Sawyer
LUNA
It’s been two days since the first doses arrived.
Ten rounds of antibiotics smuggled in under cover of night, pressed into my hands like stolen gold.
We chose the sickest children first—the ones whose fevers burned hottest and coughs rattled deepest. Some have improved.
Their color livens each chime of the clock, and their eyes grow progressively less glassy.
Others still fade, their chests rising too shallow, too slow.
This morning, another ten doses came. Thorne risked more than he should have to secure them. I told him I was grateful, but the words felt thin. Gratitude doesn’t buy more medicine. Gratitude doesn’t make ten become thirty.
It still isn’t enough.
The numbers circle my head like carrion birds. Fourteen children untreated. A dozen adults showing symptoms. The Dregs are lucky they already perished because I’d have nothing for them anyway.
It’s ironic that the treat I gave them is what got them all killed. Not that Sawyer told me what Angel laced, but it only took a day to remember the loaf of bread and apples I brought them in exchange for Sawyer’s necklace. If it’d been the apples, I’d be sick as well, along with many others.
So it was the bread the Dregs ate. And the scones made special for the children.
Angel is a bastard for it, and every other second, I think about killing him. But a small part of me is grateful he didn’t choose the water supply. He only intended to kill my father. And me.
We’ve been slipping the doses to the Hearth in secret. Grinding powder into porridge, broth stirred with a careful hand. Nurturers whisper that the food tastes off, and every delivery of food carries away hopeful, knowing glances. Murmurs are spreading, but no one has stopped us. Not yet.
Still, every day the air feels tighter. Eyes follow me longer. Voices hush when I walk past.
Fear doesn’t translate to respect. Aiden’s words echo like a curse I can’t shake.
It only makes people whisper. I’ve seen it, felt it in every wary look cast my way.
When Father dies (and he will soon enough.
I watched him eat a scone with my own eyes), I won’t be the one they rally behind. They’ll need someone else.
Raven.
The thought comes as naturally as breathing, though it tastes sour in my mouth. She has their trust. She softens her edges, meets their eyes, listens when they speak. She’s everything I’m not, and I’ve been taught to see that as submission. Right now, it’s the only strength that matters.
I push the thought aside before it roots deeper.
The snow-packed path to the Keep crunches under my boots. The building looms ahead.
No one has seen Father since the money burned. He’s locked himself inside and left whispers to fill the void.
Some say he’s making a plan, and that may be true, but I suspect he’s hiding the illness he swears he’s too strong to have. He’ll be in bed while his body tries to fight off an infection he doesn’t yet know will kill him.
It’s lucky that I’m cold. There’s a small part of me grieving the man who raised me.
Mostly, I just need to see it for myself.
The door groans open under my hand. Inside, the Keep feels even more soured than the rest of the compound. Air stale with old secrets, walls pressing close with judgment. My footsteps echo too loud as I move down the corridor past silent rooms that even Seraphs have left empty.
I go to Father’s bedroom and angle my ear toward the door but hear nothing. No coughing. No wheezing.
I knock twice and count to ten before opening.
Empty.
My brow furrows as I shut the door. I check the study next.
Empty.
The library.
Empty.
My bedroom.
Empty.
For a minute, I just stare and try not to let my heart skip with thoughts it isn’t time to entertain.
What if he left?
It shouldn’t make any difference. He’s no help now, and he’ll be dead before he gets the chance to help another soul.
Letting out a sigh, I shut my bedroom door and head downstairs to check the kitchen. I don’t expect to find him there, so when hushed voices reach me from the dining area, I slow my steps.
When I stop in the entryway, I find myself squinting. Father is seated at the long wooden table, a bowl in front of him, steam curling from the surface. Raven sits at his side with neat posture and her hands folded in her lap.
I search Father for illness. A pale face. A red nose. Slumped posture. Half-hooded lids and a jaw without the strength to shut.
He looks better than I’ve seen him in months. His cheeks are flushed with health, eyes sharp and clear, voice carrying easily as he speaks low to Raven.
Not sick. Not weakened.
Healthy.
My nails bite into my palms as realization spreads cold through my veins. He’s already taken medicine. Forbidden medicine, not herbs or oil or incense.
Antibiotics.
For a heartbeat, I can’t move. The sight of him rosy-cheeked, vibrant, and alive roots me to the stone floor. My father, who preached that Western medicine was poison, that faith alone sustained the Sanctum. My father, who let children choke on fever while he slipped pills down his own throat.
His gaze lifts as if he feels my rage before he hears me. Those eyes pin me the way they always have, cold steel threaded with a smile.
“Daughter,” he says smoothly, like I’ve walked in to bless him, not expose him. His spoon scrapes the bowl. “You look tired.”
The words land like a backhand. Tired. Not furious. Not betrayed. Just… tired.
Raven shifts beside him. Her lashes dip low. “Luna,” she murmurs, her tone careful, almost sympathetic. “We weren’t expecting you.”
I force myself forward and keep each step controlled, my boots muted by carpet. I keep my eyes on Father. “You’re looking well.”
He dabs his mouth with a cloth, precise, elegant, as though we’re at supper and not on the brink of collapse. “I’m flattered.”
“Where’d your cough go, Father?”
He raises a brow and stands—because he’s incapable of being even an inch beneath me. He leans against the table and crosses his arms over his chest. “Cough?”
I clench my fists until my nails bite crescent moons into my palms. I stare but say nothing. Words would be wasted, and I abhor waste.
"Well," he clears his throat and addresses Raven. “I suppose I should go. The people will be anxious to hear what we have to say.”
He knocks on the wood, then faces me.
For the smallest fraction of a second, his smile flickers. It hardens into something sharper, crueler. His love for his favorite daughter turned to hate.
And it makes my stomach knot. Even while feeling the same.
Raven touches his sleeve gently. “I’ll be there shortly.”
He studies her face, then mine. His silence is weighted enough to crush the air from my lungs. At last, he brushes past me, close enough that his shoulder nearly grazes mine.
“You look pale,” he murmurs as he passes. “Careful… I’d hate for you to catch something.”
With that, he leaves. His steps echo in the distance while my attention turns to Raven.
She doesn’t look at me right away. Her gaze follows the door. Her shoulders are rigid, as though his shadow still hangs over us. Only when the silence stretches too long does she turn, and there’s apology etched in every line of her face.
“What’s he talking about?” My voice is sharper than I intend.
Her lips part, then press together, like she wants to say something but knows better. She glances at the bowl Aurelius left behind, steam still curling, and her shoulders sag. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
My fingers curl around the top of Father’s chair and guide it back before sitting. Instead of elaborating, I just stare.
Swallowing, she sits up straight and cups her hands tight so they won’t fidget. “You’ll know soon enough.”
“Raven.”
Finally, she looks at me. But her eyes aren’t as cold as mine. She can’t hide herself the way I can.
Still, obviously she’s my replacement. Our father’s new confidant.
I wonder if it’ll be her name he plans to stamp across his crimes next.
“We’re sisters.” My arm digs into the table as I angle toward her. “We’re friends.”
“Friends.” She puffs out a humorless laugh. “Is that what we are?”
My eyes constrict. “Yes. Of course. We—”
“Like you were friends with Zephyr?”
I slowly push myself straight. A pang hits my gut, but I don’t allow myself to feel the sadness that follows. Only a pinch of shame.
“Father told me.” She gives me a glare that tries so hard not to be hurt. “You planted a snake in our sister’s home and made it look like an accident… How could you—”
“I had my reasons, Raven,” I say. Quick. Sharp. Chilled. Too much so.
This earns me another laugh. “Jealousy? That’s your excuse?”
Slapping the table, she pushes from the seat and turns her back on me to pace. And I let it happen. I don’t correct her. I don’t even want to.
Right now, she thinks I’m a murderer.
My people believe Zephyr’s death was a tragedy.
Both of these things are better than admitting the truth. My twin was a traitor who put our people in jeopardy. She couldn’t be trusted not to do it again.
I did what I had to do. For my people.
“Ever since that…” Raven takes a breath when her voice shakes. “Ever since you brought the trafficker here, you’ve been different. You’ve put him above your own people. Your own family. Your own mate.”
When she spins, her lips are twisted in a grimace. “Do you know how many times I soothed Thorne’s worries for you? Do you know how many times I defended you?”
“I can only imagine,” I say quietly.
“Thorne loves you.” She sucks in a sharp breath. “I love you. But the things you’ve done under the influence of that beast are unforgivable.”
Her hands shake as she clenches, chest rising and falling with the labor of her emotion.
I wish I could comfort her. Wrap my arms around her and tell her everything our father said was a lie.
But I don’t.
Because I’m his daughter too, and I know his influence. Whatever truth he’s muddied has done its damage.
“I love you too, Raven.” I stand. “And I loved Zephyr with all my heart. I hope you know that…”
Her face scrunches with pain I suspect is welcomed.
“I love Thorne and our people and our sisters… There’s nothing I would do to hurt any of you if it didn’t have a purpose.”
Her shoulders fall. “And what was the purpose of ordering Aiden to help the whores escape? How did that help us?”
“That was selfishness… I did that because I was angry at Father and wanted to clear my conscience.”
“Everything you’ve done lately is out of selfishness.”
“That’s not—”
“I know about the medicine,” Raven says. For a moment, I’m stuck on my father, and I think Raven’s talking about him.
But the hurt in her eyes clears it up. She’s talking about the children.
“So does Father,” Raven goes on. “We’re going to inform the people of your crimes.”
I frown. “You’re going to tell them I’ve been giving antibiotics to dying children… How do you think they’ll respond? You don’t think some will side with me? Will question Father’s teachings when they can see with their own eyes the children’s symptoms easing?”
Huffing, Raven shakes her head. “This isn’t just about the medicine.”
A beat skips before my cheeks fall. My head whooshes with a dizzy spell that lasts a couple of seconds while I look off.
“We’re telling them everything. The medicine, Zephyr’s murder, the babies you helped the trafficker free, all so you could sell them,” Raven spits with so much disgust it’s obvious she doesn’t know about the others. I wonder if Father will tell them I’ve been selling babies for years.
“Father’s convinced you killed Persephone out of envy. He thinks you rigged the trafficker’s initiation test so he’d pass. You’re responsible for the FBI freezing our money. You’re the reason we have to leave.”
Squinting, I turn my head toward her. She flinches like she’s said something she shouldn’t have, but the guilt quickly passes.
She folds her arms over her chest and raises her chin.
“You’ve made the Shadow Sanctum unsafe for us…
Father says the FBI is building a case against you, and in a week’s time, they’ll burn everything we’ve built…
He’s secured a safe place for the Sanctum. For the true followers.”
My heart gives a hard thud. He is planning on moving them.
And too many will be foolish enough to follow. “Raven…” I shake my head. “Our father isn’t fit for leadership. I’m thrilled he’s secured a safer place, but he can’t be the one to—”
“It isn’t up to you.” Guilt flickers across her expression. She looks like she wants to look away but doesn’t. “Nothing is anymore… In an hour’s time, you’ll no longer be Head Keeper of the Shadow Sanctum.”
I blink at her. I can’t fully dissect her words, because the fact that she’s telling me this is most concerning.
She shouldn’t risk me stopping them from leaving. Neither Father nor Raven would chance my interference.
If they don’t plan to simply hide it from me…
“He’s calling for my execution.” My pulse hammers in my ears. The truth is suddenly obvious. Scapegoat or not, I’m a problem Father can’t allow to follow him.
He can’t allow me to heal the children against his wishes. That alone could make too many people turn.
He can’t allow me to know everything I know and walk away with it.
I’m not only his scapegoat for the authorities. I’m his scapegoat for the Shadow Sanctum.
Her cheeks pinch as she fights a cringe. Slowly, she shakes her head. “He’s removing the challenge restriction and letting the people decide.”
I laugh. “He wants them to kill me? He can’t even do it himself?”
She frowns and looks away. “I’m sorry, Luna… It wasn’t my choice.”
A horn splits the air outside, low and thunderous, rattling the windows in their frames.
I don’t move. Neither does Raven. The sound swallows everything, ancient and guttural, the same melody that’s rung for decades, for sacrifices, for blood.
This time, mine.
I close my eyes and let myself feel it. Really feel it.
Because it’s my fault. I counted on bacteria to kill a beast when only a demon could finish the job. And now it might be too late.
When the horn stops, Raven doesn’t prod me to move. She walks up tentatively and squeezes my shoulder.
“All is as it’s supposed to be,” she whispers before leaving me with my final moments in peace.
As soon as she’s gone, I go upstairs and retrieve the little pot of clay I keep in my bottom drawer. I’ve prayed endlessly never to have to use it, but as I feel its weight in my hand, there’s no hesitation to be found. This is not a symbol of vengeance. It’s a symbol of liberation.
I have never feared death. I’ve kissed its doors too many times for it not to be a friend.
But I’m terrified of the fate of my people if Father lives.
If I have to die in order to drag him down to hell, so be it.