27. Rylan
27
RYLAN
S he’s lying.
I know she’s lying. Not lying exactly, but it’s still a lie when you get down to the roots.
I watch Seraphina from across the room, my mind turning over her words like pieces of a puzzle that refuse to fit. The treasure is real. There is a blood price.
It all sounds like a perfectly crafted truth.
And yet—I don’t believe her.
She’s hiding something, twisting the truth in a way that makes it impossible to tell where the lie begins and the truth ends.
That infuriates me.
I exhale slowly, feeling the moment pressing into my skull.
“You expect me to believe that?” My voice is deceptively calm, but my fingers curl into fists at my sides. “That all this time, this was your grand secret?”
Seraphina doesn’t flinch.
She holds her ground, arms folded, shoulders stiff.
“I don’t care what you believe,” she says.
That does irritate me.
I step closer. She doesn’t move.
“Don’t you?” I murmur, lowering my voice to something silken, sharp. “You came to me for a reason, little thief. You knew I’d be the only one who could help you. The only one who could protect you.”
She tilts her chin, but I see the flicker of something in her eyes.
Not fear.
Something worse.
Regret.
That alone makes my blood burn hotter.
What are you keeping from me, Seraphina?
I reach for her, fingers catching her wrist before she can step away. I feel her pulse, fast and wild beneath my grip, a stark contrast to the way she’s trying to appear calm.
She lets me hold her, but her eyes spark with warning.
“I told you the truth,” she says quietly.
“I’m no fool,” I murmur. “You told me a truth. Not the whole of it.”
She exhales sharply, shaking her head. “Does it matter? You know now. The treasure is real. And if you want it, you’ll have to pay the price.”
I pull her closer, just enough that the heat of her body sears into mine.
“And who, exactly, is supposed to pay it?”
Her entire body stills.
I narrow my eyes, watching the way her throat works through a swallow, the way her body tightens like a coil ready to snap.
“I see,” I say, voice quieter now.
Her lips press together. I can feel her heartbeat racing against my fingers. She twists her wrist free and takes a single step back, putting a fraction of space between us.
That should be the end of it.
I should let her go.
But I don’t.
I step forward, closing the distance again, forcing her against the edge of my desk.
She doesn’t retreat any further.
She won’t run.
Not this time.
I can see it in her eyes—the war inside her, the unspoken pull that neither of us want to acknowledge.
I want to shake her. I want to ruin her.
I want the truth.
But instead—I do nothing.
I let her go.
If I don’t—I will do something reckless.
And we’re already standing too close to the edge.
Her breath is unsteady as she steps around me, moving toward the door.
She hesitates once, just for a second.
She leaves.
I stand there, staring at the space where she had been, feeling like I just let something slip through my fingers that I may never be able to get back.