53. Epilogue
Epilogue
Sebastian
The warehouse collapses behind me in a slow, satisfying groan. Flames swallowed the last of the pink wallpaper, the warped bed frame, the floor that once held my precious baby sister’s memories. She’ll remember this instead. Good.
I stand on the hill overlooking the burning ruin, hands clasped behind my back, breathing in the smoke like perfume. The Serpents will be gone by now, dragging her out, choking on guilt, choking on the belief that they were too late. That she was too late.
Wrenley’s scream still echoes in my head. I smile. A soft vibration in my pocket pulls my attention down. I unlock the tablet swiping through the preserved surveillance captures.
Max held her up as she fought against him. Riot slamming his fist into the ground. Torque punching a support beam hard enough to break bone. Margot crying into Elias’ shoulder. Wrecker raking his hand through his hair in shock.
A week later I launch the drone above her house. All of them gathered in the garden at the memorial under the oak tree. Lanterns. Jacket. Dog tags. Wrenley on her knees, whispering something so soft the audio barely catches it. I rewind, zoom in.
“…going to be fathers…”
My smile sharpens. “Well, well,” I murmur. “A new Ashford. A new legacy.”
I tuck the tablet away, humming to myself. Not everyone deserves to know they’ve created life. Not yet. Especially not while she’s whispering to a makeshift grave, grieving the loss of the child’s father.
Time for the next act.
I walk toward the secondary facility, shoes crunching on gravel. The keypad accepts my code with a quiet tone. The door groans open, and dim lights flicker awake. A hallway stretches out before me, cold, industrial, humming with quiet machinery.
I stroll down it slowly. No rush. Anticipation is an art. I stop at the last door. Metal. Bolted. Soundproof. It’s perfect. I unlock it.
The hinges scream as it opens, and the dim light spills over the figure chained upright to steel plating, head bowed, chest bruised, blood drying in jagged trails across his ribs.
Alive. Barely. Beautifully broken. I step forward, lifting his chin with two fingers. His eyes open, hazy, unfocused, but burning with a fury that refuses to die.
“Well now,” I whisper. “You didn’t make that easy on me. I had to scramble to change my plans.”
He tries to pull away; the chains rattle, weak but defiant. I grin. “But, it could not have worked out more beautifully,” I murmur. “Thank you.”
He coughs, a ragged, pained sound, and somehow manages to lift his head another inch.
His voice is low and shredded.
“I’m going to make you regret keeping me alive.”
His lips barely move after that. “Always,” he breathes. “Always…”