Chapter 63
CEZAR
Lina woke, choking for air, nails carving into me before she ripped them away. I pulled her against me, trying to ground her, but her eyes were hazy. She was trapped somewhere I couldn’t reach. And the last time I saw that kind of terror in her, I had nearly died.
She told me she didn’t want to talk about it.
The lie distanced us. She crossed the room, shoulders locked, her withdrawal colder than any blade I’d ever pressed to her skin.
I gave her the only truth I had left. “I love you.”
Her jaw locked. “Don’t.”
A tremor ran through her as she faced the window. The reflection staring back wasn’t Lina. Not my Lina. It was someone wearing her skin—haunted and unraveled. My hand moved toward her, and she flinched as my mother used to when my father reached for her.
No!
“Don’t what?” My voice barely carried. “Tell you the truth?”
“You don’t know what I need. You can’t fix this. Just go.”
I stood there, chest cracked open, her silence widening a wound that would never close.
“Petal—”
Her shoulders stiffened. “Don’t call me that.” Her eyes were laced with anger or grief. Both hurt the same. “You can’t fix this, Cezar.”
The way she said my name made me feel unwanted, once again.
I know you’re hurting, but let me hurt with you.
I waited for her to look at me. To command me to stay. She didn’t.
So I left. The door slammed behind me, and the sound was the same as every moment that ever broke me—the night I lost my mother, the nights my brothers turned away. Some doors never open again.
Walking down the stairs, I realized I was holding my breath. Waiting for her to call after me. Waiting for anything to stop me from going back to the prison I had to call home. No one did, and then I was at the gates of hell once again.
The house reeked of smoke and old blood.
I hadn’t even crossed the threshold when Father’s voice met me.
“Do you know the cost of your silence?” His tone was flat, his words heavy with authority that had no meaning.
“You were told to keep eyes on the west docks. Instead, I hear whispers of a Reaper.” He let the name curl with disdain. “Nycto.”
Codrin’s boots paced somewhere behind him, a restless echo.
“I kept eyes,” I said, shrugging out of my coat. “You’re welcome.”
“Welcome?”
Father stepped into the light—perfect suit, perfect posture, perfectly empty. Rage never wrinkled him. “Product gone. Wrath from men who should be dead. And a clown in a mask making a joke of my streets.”
“Then laugh.” I smirked.
“What did you do?”
The Nycto Reaper had stirred the hornet’s nest again, and I’d die before I let him know who she was. Not my precious Petal.
“Some masks are mercy. I did what you told me. I made the problem mine.”
“Good.” His smile stayed dead. “Then you’ll take the consequences too.”
Codrin stepped forward, then back—caught between instinct and fear. “Father—”
“Be quiet.” Father didn’t even glance his way. “I am speaking to a disappointment.”
He launched into the same sermon he’d thrown at me since childhood. Loyalty. Strength. Bloodline. Honor. The empty commandments of a man who mistook fear for legacy. Every word another brick in the wall I was forced to kneel against.
“Loyalty is all that matters. Loyalty to me. To this family. To what I built with my hands while yours shook,” he hissed. “You are nothing without my name.”
I’d heard enough. I’d lived enough. I’d stopped listening years ago.
He took off his belt with ritualistic precision. “You want to be a martyr, Cezar? Fine. I will give you a cross.”
Father started to drag me into that room—the one etched into my nightmares. Codrin reached for his sleeve, but I stopped him before he could pull the devil’s hand away. His eyes widened, horror swallowing his face. I held him there, fingers digging in, and shook my head.
Let me.
My father smiled like he was pleased with the spectacle. The door shut behind us, and it was just me and him again.
The first lash snapped across my back. I didn’t flinch.
The second seared down my spine in a streak that burned.
My vision distorted, but I didn’t hear his sermon anymore.
All I heard was Lina telling me to go. All I saw was the door closing.
The belt fell again. My blood hit the floor and my thoughts never strayed from her.
I would never leave her.
She needs me.
At least that’s the lie I tell myself.
And if she didn’t—she’d have to kill me.
The belt tore into me again, opening my skin wide. I tasted iron and thought of her mouth instead. He leaned in, voice calm as a graveyard. “You will not shame me again.”
I laughed through blood, split lips curling. “It’s all you have left to feel, isn’t it?”
His eyes went flat. The next lash wasn’t a punishment—it was a sentence. Something meant to break bone, not just flesh. When his rage finally drained out, he dropped the belt and walked away like I was nothing more than another ordered hit.
Only she can truly kill me—and I’d thank her for doing it.
I was left alone in the silence, bleeding on the floor. And still I smiled through bloodied teeth. Because pain meant I wasn’t done. Pain meant I would crawl, if I had to, back to her.
Codrin crept in. He stopped when he saw me, my back flayed raw, crimson seeping into the old wood. His hands hovered, trembling, but he didn’t touch me. He had seen the aftermath, never the rite. “Why didn’t you let me stop him?” His voice broke.
I pushed onto my elbows. The room tilted. My vision caught on the ceiling—old water stains shaped like dying continents.
“No one can stop him.”