24. Lucien
Lucien
One Week Later
The air in Dante’s office smells like old smoke and blood—like secrets that have soaked into the walls and refused to die.
He sits with his back to me, elbows braced on his knees, hands clasped so tight they’re white. The bruises on his face are fresh. So are the ones he won’t show. The ones under his skin.
I stay silent.
He’ll speak when he’s ready.
That’s the thing about Dante—he doesn’t waste breath. If he’s quiet, it means something.
When he finally does talk, it’s low. Graveled. Like his voice is still clawing its way out of whatever Hell Damien dragged him through.
“He was obsessed with her.”
I don’t ask who.
Because I already know.
Destiny.
I shift my weight, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. “That wasn’t news.”
“No,” Dante agrees. “Not to you—it wasn’t. But what I didn’t know—what I couldn’t have known—is how early it started. How the fuck was it even a thing?”
He looks at me now, eyes rimmed red, voice trembling with restraint.
“She was sixteen when they met. Maybe younger. Some fucked up party. He zeroed in on her like she was a fucking prize. And she—”
He exhales hard, shaking his head. “She thought he saw her. Really saw her.”
Lucien. You know that look people get when they’re drowning and someone finally throws them a rope? That was her. And he was the rope—wrapped in barbed wire.”
I stare at the floor. I know that situation all too well. Astra. She was just like Destiny.
“I didn’t know it was that bad.”
Dante snorts bitterly. “None of us did. Because she didn’t tell us. Because she chose him. That’s what fucks me up the most.”
He rubs his hands over his face, breathing like it hurts to inhale.
“She went with him willingly. And I blamed myself this whole time. Then—I saw what he did to Harmony. How he breaks you down so slowly, you don’t even realize you’re on your knees until he hands you the chain.”
I swallow hard. “Did he…?”
“She was sold or killed, Lucien.” Dante’s voice cracks. “She made one mistake—one fucking moment of rebellion—and he decided she was disposable.”
I want to punch a hole through the wall.
Instead, I sit.
Because I know where this is going.
And I think Dante’s finally ready to take me there.
“There’s more,” he says, almost like a warning.
I nod. “Go on.”
He doesn’t look at me when he speaks.
“She had a twin.”
I blink. “What?”
He finally turns.
“Destiny had a twin sister. Our mother gave her away at birth. Said my father wouldn’t let her have two girls. I didn’t know. None of us did.”
My stomach flips.
Dante’s never looked this raw. Not even when he buried Destiny.
“She’s alive,” he says quietly. “Her name is Brooke.”
The name hits like a shot to the chest.
Brooke.
I know that name.
That girl .
The one Damien parades around like a devout little soldier these days. The one with wide eyes and soft smiles that feel off—like taxidermy made human. The one he warned me about.
“Brooke is Destiny’s twin ?” I ask, voice low, stunned.
Dante nods. “Found her in the Orchard. Damien’s been keeping her close. Grooming her. Molding her.”
“Fucking Hell,” I mutter, dragging a hand down my face. “That explains everything. The favoritism. The attention. The way he talks about her like she’s some holy relic. Why Harmony is no longer in the picture. He found a replacement.”
“Yeah.” Dante’s lips twist. “She’s his third chance. His do-over.”
“And she doesn’t know?”
“She believes in him, Lucien. She worships him. I told her the truth, and she looked me in the eye and said I was lying.”
I close my eyes, trying to process it.
It makes sense . Of course, it does. Damien never does anything withou t a motive. And now that Destiny’s gone… Brooke is the new canvas. Untouched. Loyal. Naive.
And he’s painting her in her sister’s image.
A slow breath escapes me.
“What are we going to do?” I ask.
Dante lifts his head, jaw tight. “I don’t know. She’s not a victim anymore. She’s a weapon.”
“And Harmony?”
“Trying to survive somewhere, or dead. Same as always.”
We sit in silence for a long moment.
I think of Harmony, of how she clings to stillness when everything around her is chaos. Of the way her eyes flinch before her mouth can lie. Of the bruises I’ve seen and the ones she is probably hiding.
I think of Destiny.
I think of Brooke .
And I realize something terrifying.
We’re not just trying to take down Damien anymore.
We’re trying to dismantle a religion.
Because that’s what he’s built.
A following.
A doctrine.
A cult of people who think his collar is a crown.
And the only way to beat him?
It’s to convince them that they were never queens.
Only prisoners.
Dante stands to leave. “I‘ll be back. I need to handle something.”
* * *
The silence between us isn’t tense.
It’s lethal.
Da nte hasn’t spoken since he walked back in, just tossed a manila folder onto the table of the safe house, and started pacing. There’s mud on his boots and blood at the corner of his sleeve.
Neither of us mentions it.
I flip open the folder.
A floor plan of the prison. A section is circled in red.
REC ROOM.
He doesn’t wait for questions.
“That’s where the auction is.”
My spine stiffens. “The fucking rec room?”
He nods. “Cleared it out. Installed cameras. One entrance. One emergency door. No windows. You bring in the product from the loading dock, display them on the stage, and bid.”
“Like cattle.”
“Worse,” he mutters.
I keep flipping.
It’s all here—rotations, schedules, even coded entries. None of it is sourced. None of it is labeled.
“Where’d this come from?”
He doesn’t answer at first.
“We have someone inside.”
My eyes snap up. “Who?”
“I’m not naming them. You don’t need to know.”
I want to argue, but I don’t.
Because if we say their name out loud, they’re already dead.
Instead, I focus on the map. Tunnels. Yard access. Guard blind spots.
“We need to place someone inside,” I say.
Dante grunts. “Agreed. Buyer access only. Top-tier, cash verified. Two open slots still on the registry.”
“Fake IDs?”
“Already in motion,” he says. “We’ll need burner phones. Audio, visual feeds. I can get you in as a buyer.”
I pause. “Just me?”
“They’ll never let me near the place. I’m on Damien’s blacklist.”
“And Reese?”
“Too close to Harmony if she is alive. Damien’s watching him.”
I nod, tension thick in my throat. “What’s the backup plan?”
“If the auction goes south, we breach. There’s a secondary entrance through a collapsed tunnel under the east wing. Our informant said it’s passable but tight. We’ll need a distraction.”
I run a hand through my hair. “Explosives?”
“Or fire,” he says flatly. “If they’re panicked, they’ll make mistakes.”
“And the captives?”
“We extract who we can. Prioritize Harmony and Brooke. Then burn the place to ash.”
I nod slowly, letting it sink in. “You realize this could get us killed.”
“I’m counting on it,” he says.
I look up. His eyes are dead calm.
Resolved.
And for the first time in months, I feel it too.
There’s no turning back after this.
Not when the Golden Hollows exist.
Not when humans are being sold like merchandise in a repurposed prison rec room.
“Three weeks,” Dante mutters. “That’s all we’ve got.”
“Then let’s make them count.”
* * *
She doesn’t knock.
She never does anymore.
As tra moves like she belongs in my space. Like the room was built around her silhouette. Like the shadows on the wall are hers to command.
And maybe they are.
I don’t look at her when she enters. I keep my eyes on the blueprint spread across the bed—our plan, scribbled in red ink and fury.
“You’re quiet,” she says softly.
I grip the edge of the mattress. “Would you rather I scream?”
“I’d rather you stop pretending this doesn’t scare you.”
I laugh under my breath. Dry. Bitter. “Scared men don’t win.”
She circles closer, bare feet silent on the wood. “And dead men don’t try.”
I finally look up.
She’s standing in front of me, arms crossed over her chest, eyes hard. But underneath, I see it—that familiar flicker of fear. Not for herself. For me.
For what I might become.
“What if we’re too late?” I ask, voice low. “What if he already sold her? Or killed her?”
Astra doesn’t flinch. “Then we burn it all down.”
She always says shit like that. Beautiful, reckless things. But there’s something different now. Something is shaking in her bones, even if she hides it behind the blade of her mouth.
“She’s so young,” I murmur. “Destiny’s twin. I didn’t even know she existed.”
“She didn’t,” Astra says. “Not until he needed her.”
My hands curl into fists.
Damien has always been a sickness. Like fucking cancer. A ghost in our bloodline that we pretended wasn’t rotting the roots. And now? He’s become the monster we used to warn ourselves about.
And he has Brooke.
He has Harmony.
He’s always had someone.
And this time, I’m going to take everything from him.
“She trusts him,” I say. “Brooke. Dante said she’s… loyal.”
Astra kneels in front of me, her fingers brushing my knee.
“So was I.”
I meet her gaze. “And now?”
Her mouth curls into something between a smirk and a scar. “Now I see him for what he has been. I know there is no hope. And I want him dead even more now.”
Her hand slips up my thigh.
My breath catches.
“You think this is smart?” I ask. “Fucking while we plan a war?”
She climbs onto my lap, slow and unhurried. “I think it’s the only time I still feel alive.”
I grip her hips.
Hard.
“You’re not a weapon,” I whisper.
“Yes, I am,” she says, lips brushing mine. “You made me one.”
I drag her mouth to mine and kiss her like it’s the last thing I’ll ever taste. Her hands thread into my hair, tugging just hard enough to hurt. She bites my lip. I dig my nails into her back.
We don’t undress. We tear.
Shirts pulled. Pants shoved. Skin on skin, like we’re trying to crawl inside each other. Like touch can erase everything we’ve seen. Everything we’ve done.
She grinds down on me, breath shaky, nails dragging across my chest.
“Say it,” she gasps. “Say you need me.”
“I don’t need anyone.”
“Liar.”
I flip her onto her back, pinning her wrists above her head.
Her legs wrap around my waist.
“Say it,” she whispers again, eyes burning.
And I do.
“I need you like water.”
I know water is her second favorite thing on this planet.
She breaks beneath me—body arching, voice cracking, heart wide open. I sink myself into her. And I follow her into the dark.
We don’t come up for air.
We don’t speak after.
Because the war is already here.
And this?
This is the only peace we’ll ever get.