Chapter 34
Wraith
The storm followed us home.
Rain slams against the townhouse windows in steady, uneven waves, turning London outside into a watercolor blur of gold and gray. Inside, it’s too quiet. The kind of quiet that comes before something breaks.
I find Rook in his study—jacket off, sleeves rolled, the veins in his forearms catching the low lamplight. He’s staring at the map spread across his desk like he could make it bleed answers if he glared hard enough. A half-empty glass of whiskey sits beside him, untouched.
“You wanted to talk,” I say.
He doesn’t look up. “Close the door.”
I do. The click sounds louder than it should, like a gunshot in an empty room. For a minute, nothing but taut silence stretches between us. Just the rain, the soft tick of the old clock, and the kind of tension that fills the air like smoke.
Then he says, “You bought her jewelry.”
Not a question. A charge. I exhale slowly, attempting to ground myself. “She needed something to match the dress.”
His gaze flicks up—ice blue and sharp. “So you decided to drape her in emeralds?”
“Could’ve left her wearing nothing,” I say dryly. “Didn’t think you’d appreciate that.”
His jaw flexes. “Watch it.”
I meet his stare evenly. “You wanted her to play your part tonight. Eye candy, remember? I made sure she looked the part.”
“That wasn’t your call,” he argues.
“It wasn’t yours either,” I snap. “She’s not some toy you can wind up and set on the table, Rook.”
He stands abruptly, chair scraping back against the floor. “And what is she to you, Wraith? Another ghost you’re trying to save?”
The words land harder than I want them to. I take a slow breath, steadying my tone. “She’s… something I can’t seem to shake.”
He narrows his eyes. “You think I can?”
And there it is—the crack in the armor. The confession he didn’t mean to make. I’ve seen it coming for days. The way he watches her. The way she looks back.
“This isn’t about jewelry,” I say quietly. “Or control. You’re falling for her.”
Rook’s hand curls around the desk edge, knuckles white. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I?” I take a step closer. “You’re different around her. You think I don’t notice? The rest of them might not say it, but they feel it too.”
He laughs—a hard, humorless sound. “Soft. You’re calling me soft?”
“Barely holding it together,” I say. “And you know it.”
For a long beat, neither of us moves. The leader and the wolf. The King and the weapon he trusts most.
Then he sighs, dragging a hand over his face. “She’s dangerous,” he mutters. “Not because of what she’s done—because of what she makes us want.”
I drop into the chair opposite him, leaning forward, elbows on my knees. “You’re not wrong.”
He glances up. “You too?”
“Yeah.” My voice is low, rough. “I tried to stay out of it. Tried to treat her like another assignment. But she’s not. She’s fire and gravity and every bad decision I ever made wrapped into one.”
He goes still. His fingers tap the glass once before falling quiet again. “Three weeks,” he says finally. “She’s been here three weeks, and we’re all unraveling.”
“Maybe that’s the point,” I say.
His eyes lift, questioning but filled with hope. “What do you mean?”
My stomach twists. “Maybe she’s not here to tear us apart,” I say. “Maybe she’s the only thing that’ll ever keep us together.”
He studies me for a long time. There’s no denial in his expression this time, only that reluctant kind of understanding—the kind that hurts because it’s true.
“How do you plan to convince her to stay?” he asks.
I shrug, sitting back. “By giving her a reason.”
Rook huffs out something that sounds like a laugh, but it’s not amused. “You think she’ll choose us? All of us, and everything that comes with it?”
I look past him, out the window. Rain streaks down the window like veins of silver. “I think she already has,” I say quietly. “She just hasn’t figured it out yet.”
He’s silent for a while, staring at the map but not really seeing it. I can tell he’s thinking the same thing I am—that somehow, without meaning to, she’s become the axis everything turns on. Finally, he says, “If she’s the glue holding us together… what happens when she breaks?”
“Then we break with her, and burn everything to the ground,” I answer.
The rain gets heavier, thunder rolling low over the city like distant warning fire. Rook lifts the glass, takes a slow sip, and sets it down again. “You always did have a way of saying things I don’t want to hear.”
“Someone’s got to,” I say.
He smirks faintly, just enough to show he’s still human. “Alright then. We make her part of this. For real. No lies. No half-truths. She deserves to know what she’s standing in.”
I nod. “It’s going to get messy.”
“It already is.”
We sit there in silence, the storm raging outside, two men circling the same truth neither of us can deny.
I’m the first to stand. “We can make this work, Rook. All of it. If we stop fighting the inevitable.”
He tilts his head. “And what’s that?”
“That we both love her,” I say. “Maybe all of us do. Maybe she’s the only thing that can keep us from killing each other in the end.”
He lets out a slow breath, nodding once. “Then let’s make damn sure she survives long enough to decide if we’re fucking worth it.”
For a long moment, we just watch the rain together, the reflection of lightning painting white scars across the sky.
And in that quiet, I realize something that sits heavy in my chest. It isn’t jealousy I feel anymore. It’s acceptance.
Because if she’s the fire that consumes us all—I’ll burn willingly.