Chapter 35
Seraphina
The sheets were cold when I reached for him.
At first, I thought he’d just slipped out to the bathroom. But the silence in the room was too complete, too final. I sat up, dragging the blanket with me, and rubbed my hands down my arms as if the chill was coming from the room and not the hollow in the bed beside me.
He was gone. Not far, though. I could feel that much in my bones. Callum’s presence was like a stormcloud waiting to split open—silent, heavy, and always close enough to feel pressing down.
I padded out of the room, still wearing nothing but the ache he left in me. I found him in the den.
He was pacing.
Not the kind of pacing that comes from worry. This was something darker. Measured, lethal steps. Shoulders tense. Hands clenching and unclenching at his sides like he didn’t trust them not to do damage if they stayed still too long.
The first thing I noticed was that he was already dressed. Black shirt, black jeans, boots tied tight. Ready for war. Like sleep had never touched him. Like last night hadn’t happened at all.
“Callum,” I said softly.
His head didn’t turn, but I saw the way his jaw ticked.
“You didn’t sleep,” I said, stepping closer.
“I didn’t need to.” The words were clipped, scraped raw.
I crossed the room slowly, careful not to startle him. His whole body was coiled—violence in stillness. His eyes were fixed on the far wall like he was staring through it, or into it. Like it held answers he was desperate to rip out with his bare hands.
“Talk to me,” I said, reaching for him.
He pulled away before I could touch him. Not because he didn’t want me to—but because he did . And right now, that was the problem.
“He was still buying them,” Callum said quietly. Too quietly.
“Rook?”
He nodded once, sharp. “All that power. All that money. His mansion, his security, the goddamn silk suits—and he was still buying children. Still had his fucking hands in it. He was never going to stop. And no one ever tried to stop him.”
His voice rose with each word, until it cracked at the edge, just barely held in check by the sheer force of his will.
I said nothing. He didn’t want comfort. He wanted blood. Justice, retribution—maybe even revenge. But not comfort.
“You think killing him helped?” he asked, pacing again.
“It didn’t. He was a symptom. One man. A rotted tooth in a mouth full of decay.
Blackdawn’s bigger than him. The facility’s bigger.
There are more names on that list. More buyers .
And you know what? Half of them will be harder to reach.
Hidden behind shell companies, handshakes, fucking charitable foundations. ”
He turned on me then, eyes wild but clear. Focused.
“I killed him, Sera, and it didn’t feel like enough. Not even close.”
I didn’t flinch. I didn’t need to.
“Because it’s not enough,” I said. “We knew it wouldn’t be.”
“But I thought—” He stopped himself. Bit the words down. His fists trembled at his sides. “I thought it would feel like something. That maybe one piece of this goddamn puzzle gone would ease the pressure. That I could fucking breathe. But it’s worse. All it did was make the rot more obvious.”
There was a window beside him, and for a second I thought he’d punch through it. Just put his fist right through the glass to bleed some of that fury out.
“Do you regret it?” I asked quietly.
He looked at me then. Really looked.
“No,” he said. “Not even a little. I’d kill him again. Slower, this time. With fire.”
I nodded, stepping into his space. “Then what’s the part that won’t let you rest?”
He didn’t answer.
But he didn’t move away this time either.
So I pressed a hand to his chest—right over the place where I knew his heartbeat lived. And it was there . Pounding. Alive. Not just from adrenaline. Not just from fury. But from something deeper. A need so sharp it was almost holy.
“You’re not heartless, Callum,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “That’s why it hurts. That’s why you won’t stop.”
He froze.
A single breath caught in his throat, and I watched his shoulders tremble beneath my touch. The moment didn’t stretch long—but it hit hard.
“I don’t want to stop,” he murmured, voice rough. “Not until every last one of them is buried.”
“I know,” I said.
He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to mine like he needed the contact to keep from coming apart.
“I’ll burn it all down, Seraphina,” he said. “Every last brick of it. Facility E. Blackdawn. Anyone who ever thought this was acceptable. I don’t care how high I have to climb or how dirty it gets—I’ll tear them apart.”
My fingers curled into his shirt. “You won’t do it alone.”
A breath passed between us. Then another.
His arms came around me suddenly, crushing and desperate. Not gentle. Not sweet. Just raw need and fire and a promise wrapped in flesh.
He didn’t cry. Callum Devlin doesn’t cry.
But he held me like he might never let go.