Chapter 25 #2
“This is very you,” he says quietly, eyes sweeping over the floor-to-ceiling shelves, the midnight-toned rugs, the cluttered desk buried beneath dog-eared notes and crumbling parchment. “It’s like walking straight into your mind.”
I move behind my desk, needing a barrier—any barrier. “Let’s watch the footage. I don’t want Raze getting caught in the crossfire.”
Rowe turns, and moonlight catches in his hair, making my fingers itch to brush through it like I used to. A muscle twitches in his jaw. “Right. Let’s ignore the stone on your finger.” His eyes drop to my hand. “Though it’s hard to miss.”
“Don’t. We’re not doing this.”
“No,” he says, voice laced with that dangerous calm. “I suppose we’re not.”
He moves to the desk, and I drag my chair back, putting as much distance between us as I can. Control. Restraint. Purpose. I chant it inwardly, even as my traitor heart remembers other moments just like this one, other times when moonlight traced every angle of his face.
I stare at the data crystal in Rowe’s hand. He hasn’t moved to play it yet, simply watches me with those storm-cloud eyes that see too much. Every few seconds, they flick to my face, cataloguing, waiting.
“We don’t have to watch it now,” he says softly. “Or at all if you’re not ready.”
I hate how easily he still reads me. How my armor seems invisible to him.
“Stop doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Looking at me like I’m about to break. I’m not that fragile girl anymore, Rowe.”
“No,” he agrees. “You’re not.”
The crystal presses into my hand with unexpected weight, its sharp edges biting into my skin. His fingers graze mine, whether by accident or design, I can’t tell, and lightning shoots up my arm. I jerk back, but his eyes pin me in place.
“Aria . . .” There’s a warning in his voice, or maybe a plea.
“Don’t.” I activate the crystal, letting its pale blue light bloom between us. “Just . . . don’t.”
He takes the spare chair and settles beside me. Every shift of his body seems calculated to maintain distance while still being close enough to catch me if I fall. It’s maddening, this dance we’re doing.
The lab flickers into focus, rendered in the crisp clarity of Darkmoor surveillance. Everything is as I remember it. Cold white surfaces, precisely aligned instruments, and a row of containment chambers buzzing faintly.
“There’s nothing out of place,” Rowe murmurs, sleeve brushing mine as he gestures toward a frame. “Your father’s documenting everything in triplicate.”
I lean forward, using the movement to reclaim my space. “Play it slower.”
He nods, obeying without argument, though I can feel his concern radiating off him in waves.
The footage unspools with merciless clarity: my mother slipping out early, her return nearly two hours later, my father still entombed in his research—each mundane detail preserved with the precision of a blade.
But the sealed chamber where the real experiments happen remains a black box, its contents hidden even from Alexander’s security feeds.
My hands tremble as I watch them navigate their final hours—my mom’s posture taut as she reenters, my father barely glancing up from his research, the two of them moving with the ease of decades, anticipating each other’s motions, trading secret smiles.
All of it preserved now in cold surveillance light, a loop of inevitability I can’t escape.
“Stop.” My voice breaks. “There. When they leave the chamber.”
Rowe’s fingers pause above the projection, but he doesn’t adjust it. Instead, he turns fully toward me. “Aria. This is a lot. Maybe we should—”
“I’m okay.” I cut him off, eyes fixed on anything but him, refusing to remember how he found me that night at The Den, his hands steady when everything else fell apart.
My parents remain frozen on the screen, alive and unaware, a final image of what I lost framed in cold pixels.
“You haven’t slept.” It isn’t a question.
Those observant eyes that can read the most dangerous creatures take in every detail of my face.
“The crystals in here are powered by insomnia spells, your notes are time-stamped throughout the night, and that?” He nods toward the half-empty whiskey glass. “I doubt it’s your first.”
“Are you done analyzing me?” The words come out brittle. “Because I didn’t ask for a psychological evaluation.”
“Sorry, I’m just trying to help.”
“Play it.” I don’t mean for the desperation to bleed through, but it does. When he hesitates, I finally meet his gaze. “Or leave.”
Rowe exhales but doesn’t argue.
The explosion whites out the feed for a fraction of a second. When it stabilizes, the lab is in ruins. Their bodies—
A guttural and broken sound tears out of me before I can contain it. Rowe’s hand presses hard on my shoulder, meant to steady, but I shove it off.
“Again,” I demand, even as my vision blurs. “Frame by frame. There has to be something—”
“Aria . . .” Rowe tempers his voice, but the strain beneath it betrays him. “If Alexander’s involved, you know he wouldn’t leave a trail. He’s meticulous.”
“Show me earlier.” I can’t look away from the frozen image of destruction. “The whole day. From the moment they arrive.”
“This isn’t healthy—”
“Please.”
He watches me for a long beat, then nods. “Alright. But promise me you’ll try to be objective about what we find. Or don’t find.”
The feed reverses with brutal precision. Time unspools backward. I watch their bodies rise from the wreckage, reassemble frame by frame, limbs knitting, walls repairing. Each second stabs deeper. The rewind feels crueler than the destruction.
“There. Pause.”
9:47 AM.
My mom stands frozen in the doorway, three hours late, her movements jerky and unfamiliar. Nothing like the woman who drilled precision and protocol into me since I could walk.
“That’s not right.” My voice comes out thinner now. “She’s never late. Not once in twenty years. Not unless someone made her.”
Rowe leans forward, eyes narrowing. “Wait. Let me check something.” His hands move through the projection, pulling up new angles. “The hallway feeds might show—”
He goes still. In the silence, I can hear my own heartbeat pounding against bone.
There, lurking in the shadows of the service entrance, is a sleek black vehicle.
Its surface gleams obsidian under the security feed’s lens, the Blackwood crest stamped on the hood.
My mother steps out and smooths trembling fingers over her usually pristine hair, glances over her shoulder once, and disappears into the building.
“That’s impossible. She hated Kian. She would never—”
“The timestamp’s authentic,” Rowe says quietly. “I checked for tampering before I brought this to you.”
I shake my head, nausea rising in my throat. “No. No, there has to be a reason. Maybe she needed something. A resource. An agreement for—”
“Aria. You know what this looks like.”
I wrap my arms around myself, moving to the window to put more space between us. “You don’t understand. My mom was principled. Ethical. There has to be an explanation.”
I sense him behind me, holding his distance. In the glass, I see him rake a hand through his hair, that familiar gesture that means he’s struggling with what to say.
“Everyone keeps secrets,” he says finally. “Especially in families like ours. You, of all people, should know that.”
I spin around. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“That maybe you don’t know everything. About your parents. About the Blackwoods.” He hesitates, and I see him wrestle with whether to continue. “About Dom.”
“Don’t do this.”
“I’m not doing anything.” He raises both hands, eyes never leaving mine. “Only trying to help you see what’s right in front of you. Your mother, who supposedly hated the Blackwoods, met with them the day she died. The same day your family’s research was incinerated.”
“Alexander has access to these feeds,” I argue, but even I can hear how hollow the words sound. “If Kian was behind it, why wouldn’t he retaliate?”
Rowe takes another step closer, and I have to force myself not to retreat. “Maybe because it benefits him.” He shrugs. “Think about it. Your parents’ research, their breakthroughs—all of it now belongs to Darkmoor Industries. And you’re about to marry into the family that might have killed them.”
He watches me absorb it. His face gives nothing away, but his jaw is tight, his stance taut with restraint. He wants to reach out for me, I feel it, but he doesn’t.
“When were you going to tell me?” His voice is quiet now. “About the engagement.”
“I wasn’t. I assumed it would reach you, eventually.”
His jaw clenches. “That’s low, Aria. Even for you.”
“Why?” I snap. “You give these speeches about how much you care, how you always cared, but what did you actually do? You stood back while Dom swept in. You sulked. Then you ran off to your precious sanctuary like none of it mattered.”
“That’s not fair.”
“It’s true.”
“You know I cared. I still do. But this isn’t even about us, it’s about Dom chaining you to this city when I know damn well you never wanted to stay here.”
“I signed that contract willingly,” I bite out. “To protect him.”
Rowe lets out a bitter laugh. “Of course. You’re protecting him. Again. Are you really that blind, Aria?”
“I’m not!”
“If Dom wasn’t so selfish, he would have let you go. Now look at you, trapped with no way out.”
“Stop it!”
“Did you never wonder why Alexander and your father let us spend so much time together? Why they encouraged it? It was all planned, Aria. They wanted us married. Just like the contract Kian gave you. The only difference? I said no.”
I stare at him. “You’re lying.”
“Think about it. All those years growing up, seeing Dom at events, at galas, he never once spoke to you. Then suddenly at the Academy—”
“That was different.”
“No, it wasn’t.” His voice slices clean through my protest. “He entered your life the same week I told Alexander I wouldn’t marry you. The same week I showed him the sanctuary blueprints. That’s not a coincidence.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Why would I lie?” His voice cracks under the frustration. “Everything is finally making sense.”
“Why didn’t you tell me before?” My hands curl into fists. “Why wait until now?”
He steps forward, storm breaking in his eyes. “Would it have mattered?” His voice drops to a near-whisper. “Would you have chosen differently?”
I hesitate, and in that moment of silence, everything between us seems to crackle with possibility. Rowe inches closer, and I can’t tell whether I want to step away or fall into him—
A sharp, bone-deep crack shatters the moment. The protective barriers shudder as someone tests their limits.
The lights blink out.
An emergency alarm shrieks to life, sharp and dissonant. Red pulses strobe through the room as another blow slams into the outer perimeter. The wards screech, high and distorted, a sound that vibrates in my teeth.
“Move.” Rowe grabs my wrist, yanking me toward the hidden passage behind the bookshelf. The alarms reach a fever pitch, drowning out my thundering heart. “Now.”
Glass explodes somewhere below. It sounded like a thousand wind chimes collapsing. Then comes the growl.
Low. Vicious. Starved.
“Rowe, what—”
The wards fail with a visceral crack, bone breaking and magic tearing apart at the seams.
“Run.” He shoves me through the passage. “Don’t look back.”