***
The picture slipped from my trembling fingers and landed on the blanket covering my legs.
Me and Jace.
Entwined. Naked. Asleep.
Blissfully unaware we were being watched. Again.
The red ink slashed across the photo like a wound:
I told you the game had just begun.
I barely registered the nurse leaving, or the beeping machines beside me. My breath caught in my chest like a scream that didn't know how to escape.
"Jace." His name was all I could whisper.
He looked at the photo. His entire body went rigid.
"Where the hell did this come from?"
"It was slipped in the nurse's folder. No name. Just that," I rasped. "We were being watched. Even here."
He snatched the photo off the bed, eyes scanning the corners, the angles. "This was taken from inside the room. Which means someone's still here. In this hospital."
I stared at him, pulse pounding. "It's not over."
"No," he said darkly. "It never was."
***
Later That Night
Hospital Room, 2:16 A.M.
The hospital dimmed to shadows and silence. But I couldn't sleep.
Jace sat in the armchair, phone in one hand, his other clenched into a fist. His jaw ticked, and I knew that rage was simmering just beneath the surface. Controlled. Barely.
"They know how to reach us," I said softly. "They know we're exposed. What if Savannah wasn't the queen? What if she was just a pawn?"
Jace looked up, eyes haunted. "You think someone's still pulling the strings?"
"Someone who knew Savannah would burn out. Someone patient. Smarter. More dangerous."
His phone buzzed.
One new message.
No number.
Unknown:
> The ones who play God always forget—
The devil used to be an angel too.
See you soon, Princess.
Attached: A video clip.
My blood ran cold.
***
The Video
A dark room.
Dim lightbulb swinging.
A voice—distorted and low.
"Every kingdom falls. And every queen bleeds."
The camera panned slowly.
To Ivy.
Sitting on a hospital bed.
Sobbing.
Alone.
Trembling.
With Savannah standing in the background.
Alive.
Smiling.
***
"No…" I gasped. "But—she was arrested—she was taken—Jace, we saw her—"
"No," he said grimly. "We saw her get dragged off. We assumed it was the cops. But this? This wasn't a rescue. It was a transfer."
A knock at the door made both of us jump.
Jace was up instantly, checking the peephole.
He turned to me, pale. "It's Detective Harrow."
One of the few cops who had believed us.
Or so we thought.
He entered the room, his badge clipped to his coat and eyes shadowed with something I couldn't read.
"I heard what happened," Harrow said. "Savannah Langford never made it to county. Her transport was hijacked en route. Driver dead. Officers missing. We believe it was an inside job."
I swallowed hard. "So she's free?"
"She's loose," he corrected. "But not free. She's running scared. And if she's working with someone else… someone powerful…"
"She's not just working with them," Jace said. "She's being led."
***
Three Days Later
Safehouse—Downtown LA
Jace moved me into a private loft surrounded by guards, tech, and bulletproof glass. I should've felt safe.
I didn't.
Everything buzzed with tension. Ivy had gone completely off the grid. Jace was in touch with Theo—the janitor from Westview—but even he was spooked.
"Whatever this is," Theo had said through the burner line, "it's bigger than the Crows. Bigger than Savannah. It goes up to money—old money—and secrets."
But secrets don't stay buried.
Especially not when I was digging them up in the dark.
***
2:03 A.M.
The Room Felt Like A Coffin
Jace lay beside me, shirtless, sheets tangled around his hips, moonlight streaking across the tattoos on his chest.
His eyes fluttered open as I traced my fingers along his ribs. "You're not sleeping."
"How can I?" I murmured. "Not when I don't know what's coming."
He pulled me into his arms, rolling me underneath him, his breath hot on my neck. "Then let's make the wait worth something."
His mouth found mine—slow and aching, as if we were rediscovering each other in the shadows.
The kiss deepened.
His hands slid beneath my tank top, calloused fingertips grazing my skin.
"Leah," he whispered, voice raw, "I need to feel something that isn't fear."
"Then take it," I breathed.
He kissed down my collarbone, between my breasts, worshipping me like I was the last prayer he'd ever speak.
When he slid inside me, it was like being struck by lightning.
My legs wrapped around his waist. My nails clawed into his back. Our moans filled the room—sacred, desperate, devouring.
It wasn't just sex.
It was war.
And we were both losing and winning at the same time.
***
When it was over, we lay breathless. My head on his chest, his hand stroking my hair.
"I don't care what comes next," I said. "As long as you're beside me."
"I'll always be beside you," he murmured. "But we're not done yet."
***
The Next Morning
New Threat, New Truth
Ivy resurfaced.
An encrypted email landed in my inbox.
One video file. No text.
I played it.
Savannah. In a private jet.
Sitting across from a man I didn't recognize—gray suit, grayer eyes, thin smile.
But Jace did.
His face drained of color.
"Who is that?" I asked.
He swallowed hard.
"Roman Vale."
"Vale—as in Tristan's last name?"
He nodded.
"His father. The real mastermind. He's the one who created the Crows. Funded the parties. Paid off cops, media, teachers. Westview was just a farm for secrets—for leverage."
"And now?" I whispered.
"He's cleaning house."
***
As the video ended, a single voice crackled through my speakers.
Roman Vale's voice.
Calm. Collected. Cruel.
> "Tell Leah Grayson the past isn't done with her.
Her mother's secrets are mine now.
And her father?
He wasn't the hero she remembers.
He was one of us."
My blood ran cold.
I turned to Jace, heart pounding.
"What is he talking about?"
Jace's eyes met mine.
And what I saw in them…
Wasn't surprise.
It was guilt.