaning into it. My hands grip the edge of the chair to stop from reaching for him. The world tilts. His mouth moves against mine once, twice, before he tears himself away like it burned.
The silence that follows is violent.
He steps back, breathing hard, eyes wide with something dangerously human. “Fuck,” he mutters, dragging a hand through his hair. “Fuck, Rook you bloody idiot.”
I stay frozen, lips still tingling, every thought in my head scattering like sparks. He looks at me, and for a heartbeat, I think he’s going to say something—apologize, threaten, anything. But he just exhales through his nose, slow and furious.
“I told Wraith to keep his distance,” he says. “Should’ve listened to myself.”
Then he’s gone—out the door, the echo of his footsteps following him down the hall.
I sit there, heart still pounding, fingers pressed to my mouth. Shock, confusion, heat—none of it makes sense.
He kissed me like he wanted to ruin something, and maybe he did.
Because I can’t stop thinking about the way it felt.
The weight of it, or the heavy truth in it.
And as much as I hate to admit it, part of me wants more.
Not just from him… From all of them.
Every glance, every threat, every forbidden touch—it’s twisting into something I don’t recognize. Something I can’t control.
I told myself I’d make their lives hell.
But if I’m not careful, they’re going to make me crave it.