Epilogue
Reeve
“You forgot to explain the broken heart,” Electra tells Quinn as they heap their plates at the buffet Mr. Serran cooked up for the whole island.
To say I was impressed would be an understatement. Everything is so delicious, I’ve already gone back for seconds. Electra’s father naturally noticed, since he and his wife have been watching me like hawks.
I don’t think they like me. I don’t blame them. I’d hate me too.
“That was the state of my heart when Reeve left six years ago.” Quinn’s answer snaps me out of my head.
“You make it sound like I abandoned you, Hayes.” My fingers throttle the thick edges of my ceramic plate. “I begged you to leave with me. If you’d said yes, I would’ve found a way to get you out. You know I would.”
Quinn stares steadily at a bowl heaped with quartered heirloom tomatoes like she’s trying to count the flecks of oregano floating on the olive oil.
“Trent intended to have you killed. He asked my father to do it. Neither trusted you to keep the organization’s secrets…
a secret. It’s Hudson who told me about their conversation.
You know how he can’t keep his mouth shut. ”
Her lids click, and then her soft brown eyes rise to meet mine. Those eyes have seen so much. Too much for a twenty-six-year-old.
“I confronted Dad about it. Told him I was also planning on getting out. Asked him if he would hunt me down too.” She shakes her head from side to side as though to clear her mind of the memory.
“He said yes. Didn’t even hesitate. So I went to see Trent and asked him what it would take to keep you alive. He made me an offer, and I took it.”
Her eyes slip off me, but their trajectory isn’t Electra; it’s Malachi Hadez, who stands beside Electra without a plate in hand. He obviously didn’t join us at the buffet for food.
“What offer?” Malachi asks.
“Staying with him.”
I curse under my breath, my plate shaking from rage. “You passed it off as your choice! You said you wanted to fix him! You said—”
Quinn tilts her head. “What would you have done if I’d told you the truth?”
“Killed. Him,” I bite out through barely separated teeth.
“Point made.”
“What point would that be?” I snap.
“That telling you would’ve been a death sentence, because you, Reeve Rafferty, would’ve gone after him.”
That ticks me off. “I can be just as devious as you, Fox.”
“I know. But Trent is never alone.”
“I would’ve found a way…” I ball my fists, my new rune burning, reminding me that I’m untouchable now. “God, I can’t wait to get back to Boston and hunt the fucker down.”
“God-dess,” Electra corrects me, nodding to my palm. “And before any of us charge in, we should make a plan.”
“Agreed,” Quinn says.
“Me three!” Calanthe exclaims.
“You, Mrs. Hadez, have a wedding to plan and a nursery to decorate.” Tarian slides his arm around the back of Calanthe’s chair and drags her toward him.
“If this is your way of keeping me away from the action—”
“Infants feel their mother’s stress,” Malika says gently.
Calanthe sighs. “Fine, but I better be consulted and kept in the loop at all times.” She throws Electra a look that says she means business.
“You’re still getting married here in two weeks?” Malachi asks.
Tarian nods. “Life must go on, Mal.”
“I realize that. I just—” He spears his fingers through his hair, his gaze darting toward the cemetery.
“No matter how long we wait, she won’t come back,” Tarian murmurs in Atlantean.
Malachi’s lids snap shut, as though trying to trap the grief threatening to break through.
“Plus, I’m intent on walking down the aisle—not rolling,” Calanthe adds, probably to restore some levity.
“Wouldn’t it be nice to have twice the reason to celebrate?” Electra muses.
“Meaning?” Malika tilts her head to the side, which scoots her bangs toward one temple.
“With Reeve and Quinn on our side, how fast do you think we can bring down the Holy Hunters?”
“Are they…on our side?” Malachi asks, drumming his fingers against his plane-wrinkled pant leg.
My head rears back. “Of course we are, Malachi.”
He hums, his gaze locking on Quinn in a way that makes my gut clench with worry. “So I learned something fascinating tonight… Do you all want to hear it?”
“Obviously!” Calanthe exclaims. “Spill already.”
“I learned that Sullivan Hayes isn’t dead.”
My eyes cut to Quinn as a deafening, foreboding hush descends over the terrace. “Are you sure?”
“I had the footage verified before bringing it to the rest of you. I didn’t want to start throwing around false accusations.” Malachi retrieves his phone from his pocket. “Looks like your friend’s grand escape is merely part one of a grand scheme. Living up to that codename, Fox.”
The last hint of color flees Quinn’s face. “Show me your proof.” Her voice holds steady. No surprise, considering how well she hides her emotions.
“Gladly.” Malachi flips his phone around.
His screen spits out a recording of Sullivan walking through a subway turnstile, bagel in gloved hand, timestamped this morning. Not only is his face bare of a balaclava, but he’s also grinning up at the camera like he knows he’s being watched—and not by his fellow Hunters.
“I have to give it to you.” Malachi pockets his phone. “The receipt bit—the one that led you to Reeve—was a clever touch. It had even me fooled.”
I almost snap that the receipt is real since I put it there, but what if Hudson or Sullivan removed it and only told her about it when they set her free?
“Were you—what do you all call it again?” Malachi rolls his neck. “Ah, yes…pulling a Polly, Mrs. Caruso?”
I’m too dumbstruck to call Malachi on his use of Quinn’s loathed surname. Instead, I croak, “Did you lie about how you got out, Quinn?”
A nerve pulses along her narrow jaw as she stares at her plate.
“Quinn?” I say, louder this time.
Her lips purse.
“Quinn. Hayes.” Every sinew and muscle in my body hardens. “Did you escape, or did—”
“I escaped.” Her tone is flat and hard like a hammer striking stone.
It pounds into my worry and flattens it.
Until the runes on Tarian’s forearms light up like the string lights above the long wooden table, and he says, “Gaea wants to meet with you, Quinn.”
My blood feels all at once hot and cold, viscous and watery. And the air…the air feels full of acrid smoke even though Gael’s funeral pyre cleared hours ago.
Electra flicks me a look I can’t return, too busy tracking every twitch in my friend’s face and body. She must sense my agitation because she sets her plate down before coaxing mine out of my unsteady fingers.
I want to beg Tarian not to force Quinn into the mine. At least not until I can get her alone and figure out what the hell is going on.
She hates her father. Hates Trenton. There’s no way she’s working with them—unless they’re blackmailing her.
The divorce I was trying to get her. What if Trenton used it as leverage?
She just confessed to lying to me once. Even if it was to protect me, it was still a lie.
“Mal, Gaea wants you to accompany Quinn.” Tarian’s eyes flash an impenetrable black. “Inside.”
Malachi’s lids spasm. “Why?”
Tarian shrugs. “Don’t know.”
His cousin rolls his lips. “If it’s to scoop up Monta’s ashes—”
“It’s not.”
“Then you do know why she’s asking that I head down there with the Hunter,” he mutters accusatorily.
Tarian heaves out an impatient sigh. “Gaea said, and I quote: Have Malachi come with the girl. I very much doubt it’s to build a sandcastle with what’s left of Monta.”
Malachi harrumphs, clearly unhappy about his task. “Let’s go, Caruso.”
“Stop calling me that.” Quinn glowers at Malachi before turning on her heel and marching in the direction of the mine.
As Malachi starts after her, Yosef calls out, “You might want to search her!”
Even though he’s clearly addressing Malachi, Electra’s father watches me like I’m Quinn’s accomplice. Like I didn’t already prove that my heart is no longer in the wrong place.
I don’t say a word. Instead, I take off at a clipped pace.
“Reeve!” Electra jogs after me. “Wait.”
I can’t, because what if it’s the last time I see my best friend? Like me, Quinn has a complicated past. Unlike me, she has no love for the Atlanteans.
“Hayes!” I shout as she approaches the limestone ring.
She turns, moonlight catching in her golden hair.
I want to hear her voice cut across the salt-heavy breeze, promising me—again—that she didn’t betray us. Betray me.
“I’m glad you found a new family, Reeve.
” She turns her attention toward Electra, who stands at my side, parallel but not touching, as if she thinks I might not want to feel her hand on my body.
“In case Gaea doesn’t like the color of my soul…
look after him, okay?” Quinn’s slender throat bobs. “He’s the best person I’ve ever known.”
My eyes sting. My teeth chatter. My tongue tastes like paper, yet no words bleed onto it or off of it.
Electra brushes a finger along my straining knuckles. I spring my fingers wide and engulf her hand, then tuck her into my side, needing her more than ever in that moment.
“After you.” Malachi gestures to the pit, like he’s being chivalrous instead of a dick.
“If I don’t die, I’m calling head of ops.” For all her fire, Quinn’s next step is hesitant.
“If you don’t die, I’ll be more than happy to serve you.” His tone might be pleasant but the harsh smile kinking his mouth tells me he doesn’t think my friend has a chance in hell of making it out alive.
“I stand witness to that promise, Mal.” Electra rests her head on my thundering pec. “In other words, I’ll be enforcing it.”
Malachi side-eyes Electra. “Just because he made it out, doesn’t mean all our enemies will.”
“All our enemies…?” Electra’s neck tautens. “That’s low. Even for you, Mal. Especially for you.”
His cheeks dig in like he’s sucking on them. “Let’s get your trial bloody over with, Caruso.”
Quinn growls as he grabs her arm and drags her into the pit.
I don’t breathe. Not even a shred of air.