Chapter Twenty-Five
Asher
Sleep never comes. Instead, I run drills in the back garden until sweat stings my eyes and my arms ache from repetition. The rhythm helps. Focus. Discipline. It's the only way to quiet my mind.
After a long session and a cold shower, I hear her moving upstairs. Light steps, hesitant. Avoiding. I don't go up, and start breakfast instead.
She comes down eventually, still in pajama bottoms and a loose shirt, hair tangled, eyes red-rimmed. She hasn't slept either.
"Waffles?" she asks, voice rough.
"Yes. Something sweet." I pour batter, flip another onto the iron. When it's ready, I set syrup and honey on the counter.
"After the bitterness of yesterday? Feels a bit on the nose," she quips tentatively.
I don't answer. Just gesture to the pot. "Coffee's ready."
She pours herself a mug and sits at the table. "You don't have to do this. I can make my own breakfast."
"I like routines," I tell her, placing a fresh waffle on the plate in front of her. Then, quieter: "And I like doing this for you."
She looks down, eyes brightening with tears she doesn't want me to see. The sight hits hard. I reach across, take her hand.
"I'm sorry, Asher," she whispers. "I just… I don't know. I tried. It was reckless. And it wasn't fair, not telling you, but—"
I shake my head. "I understand. We crashed into each other in chaos, and it hasn't stopped. Suddenly we're married, and the world hasn't given us a single breath to adjust. It's not easy to find the right way forward." My voice softens. "But if we want to, we have to do it together."
I pause, then add, "We should have told you, too.
You said we couldn't just sit and wait for Darius's next move, and you were right.
Defense alone won't beat a long-term strategist like him.
We wanted to watch, to let him or his people slip so we could expose them, strip their claws out of this town. "
She nods, understanding, though her voice is strained. "I went because I wanted to hear what he had to say."
"I know." I'd already guessed. "Did he tell you anything that changed your mind?"
She exhales, shoulders heavy. "I learned things that explain some of what he's done, why he hides what he hides. But his approach… it's still manipulation."
I lean closer, brush a strand of hair from her face.
"You trusted him to keep his word, and he did.
For now. But this…" I glance toward the window, then back at her.
"This is a zero-sum game. Either we have you, or he does.
There's no middle ground where everyone walks away happy.
And he doesn't strike me as a man who admits defeat. "
Her voice drops. "He isn't."
"Then we'll have to force it," I say, leaning back, calm again. "It's the only way." I nod toward her plate. "Eat."
To soften the order, I lean in and brush a kiss on the corner of her mouth. "Wife."
Her whole face lights up—smile radiant, otherworldly. For a moment, the weight lifts. For a moment, it's enough.
She focuses on the waffles, and once breakfast is finished and the table cleared, she picks up one of the tomes stacked on the stool. "Better to keep going with the research," she says, coffee in one hand, the brittle volume in the other.
"Yes. We need an advantage. Right now, they hold the upper hand."
She grimaces as she tries to separate two stuck pages. "Ugh. Feels like someone spilled syrup on this. Winston's not going to be happy."
"Bet that was Kayden," I say dryly.
She scoffs, half-amused, half-exasperated, then glances toward the stairs. "He hasn't come down."
"Avoidance is one of his specialties," I say. That's my brother's way of managing what he can't face. Different from mine. He's afraid of losing her. So am I. We just wear it differently.
Sage finally pries the pages apart, careful not to tear them. Her frown shifts to surprise.
"What?" I step to her side, looking over her shoulder.
On the page, a hand-drawn weapon takes shape—a long, twisted blade, one strand metal, the other wood.
"'Last Song of a Satyr,'" I translate from the Latin. My chest tightens. "This must be it."
Her voice trembles. "A weapon… to kill him?"
"Seems so. Forged by druids," I continue reading. "Silver alloy laced with obsidian dust for the metal part. Yew, a tree of death, rebirth, and immortality, for the wood part."
Her tone turns flat. "Sounds so simple to make. And the only druid we know won't even look at us after last time. Who knows if she's still in town."
I nod slowly, thinking through contingencies. "There are others out there. Or already forged weapons available to buy on the black market. I'll ask Astrid. She has contacts."
I snap a photo of the page and send it. Astrid answers quickly.
Sure. Meet me at Cole's? Something happened last night at the Hawthorn offices. I'm meeting my cop contact.
My brow furrows. What happened?
Police got an auto-call from the security system. By the time they arrived, they were turned back. 'Office party gone wild,' they were told. But someone saw a desk thrown from the upper floors. Some party.
Shit. My first thought is Kayden.
"Did you see Kayden come in?" I ask Sage.
She shakes her head, reading the shift in my tone. "What is it?"
"I'm meeting Astrid at Cole's."
"I want to come," she says instantly, voice tight.
I hesitate. The barrier is safety, but leaving her here alone while things stir in town is worse.
I nod. "All right."
We move fast—clothes, boots, keys. I slip my phone into my jacket, the photo of the blade still glowing on the screen.
Kayden has another fallback when emotions get too close: chaos. And I have the sinking feeling that's the path he chose last night.