12 Ruined
The house is quiet. The only light in my room is the dim golden glow from the lamp on the nightstand.
Maeve is sprawled out beside me on top of the covers, one hand tucked under her cheek, her hair a bright halo against the pillow. She’s not asleep—I can tell by the way her breathing shifts when I turn over.
“You’re awake,” I whisper.
“So are you,” she murmurs back, her voice soft, careful not to break the stillness too much.
I stare up at the ceiling. “I can’t stop thinking about her. About that phone call.”
Maeve props herself up on one elbow, watching me. “Because you’re scared it’s real… or because you’re scared it’s not?”
I swallow hard. “Both.”
She doesn’t rush me. She never does.
“I keep thinking about the good parts,” I admit, my voice low, almost like I’m confessing something shameful. “Her singing while she cooked, brushing my hair before school. The times she stood up for me.” My throat tightens. “I want to believe she’s still that person somewhere.”
Maeve’s gaze softens. “It’s okay to want that.”
“But it’s stupid, right? After everything she let Daniel do? After everything, she didn’t stop?”
“It’s not stupid,” she says gently. “It’s human. You’re allowed to want your mom to be… your mom.”
My chest aches in a way that’s different from the anger, different from the grief. It’s heavier.
I roll onto my side to face her. “What if I go and it’s a trap? What if I ruin everything for everyone?”
Her hand finds mine under the blanket, warm and solid. “Then we’ll deal with it. Together. But if it’s not a trap, and she really needs you… Then at least you’ll know you were there when it mattered.”
Her certainty is like a tether in the dark, keeping me from drifting too far into the what-ifs.
We lie there for a long time, just holding hands in the quiet. My thoughts keep circling back to my mom’s voice on the phone—shaky, desperate, familiar.
When sleep finally starts to creep in, Maeve squeezes my hand once, firm and reassuring. “We’ll figure it out,” she whispers.
And I almost believe her.
The knock on my door is sharp but not loud—enough to pull me from the half-sleep I’d drifted into after sunrise. Maeve stirs beside me, blinking at the sound.
“It’s Elara,” comes the muffled voice. “Your father wants to see you in his study.”
Maeve sits up, rubbing her eyes. “Go,” she says gently. “I’ll make sure you have coffee when you get back.”
“You’re truly an angel.” I roll out of bed.
“Don’t you forget it.” Maeve yawns.
The walk down the hall feels longer than usual.
When I push open the heavy double doors to Lucian’s study, the scent of leather and cedar greets me.
He’s behind his desk, not sitting but leaning against it, arms crossed.
His shirt sleeves are rolled up, and there’s a tension in his posture that has dread filling my body.
“Close the door,” he says.
I do, the latch clicking shut behind me. “What happened?”
“I sent a retrieval team to Daniel’s old residence last night,” he says without preamble. His voice is steady, but there’s an edge there—restrained frustration, maybe. “The property was completely cleared out before they arrived. No signs of life. No personal belongings. Nothing.”
It hits me like a slow, cold wave. “So she’s… gone?” My voice cracks on the last word.
Lucian steps away from the desk, his expression softening. “She’s not gone, Isobel. Just moved. Likely hidden. Daniel is being careful. We’re trying to trace his money trail.”
I fold my arms, hugging myself. “She sounded so scared. Like she needed me right then.”
“I know.” His gaze holds mine. “Which means we’ll find her. It’s only a matter of time. Daniel can’t hide from everyone forever. I’ll use my resources. You have my word.”
“But you couldn’t find me for years, she doesn’t have years.”
Lucian’s jaw works. I’ve hit a nerve. “I know.” His voice is tight.
The finality in his tone stops me from pressing further.
He moves back behind his desk, picking up a folder but not opening it. “In the meantime, I want you to focus. Keep training. Keep working with the team. You guys have a mission tonight, make sure you’re ready.”
I nod, because I know he’s right—even if it feels like another piece of me has been quietly pulled away.
When I leave the study, Maeve is waiting just down the hall with two steaming mugs. She takes one look at my face, wordlessly hands me the coffee, and falls into step beside me.
Cold night air bites through my gloves as I crouch on the corrugated metal roof, peering through the scope of my binoculars. Inside, the place hums with low conversation, the metallic clink of crates being moved, the occasional gleam of a rifle slung over a shoulder.
“Two on the north door, three inside near the table,” I whisper into comms.
“Copy,” Jace’s voice comes through. “Luca, you and I will go in through the loading bay. Isobel and Dakota take the roof access and drop in on the east side. Noah’s on Overwatch.”
“Copy,” we reply.
We rappel down the side, boots hitting the rusted fire escape without a sound. My pulse is steady. It’s comforting. The smell of oil and saltwater clings to everything.
Inside, Luca’s already a shadow gliding between crates. One guard shifts, starting to look his way—until Luca clamps a hand over his mouth and drives him silently against the wall, knocking him out cold. We weave between the towering stacks. My gaze fixed on the glittering prize ahead.
The choker sits in a black case, gleaming under the dim light.
Dakota nods to me as she moves to cover a different path.
I keep making my way towards the table. A guard cuts me off, his hand brushing the grip of his weapon as his gaze narrows.
For a second, the tension spikes, but I’m faster.
My elbow drives into his stomach, knocking the air out of him, and before he can call out, the hilt of my dagger knocks his temple. He slumps, stunned but alive.
“Package in sight,” I murmur, slipping the velvet case into my bag. The weight of it thrums through me.
“Moving now.”
“Good,” Jace answers as he and Luca enter the small clearing. “Now let’s move before—”
Shouts explode from the far side of the warehouse. Someone’s found one of the unconscious guards. Boots pound against concrete.
“—before that happens.”
We move fast. The necklace is secured. The shouts are closer now, boots hammering on concrete, rifles cocking from the shadows.
“Three incoming from the west corridor,” Noah warns.
“Take the north door,” Jace orders, voice clipped.
We pivot and weave. Adrenaline claws my chest as the shouts grow louder. A flashlight beam slices past. Luca drops one of the guards with a swift strike, keeping us from being pinned.
The exit glows faintly at the end of the hall. Almost there. Almost—
A shadow pops out from behind a box. I fall back against Jace and we both tumble to the floor. More guards step out from behind crates and we stand back to back as they circle around us.
I pull another dagger out of my thigh holster, flipping it with practiced ease.
“Ready, pretty girl?” Luca murmurs.
“Don’t hold back.” Jace says, then he moves.
“I definitely won’t.” Dakota says as she charges forward.
She barrels straight into the nearest guard, her shoulder slams into his chest like a wrecking ball. Sending him crashing into the crate behind him.
Jace moves out of my peripheral vision, ducking under a swinging arm and drives a blade into a guard’s side, yanking it free as he pivots behind another crate. Every move is fluid and controlled.
Luca grins, shooting me a wink. “Ladies first.”
A guard lunges for me, baton raised. I catch his wrist, twisting hard, using his momentum until I feel something pop. His grip loosens just enough. My dagger slides under his jaw and he drops.
Another comes at me from the right.
I pivot, blades crossing as I block his strike. The impact rattles my arms, he drives me back until my shoulder hits a crate. Pain flares. I snarl and slash low, catching his thigh. He stumbles back with a grunt. I charge him, tackling him to the ground, shoving a dagger into his ribs.
Blood slicks my fingers.
A shout distracts me before my mind can wander. I spin just in time to see a guard grab Jace from behind, arm locking around his throat. Panic spikes in my chest.
I sprint, leaping onto a crate and kicking off of it, launching myself at them. My blade sinks into the guard’s shoulder. He roars and loosens his hold, Jace drops, driving his elbow back, and finishes it in one brutal motion.
His eyes flick to mine. A question in them.
I nod. I’m fine. Keep moving.
Dakota is flipping off a crate, landing behind a guard as she lands a brutal blow to a guard’s spine.
Blood streaks her cheek, the smile feral as the guard drops.
Luca dances through the chaos, I swear, he’s humming under his breath as he disarms another guard, flicking his dagger across the space into another.
Two more guards charge Jace and I. I don’t hesitate, letting instinct take over. He pivots at the last moment, pain detonating across my side. I glance down just in time to see the blade sliding free of my flesh.
Shit.
I slash my dagger, catching his arm but my footing slips. The crate behind me catches me, my legs don’t listen the way they should.
The guard grins and lunges.
Jace hits him from the side, full force, knocking him off balance. Steel flashes. The guard goes down and doesn’t get back up.
“Iz.” Jace’s voice slices through the fog in my head.
I try to straighten. My side is on fire. “I’m fine.”
“You’re bleeding.”
Another guard rushes us. Jace shoves me back behind a crate and steps into the open, taking him head-on. I hear the dull impact, a strangled gasp, then silence.
My vision blurs at the edges.
I press my hand to my side. It comes away slick and red. Too much. Definitely too much.
My eyes flash to a different pool of blood.
“Stay with me.” Jace’s face appears in front of me. One hand braced against me. He tears a strip from his sleeve and presses it hard against the wound. I bite my cheek to keep from crying out.