Epilogue 2
We’re back.
Two weeks since my father was shot, and no one from my side of the family has spoken to me.
My mother hasn't tried to get in touch either. I knew she wouldn’t.
I’m in bed with the family who killed her husband.
The funeral was today, Matteo asked if I wanted to go, we could stand in the back no one would know we were there.
I told him no, I don’t belong there anymore, there is no place there for me.
Blackstone’s ancient stones rise like teeth in the fog, silent and waiting. The halls smell like smoke and secrets, just like they always have. But now? I walk them with something else in my chest.
Not fear.
Not shame.
Power.
I slip through the corridors like I belong. Because maybe… maybe now I do.
The night air is sharp as I push the roof door open. The sea wind punches into me, strong enough to peel the breath from my lungs. I walk barefoot to the ledge. The stone’s cold beneath my feet. Familiar.
I sit in the same place I nearly died. My legs dangle off the edge.
I close my eyes.
I remember how it felt that night when I was ready to fall. When everything inside me screamed and no one could hear.
But tonight?
I feel alive.
“Storm’s coming,” Matteo’s voice says behind me.
I don’t flinch. I don’t turn.
“Let it come,” I reply.
A beat of silence. Then, his body lowers beside mine. His warmth leans into my shoulder, but he doesn’t speak. We just sit, breathing with the wind.
This is our space, this is our place, and I love being here with him.
Then I feel it, cold metal pressed into my hand, and I open my palm.
A blade. Sleek. Balanced. Black steel with a silver spine, and it’s engraved in the hilt, in his unmistakable handwriting.
“For the lamb who learned to bite.”
Emotion claws its way up my throat.
“I made it for you,” he murmurs. “Custom grip. Your size. Balanced to your center of gravity.”
My fingers curl around the leather-wrapped hilt. “Why?”
He turns to me, eyes catching the lighthouse beam as it swings across the sea.
“Because next time they come for you, little lamb…” His voice lowers, raw and reverent. “They’ll find out just how sharp you’ve become.” The wind whips hard and my hair moves in front of my face, and Matteo moves it away as he leans in for a kiss.
My heart thrums like wings inside a ribcage too small to hold it.
“I thought I was supposed to be the soft one,” I whisper.
“You still are,” he says, brushing a wind-wild strand of hair behind my ear. “But now you’re soft like velvet wrapped around a dagger.”
He leans in, and I meet him halfway.
The kiss is quiet. No desperation. No shaking hands. Just certainty. His lips press into mine like a vow carved into stone.
When we break, I rest my head on his shoulder. The blade stays on my lap.
Down below, Blackstone sleeps.
And above us, the lighthouse spins through the storm clouds like an omen.
But I’m not afraid of the dark anymore.
Now the dark should fear me, should fear us.
I know with Matteo next to me, I never have to fear anything ever again, because he has enough rage inside him for the both of us.
The little lamb and the raging wolf together forever.
The End