6. Chapter Six
Chapter Six
Wrenley
The couch cushions swallow me as I sit in silence next to Margot, her fingers trembling slightly as she studies the photograph. I can’t stop staring at the necklace in my lap. The small compass spins lazily, no longer tethered to any true north.
“The little compass still spins like it always did,” I murmur. “Even though it doesn’t point north anymore.” Margot glances over at me, her brows pulling together in quiet concern.
“Uncle Benjamin said it didn’t have to,” I continue, my voice low. “He said, ‘You’ll always know where you’re going.’”
I don’t know if I still believe him. But I want to.
Reaper and Elias are behind the desk, combing through security footage with tight jaws and heavier silence.
They’re pulling clips from the front, back, and alley cameras, but the looping starts and ends with eerie precision.
Only the brief glimpse of a gloved hand.
No faces. Just a time gap. A fucking ghost.
The office door swings open, and Max walks in holding a familiar black box. My stomach sinks. He doesn’t have to say anything, the tension in his shoulders, the haunted look in his eyes, the careful way he grips the corners of the lid all scream louder than words.
He looks at Reaper, then to me. “This was left at the garage sometime overnight. Cameras were looped, short window, maybe ten minutes.”
Elias lets out a sharp, “What the fuck is going on?”
I exhale slowly, my nerves wrapped tight like piano wire. “Let me guess. My name is on it.”
Max nods. “Yeah. I opened it already.”
Elias always trying to break the tension says “Well, that’s a felony.”
I roll my eyes and drag a deep breath sitting up straighter, steadying myself. “Okay. Hit me with it. What is it this time?”
Before Max can respond, the door opens again. Riot strolls in like he owns the place, Torque and Wrecker behind him. They halt when they see the expressions on our faces.
Max hands me the contents of the box. I take the photographs from his hands slowly, as if touching them might set off a bomb. But the real explosion is in my chest the moment I see what’s captured.
It’s me. At different ages. Smiling. Laughing. Unaware.
There’s one of me at the botanical gardens with Margot, both of us dripping wet from running through the sprinklers.
Another at my seventh birthday, icing smeared on my cheeks, a crown of flowers on my head.
One where I’m curled up on the window seat in the library, reading a book I used to hide under my mattress.
I remember these moments. And I remember these photos. Not because I took them, but because my mother did. She always had a camera in her hand. And later, I’d find her flipping through prints, neatly arranged in boxes, labeled by year, date, event. Like my life was a catalog to be managed.
But these… these were never in the family albums. She didn’t save them for memories. She shared them.
My stomach twists as I flip to the last photo, the paper stiff between my fingers.
It’s a close-up, me around nine or ten, sleeping on the couch, a stuffed fox clutched to my chest. The angle is wrong.
Too close. It wasn’t taken by my mother.
I glance in the box again. The note waits at the bottom, scrawled on thick cream paper, like a wedding invitation.
You grew up so beautiful.
I’m glad you didn’t die.
-S.M.
My blood turns to ice.
“Sparrow?” Max says carefully.
I lift my eyes to him, then to Reaper, and finally to Margot, who has gone completely still beside me. My voice is low when it finally breaks free. “My mother shared my life. With… someone.”
We’re upstairs in the club apartment, the lights dimmed low, but the weight of everything is still too loud to ignore.
Max and Reaper are talking just outside in the hallway.
Their voices are low and clipped. I catch only fragments.
“…mansion security… Serpents only, first round of recruits… no one else…”
It’s decided. I’m no longer allowed to go anywhere alone. Which is fine. I rarely do anyway. Still, it feels like something’s being taken from me. Again.
I stand in the bedroom, hands trembling slightly as I fasten the last clasp on the dress Margot insisted I wear tonight. It hugs my body like armor, black silk, sharp cutouts, daring and defiant, but it doesn’t feel like protection. It feels like bait.
I don’t want to be here. Not in this club., Not in this skin. Not with these memories crawling back from graves that should’ve stayed closed.
The door creaks open, Max steps in, his eyes scanning me like he’s taking inventory of every fracture I’m trying to hide. “I just let security know to double up downstairs,” he says gently. “Nothing moves in or out without our eyes on it.”
I nod, my mouth too dry to speak. My fingers are twitching. He moves closer, waiting for me to meet his gaze. I don’t. “I’ll see you downstairs, Sparrow.”
It breaks something in me. That word. That name.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, not even sure if I’m saying it to him or myself. Max frowns, stepping in, cradling my face in both hands. “For what?”
“For my mother… fucking with us from the grave.”
His eyes harden, but the kiss he presses to my lips is anything but. It’s deep. Unapologetic. A brand of love that’s survived war.
“We survived her once,” he murmurs against my lips. “We’ll do it again.”
I melt into him, just for a second. Letting him be the warmth I need.
The anchor. Then he’s gone, and the apartment feels colder than before.
Silence presses in. The panic comes fast. Like a rip current, it grabs me and pulls me under before I can brace.
My hands tremble violently. My chest tightens until it feels like a vise is wrapped around my ribs.
My knees threaten to give, but I refuse to fall, not yet.
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale—
But nothing comes. My vision tunnels. Then arms, strong, unrelenting. Liam.
He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. He grabs me tight, pulling me back from the edge. His voice is calm, grounded. “I’ve got you.” His back slides down the wall, taking me with him until we’re on the floor. I’m cradled against him, his heartbeat steady against my spine.
“Breathe with me,” he whispers. “Just match me, Little Warrior.” I try. I fail. I try again. Slowly, the air returns. The world doesn’t stop spinning, but it slows just enough for me to hold on. I don’t cry. I don’t break. I breathe, because he’s breathing with me. For now… that’s enough.
I don’t know how long we stay like that, his arms wrapped around me, anchoring me through the storm while my ribs quake and my vision spins. But eventually, the static begins to fade. My heartbeat, still frantic, slows just enough to make room for thought again. For breath.
I turn, pressing my face into his chest and whisper, “I hate this.”
“I know,” he murmurs into my hair. “But I’ve got you.”
When I finally feel my legs under me again, I untangle from him and push myself to my feet. My reflection in the mirror catches my eyes, smudged mascara, swollen lips, the raw truth of everything I’m still carrying.
I turn and stare for a long moment. Then square my shoulders.
“That’s it,” I say quietly, meeting my own eyes. “No more of those.”
I turn to Liam, Reaper, and there’s a glint of steel behind the exhaustion in my voice. “I just needed to get that one out.”
He watches me, cautious, concerned. But I don’t give him time to protest.
“Now help me change.” A corner of his mouth lifts.
“Bossy,” he mutters, already moving.
“You like it,” I shoot back.
His smile lights up his entire face. “I really do.”