41. Ellie #2
Killian doesn't fire. His finger is tight on the trigger, but the movement won't come. His breathing is ragged, and the muzzle of the gun is vibrating against Julian’s skin.
"See?" Julian whispers. "You're drowning in it. You're drowning in the noise of everything you've done."
Julian shifts his weight, leaning forward slightly until their foreheads are almost touching. He ignores the rifle entirely. His eyes lock on Killian’s.
"You’ve had your fun, Killian," Julian says. The mockery is gone, replaced by a level, terminal calm. "You’ve played your little game. But it’s dark now, and you’re tired. Put the gun down. It's time to come home."
Killian’s jaw is locked so tight I can hear the bone creak. He isn’t blinking; his eyes are fixed on Julian, his breathing coming in fast, shallow bursts that he can’t control. He looks like a man drowning in his own skin, fighting a tide that’s already pulled him under.
"Drop the weapon," Julian commands. "Turn around. Kill the girl."
Killian steps back. He lets the rifle hang on its sling and reaches into his vest. Julian’s mouth is already curved for the win.
Instead, Killian drops the paper swan on the desk. The white paper is stained with grease and grit. It looks fragile as hell against the dark mahogany.
Killian starts to circle. His movements are slow. A wolf assessing the meat before the first bite.
"You know, Ellie made me dozens of these things," Killian’s voice is low, almost conversational.
"Kai taught her how to fold them. Something about keeping her hands busy.
The numbers got too loud in her head after what your people did to her.
After what Grace did. So she sat there folding paper. Dozens of them."
He keeps moving, boots silent on the floor.
"Swans mate for life, Julian. Once they choose, that's it.
No moving on, no forgetting. Only that one bird.
" He pauses behind Julian's chair, one hand coming to rest on the leather.
"And you try to take their mate? They'll break your arm.
Actually break it. All that grace, all that beauty, and they'll shatter bone if you get too close to what's theirs. "
Julian’s eyes track him, his hands flat and white against the mahogany. "Your true nature doesn't just vanish because you spent a few months playing house."
"No. It doesn't." Killian comes back around to face him. He picks up the swan, turning it in his fingers. "I still hear your voice sometimes. You put that in deep."
He sets the swan back down between them.
"But here's where you fucked up. You taught me to be territorial.
To protect. To kill anything that threatens what's mine.
" His palms hit the desk as he leans in, his eyes piercing and sharper than I’ve ever seen them.
"Then you lot took her. Locked her in a cell.
Let Grace work on her for weeks. You wanted me to be the one to pull the trigger myself. "
Julian's hand twitches.
"So yeah, I heard your command. Every fucking word of it.
Drop the weapon. Turn around. Kill the woman standing behind me.
" Killian's voice goes quiet. Dangerous.
"I heard it. And I chose her instead. You can fold a man into any shape you want. You can crease him and break him until he looks exactly like the monster you need. But you made one mistake, Julian.” He leans in, his shadow swallowing the desk.
“You never clipped the wings. And they sure as hell don't let you try a second time.”
Julian’s face drains to grey. He lunges for the top desk drawer, his hand clawing for a weapon I know is there.
I fire.
The Glock kicks hard. The shot is louder than I expect in the small space. Julian’s shoulder snaps back, and he goes down, his voice cutting off mid-word in a roaring, wet scream. It’s a clean hit, high in the meat of his shoulder, enough to drop him but not enough to kill him.
I watch the red soak into the charcoal wool of his suit, darkening the fabric until it’s almost black.
He’s cursing under his breath, but through the ringing in my ears, it’s only white noise.
I don’t move, keeping my gun still aimed at him.
I’m still staring at the blood seeping as Julian falls to his knees, clutching his shoulder.
"You think," Julian gasps, his body jerking with involuntary shivers.
"You think this is a victory?" His face is grey, slicked with sweat as his hands clutch at the ruin of his shoulder.
Blood is already pooling around his knees in a dark, sluggish spread.
"Gregory would be—" He swallows hard against the surge of pain, his teeth chattering.
"Disgusted. Twenty years trying to keep you clean and—" His voice breaks into a brittle, breathless laugh.
"Now look at you. Standing over a bleeding man with a gun in your hand... You finally accepted what you are."
Killian jerks. He pulls in a breath that sounds like it's being torn out of his lungs. He looks at Julian on the floor, then at the gun in my hands. His pupils contract, focusing. He looks away, his knuckles white on his rifle.
"Jackson," Killian says, his voice a jagged rasp. "Gabe. Get him up. Now."
I flinch as shadows move at the edge of my vision.
I didn’t hear the door open. I didn’t even realize they were in the room.
Gabe jerks Julian’s hands to the rear. The zip-ties click as they pull tight.
Julian doesn't scream, he lets out a breathless laugh, his head thudding back against the mahogany as he stares up at Killian.
"You felt it, didn't you?" Triumph evident in his tone. "That pull. I'm still in there."
His teeth chattering as the shock starts to set in, and his face drains, now a sickly shade of grey as he stares at the blood coating his clothing. "You have no idea what you have done. The Order is bigger than me. Bigger than all of you."
Killian doesn’t blink. He watches Julian bleed onto the mahogany until Gabe jerks him up.
"Shut your fucking mouth," Gabe grunts, hauling him up. Julian stumbles, but he’s still smiling.
"Compound is clear," Jackson says into his comms, ignoring him.
Killian stands close. He’s still breathing hard, his chest heaving with the adrenaline of the win as he watches Julian being hauled away.
His hand comes up, rough fingers catching my jaw, turning my face toward the light.
Checking. His thumb drags over my cheekbone, comes away clean.
No blood. His eyes track down to my vest, my arms, looking for wounds.
"Ellie. Give me the gun."
I’m shivering so hard that I can hear the clip on the Glock rattling against the slide. I lower the barrel until it’s pointing at my boots.
"Are you... are you okay?" I ask quietly.
He reaches out, but he doesn't take the gun. He places his hand over mine. "I'm fine, Ellie," he rasps, his eyes searching mine until he finds the recognition he needs. "He didn't get to me. I’m still here. Get to the SUV. I'm right behind you."
In the courtyard, the wind is a steady roar. The snow stings my eyes, burying our tracks as we reach the convoy. The lead SUV is a silhouette of vibrating metal and grey exhaust, its headlights carve two holes into the storm.
Killian puts me in the passenger seat. The heavy thud of the door cuts out the roar of the wind. Julian is in the third truck. I lean my head back and close my eyes, my hands still rattling against my lap.
"You good?" Killian asks as he puts the vehicle in gear.
His hand reaches across the console, rough and shaking as he pats down my arm and shoulder, checking for wounds I might not have felt yet.His fingers are ice-cold and slick with gun oil, but the touch is steady, making sure I'm real, making sure I'm whole.
"I'm fine," I say. "I just want to go home."
It’s a lie. I look at the plaster dust on my sleeve and the raw skin of Killian’s knuckles. Beyond the glass, the lights of the compound vanish into the snow, taking the last of the world I used to know with them.
I don't have a home. I only have him.