Chapter 25
Ipace the length of the penthouse for what must be the hundredth time, heels tapping against marble floors that gleam too bright.
The interview loops in my head—every word I flung like a blade, every polished lie I carved apart.
By now, the footage is everywhere. Whispersilk’s probably breaking records with their headlines.
Raze stands at his post by the door, arms folded, expression unreadable.
His size should make the room feel safer, but instead the walls seem to press in, the air too dense to breathe.
He hasn’t said much since swapping shifts with Kane this afternoon, after we dropped me off from the studio.
The weight in his silence isn’t apathy but worry, and that makes something twist inside me.
“Have you . . .” My voice comes out thin. “Have you heard anything? About Dom?”
“No.” Raze’s reply is quiet. “But that doesn’t mean a damn thing. Kid’s got more lives than a guttercat.” He huffs a short laugh. “Remember when he tried jumping between those rooftops at The Den? Thought for sure he was dead, but there he was, hanging by his fingertips and grinning like an idiot.”
I actually smile at that. “You yanked him up by the collar.”
“Then threw him right back over.” Raze’s eyes crinkle. “Sometimes the only way to teach Dom a lesson is to let him fall on his ass.”
A brittle laugh slips out. “Have you seen the interview?”
“Saw enough.” He shifts his stance, bruised knuckles catching the light. “You told the truth.”
“Truth gets people killed here.” I don’t mean it to sound so bitter, but Kian wouldn’t simply let this go. He’s not wired for mercy. There has to be fallout.
“Sit down.” Raze’s tone cuts through the fog settling over my thoughts. “Eat something.”
“I’m fine.”
“Not a suggestion.” He moves to the kitchen, his massive frame somehow graceful as he raids my fridge.
“I can cook, you know,” I mutter.
“Sure. Like when you tried to seduce Dom with that chocolate cake? Even the disposal gagged.”
I slump against the counter, watching him work. “That recipe was cursed. Not my fault.”
“Mhm. I’m sure purple was the intended outcome.” His knife glides cleanly through a tomato. “Dom wasn’t much better. Used to make these flaming cocktails, called ‘Dragon’s Breath.’ Exploded on contact. Literally.”
“You’re full of shit.”
“Swear on my scars.” Raze grins. “Kian walked in right as Dom lit himself on fire. The whole bar smelled like burned sugar and smoke for a week. I’ve never seen a man blink that slowly.”
“How long have you known him?” I ask, now realizing I never once questioned Raze’s history with the Blackwoods.
“Since he was five. Scrawny and loud, always trying to impress the wrong people.” He starts assembling what looks like the world’s most elaborate sandwich.
“First fight I saw him in, he got knocked out cold by some brawler from the Rift District. No finesse. Just fists. But he stood back up, again and again. That’s when I knew he’d either be something great, or get himself killed spectacularly. ”
“And now?”
Raze slides the plate toward me. “Still waiting to see which way the wind turns.” He nods at the food. “Eat.”
“Not hungry,” I mutter, but reach for the sandwich, anyway.
“You two are infuriating,” Raze says, settling against the counter with a glint in his eye. “Reminds me of Dom’s first semester at the Academy. Used to storm into The Den every night on cue, face twisted as if someone had personally insulted his entire bloodline.”
I pause mid-bite. “He what?”
“Oh, it was pathetic,” he says with a laugh that rumbles through the kitchen.
“Raze, you don’t get it,” he mimics in a whiny falsetto, “she corrected me. In front of everyone, and she’s always with fucking Darkmoor, like he’s so special.
” He grins, clearly reveling in the memory.
“I swear, half my job that semester was listening to him bitch about you while pretending he wasn’t completely obsessed. ”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“Aria, I endured three months of monologues about your ‘smug little smile’ and how you were ‘obviously showing off’ in practicals.” Raze rolls his eyes.
“The staff had a betting pool going. Not on whether he’d finally admit he liked you, but how many glasses would shatter before he did. I lost fifty lumes on that one.”
“Serves you right for betting against his ego.” I try not to smile. “Hope whoever won at least bought you a drink. You deserved it for putting up with all that brooding.”
“Then there was that Academy Winter Ball . . .” He trails off with a smirk.
“Don’t.”
“No, no, this part’s a classic.” Raze leans forward conspiratorially. “He’s at the bar, slouched, lip split from some fight he wouldn’t explain, knocking back whiskey and muttering about how you were dancing with some ‘pretentious idiot who probably couldn’t even cast a proper spell.’”
“Theodore,” I supply.
“You remember?” Raze snorts.
“He wasn’t that bad,” I protest, though the memory of Dom’s glare across that ballroom says otherwise.
“When that Theodore kid’s hands started wandering .
. .” Raze shakes his head, still grinning.
“One second Dom’s standing there looking ready to commit murder, the next he’s moving across that dance floor like some avenging demon.
Never seen him move that fast, and trust me, I’ve seen him in plenty of fights. ”
“I remember thinking I was going to have to punch him,” I admit, picking at a crust.
“Oh, we all thought that. The way you looked at him when he grabbed your wrist?” Raze lets out a low whistle.
“That’s why I followed, figured blood was about to be spilled.
Kian had told me to keep his son out of trouble that night, and there Dom was, dragging you away, and looking ready to set the whole Academy on fire. ”
“It wasn’t that dramatic.” My face heats.
“Please. I was standing guard outside an empty classroom like some lovesick teenagers’ accomplice, listening to things I’d rather forget.”
“You never told anyone,” I say softly.
“Course not. Though explaining to Octavia why her son showed up to breakfast the next morning with those interesting marks on his neck . . .” He shoots me a pointed glance, eyes crinkling.
“I still can’t believe you covered for us.”
“Someone had to look out for you idiots.” His voice drops, softer now. “And it was worth it just to watch Dom pretend he was unaffected, while simultaneously threatening to gut anyone who so much as glanced at you.”
Three soft knocks at the door cut through our conversation and my heart lurches. This is it. Kian’s retaliation has arrived.
I push away from the counter, moving toward the door despite Raze’s growled protest.
“Aria, wait—”
“If it’s Kian,” I say, shoulders squared, “I want to face him myself.”
My hand shakes slightly on the knob, but I force it steady. The door creaks open, and relief slams into me so fast my knees almost give.
“Hey,” Rowe says softly.
I don’t say anything, just stand there, staring at him like an idiot.
His hair’s a mess, pushed back but still falling in uneven waves across his brow.
He smells of pine and rain-drenched earth, of wind and wild places, as if the outside is still clinging to his skin.
Rowe’s presence settles in my ribs, stillness against the noise I’ve grown used to surviving.
Before I can think better of it, I step into his space and wrap my arms around him.
Rowe freezes, his breath stuttering against my neck before instinct takes over and his arms slowly fold around me.
The shirt is soft beneath my fingers, damp at the collar where he hadn’t bothered to shield from the rain, his shoulder fitting against mine with the same familiarity as before, it’s pathetic how quickly I sink into it.
Raze clears his throat behind us, and I jump back, guilt flooding my cheeks. What am I doing? Minutes ago, I was reminiscing about Dom, missing him so much it hurt, and now here I am throwing myself into another man’s arms.
When I glance at Raze, his expression isn’t judgmental. Just . . . understanding. Quiet sympathy flickers in his eyes as they move between us.
“Want me to give you a minute?” he asks.
“Are you sure? You’re not supposed to leave me alone.”
Raze shrugs. “Not like they can punish you more than they already will. I’ll be right outside.”
The door clicks shut behind him, sealing us in silence.
“I saw your interview,” Rowe says simply.
I shift, moving toward the kitchen to put some space between us. “If you’re here to lecture me—”
“Actually,” he interrupts, a faint curve pulling at his mouth, “I’m here because Margaux asked me for a favor.”
That stops me mid-step. “Dom’s sister?”
“Trust me, I was just as confused. She can be persuasive when she wants something.”
“Persuasive?”
“Terrifying is probably more accurate.” He drags a hand through his hair, making the mess worse. “She tracked me down before I went to see my father, to inform me I’d be stealing some security footage for you.”
Despite everything, a laugh bubbles up. “That sounds like Margaux.”
“I’ve faced down rabid chimeras that were less intimidating.” His eyes meet mine, and for a moment, the familiar warmth in them makes me forget everything else.
“What footage did she ask you to steal?”
“From the night your parents died. But I didn’t steal anything. I asked Alexander directly.”
“You what?”
“He gave them to me.” He lowers his gaze. “After I agreed to his terms about the sanctuary.”
I still. “Rowe, what did you do?”
“Don’t worry about it.” He pulls out a data crystal, its surface catching the light in shifting hues. “I know how much this means to you.”
I swallow hard, gesturing toward the hallway. “My room. We can watch it there.”
He follows, his presence behind me a quiet force. When we enter my room, I’m suddenly aware of how intimate it feels. My tea still lingers in the air, while the enchanted ceiling spills starlight across his features, turning the familiar into something too tender.