Chapter 29 Nyx #2
Malachi stripped the gun from Avery’s jacket before it cleared the lining.
Jabari closed the distance slow and smooth.
Elijah locked the door.
The room shifted.
Avery tried to regain composure, straightening slightly even with Malachi’s hand at the back of his neck.
“You are making an emotional decision,” he said.
Jabari smiled.
Slow. Pleasant.
“Sir,” he said gently, “you have misunderstood the situation.”
His hand tightened on Avery’s shoulder.
“This is the calm version of us.”
I walked closer.
Close enough to smell the cologne on his skin.
“She said my name,” I told him.
My voice stayed steady.
“She thought I was going to save her.”
Something flickered in his eyes.
“I remember,” he said.
My hand did not tremble.
“Then you remember how you leaned close to see my face.”
Silence.
“You wanted to watch me break.”
He did not deny it.
“You think killing me restores balance?” he asked.
“No.”
Malachi forced him to his knees.
The impact was violent. Bone hit hardwood. A hiss of pain escaped him before he could stop it.
That was the first real crack in his control.
I crouched in front of him.
Up close, he looked smaller. Less godlike. More fragile.
“You called her property,” I said.
“It was procedural language.”
The back of my throat burned.
“She was my sister.”
The word landed heavy between us.
He studied my face.
“You are unregulated,” he said quietly. “You react instead of reason.”
Jabari made a low sound behind me.
I did not look back.
“You want reason?” I asked.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the folded paper Elijah had printed before we left.
Tatum Brooks. Full legal name.
I held it in front of his face.
“You wrote her down as a subject,” I said. “You documented her fear.”
His jaw tightened.
“She was destabilizing a Council proceeding.”
“She was nineteen.”
The room went very still.
Malachi’s hand tightened in his hair.
Nineteen.
The word felt sharp.
I dropped the paper.
Jabari placed the knife in my hand without being asked.
The weight of it was familiar. Balanced.
Avery’s composure slipped fully then.
“You don’t have the authority,” he whispered.
Authority.
I pressed the tip of the blade against the center of his chest, directly over his heart.
He sucked in a breath.
“You don’t get to talk about authority to me,” I said quietly.
I pushed the knife in.
Slow.
I felt fabric tear. I felt skin resist. I felt muscle tighten under steel before giving way. His body jerked violently, a strangled sound ripping from his throat as blood welled dark and immediate across his shirt.
He tried to pull back. Malachi’s grip locked him in place.
“You wanted me to watch,” I said.
I pulled the blade free.
Blood flowed faster now.
“You wanted to see if I would scream.”
He was breathing hard. Fast. Panic edging in.
“You are proving my point,” he rasped.
I drove the blade into his side.
This time he screamed.
It was not dignified. It was not controlled. It was loud and ugly and filled the room the way my scream had filled the chamber.
My omega surged with it.
Not fragile. Not broken. Present.
He thrashed. Malachi forced him upright. Blood dripped onto the hardwood.
“You’re emotional,” he gasped at me.
I leaned closer.
“Yes.”
And I twisted the blade.
His scream broke into a sob.
“Please,” he choked.
The word hit something deep in my chest.
I saw Tatum again. Sedated. Confused. Looking at me.
“Please,” I had said too.
He had not stopped.
I withdrew the knife and angled it up under his ribcage, slow and deliberate, exactly the way Jabari had shown me in training.
The blade slid into softer space.
His body convulsed violently.
Blood spilled hot over my fingers.
He tried to speak but only managed a wet choking sound.
Malachi leaned down near his ear.
“You should have made it quick,” he murmured. “It would have been mercy.”
Avery’s eyes rolled, unfocused.
He was bleeding heavily now.
I stood and watched him struggle.
I did not look away.
He had not looked away from her.
When his strength finally failed, his body sagged forward. His breathing turned shallow, erratic.
Elijah crouched briefly, fingers to his pulse.
“He’s done,” he said evenly.
We did not leave immediately.
I stepped forward one last time and knelt in front of Avery as his eyes dimmed.
“You do not get to write her down,” I said softly. “You do not get to make her a lesson.”
His gaze lost focus.
His body went slack.
Silence filled the room.
The metallic scent of blood was thick.
My hands were covered in it.
Malachi came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist. Not restraining. Holding.
Kairo’s hand brushed my shoulder, steady.
Jabari took the knife from my fingers gently and cleaned it with controlled care.
Elijah stood watch at the door.
My chest still ached.
The hole was still there.
But it was no longer empty.
It was not helpless.
It was not raw.
It was resolved.
Malachi pressed his mouth to my temple.
“You did not break,” he said quietly.
“No,” I answered.
I turned into him then.
Not collapsing.
Leaning.
The pack closed around me fully this time. Arms. Heat. Solid bodies anchoring me in place. Blood and leather and gunpowder mixing with the faint sweetness of my scent.
“She was mine,” I whispered.
“And you were hers,” Kairo said softly.
Jabari’s hand settled warm at my lower back, grounding and steady the way he always was when things around us turned ugly.
“Anybody touches what's ours learns real quick,” he murmured, voice low and polite in that dangerous Southern way that meant mercy had already left the room.
Elijah’s voice was calm, certain.
“It is finished.”
I looked down at the body one last time.
They had made me watch.
Now it was over.
We left him there.
Not as a warning. Not as a message. But as a closed chapter.
When we stepped back into the night, the air felt different against my skin.
Not lighter.
Just steady.
Malachi’s hand stayed at my waist as we walked to the car.
No one spoke.
They did not need to.
Revenge did not bring her back.
But it ensured no one would ever mistake me for powerless again.
And when we drove away, I did not feel hollow.
For the first time since the chamber, the hollow inside my chest shifted. The grief was still there, sharp and endless, but the helplessness was gone. Wherever Tatum was now, I hoped she was finally free. I closed my eyes for a moment and let the rain and blood and gunpowder settle in my lungs.
Wherever you are now, Tate, I hope it's quiet. I hope no one is hurting you now. Rest easy.