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Elise's POV
It started like any other quiet morning in the penthouse—the air crisp from the open balcony doors, the scent of Carson's black coffee still lingering, a single sunlight stripe stretched across the marble floor like a gold blade.
Carson had just left, his jacket still damp from the rain he walked through on the way out. I watched him disappear down the hall through the surveillance monitors he'd installed. It was supposed to be just another peaceful day. Just another brick in the storm.
I padded barefoot across the polished floor, hoodie sleeves covering my hands, letting myself forget for a moment what the outside world looked like. Here, in the stillness, I almost felt safe. Almost.
Then the elevator chimed.
My stomach dropped. No one—no one—was supposed to know about this place.
I turned slowly, heart pounding, the soft ding of the elevator doors sliding open echoing louder than it should've. And there he was.
Kylon.
My father.
In the flesh.
He stepped out like he belonged, calm, casual, hands tucked in the pockets of a long coat that probably cost more than the average rent in downtown Manhattan. His face was warm. Too warm. The kind that made your skin crawl.
"Elise," he said, voice honeyed and smooth, like the edge of a blade dipped in sugar. "You've grown."
I couldn't speak. My breath locked in my throat like a gun misfiring. My limbs froze, but my brain screamed—how did he find this place?
And yet, I smiled.
Like I was trained to.
Like I always did when he looked at me with those eyes that knew too much.
We sat on the edge of the velvet couch, sun filtering in like it didn't know the devil had walked into the room. He laughed. Laughed. Told me how proud he was. How he always knew I'd find someone like Carson—brilliant, driven, unpredictable. He even made jokes. Asked where we met, if Carson made me happy. I gave him vague, hollow answers, too scared to let the truth slip through.
But then… something inside me cracked.
It started like a tremor, then a quake.
"You ordered her death, didn't you?" I said. Just like that. No warning. No buildup.
He stopped mid-laugh.
"My mother," I continued. "You had her killed. And don't lie to me again. I know what you did. I remember the night she screamed. I remember the smell of blood. I remember choking—you choking me. Do you?"
His face didn't shift. Not at first. Just silence. That thick, suffocating silence that wraps around your neck like a noose.
"Elise," he began, voice slower now, heavier. "You don't remember the full story."
"Then tell me." My voice was shaking. I was shaking.
He looked at me, his eyes softening, almost pitying. And that made it worse.
"She wasn't who you think she was. You were never supposed to see what you saw that night. She was unstable. Dangerous. I had to make a decision—one that protected you."
"You strangled me," I whispered. "You left me there. You didn't even look back."
His jaw clenched, just slightly. "Because I knew you were strong enough to survive it. And look at you now. You did."
My chest burned. I couldn't tell if I was about to scream or shatter. My hands were fists, nails digging crescents into my palms.
That's when the door opened again.
Carson.
He stepped in, holding a grocery bag, humming some melody under his breath before everything in him stopped. The silence swallowed him too.
His eyes landed on Kylon—and I saw it, the flicker of fury he tried to smother.
"Carson," I said, but he was already moving.
No words. No explanation. Just a look exchanged between them—violent and ancient, like they'd danced this battle before.
"Go to the other room," Carson said gently to me, but his voice was metal wrapped in velvet.
"Wait—Carson—" I tried, but he shook his head.
"Elise. Go. Now."
So I obeyed. Because something about the way he said my name made it clear: this wasn't a request.
I walked into the soundproofed room down the hall. The moment the door clicked shut behind me, the world outside became muffled.
And then… silence.
I stood there, staring at the blank white wall, my reflection in the black glass.
I could still feel my father's voice crawling under my skin, his justifications weaving themselves into my veins. And I hated it. I hated how part of me wanted to believe him. How part of me wondered if I had gotten it wrong. If I was too young, too scared, too broken to understand what really happened that night.
But deep down, in that part of me that never stopped screaming, I knew.
I knew what he was.
I sat on the floor, wrapping my arms around my knees, feeling that familiar, aching pull between the past and present. Between who I thought I was and who I was becoming.
That morning had begun like any other.
Now, it was the day everything started to come undone.
Carson's POV
How did he find this place?
How did he find this place?
That question was a razor, slicing loops through my skull. Again and again. And again. And again. Until I was nearly laughing.
Kylon stood in the center of my sanctum—my fucking penthouse—like he built the walls with his bare hands. Like he belonged here. Like I hadn't buried his name beneath cement and blood and blackout rage. The audacity had me pacing, pacing, pacing like a goddamn caged wolf, fingers twitching, teeth grinding so hard I tasted iron.
"Elise," I said quietly, too quietly, never breaking eye contact with him. "Go. Now."
She vanished without a word. Her silence screamed louder than anything she could've said. I felt her absence like a missing limb, but I couldn't think about that right now—not with him here.
"You've got five seconds before I carve you into a riddle, old man," I said, smile twitching, neck jerking to the side with a crack that sounded like it could split time in half.
Kylon… smiled.
Of course he did.
"Still dramatic," he mused. "But you've matured."
"Why are you here, Kylon? Why now?" I spat his name like venom, like glass. My hands flexed open and shut, my breath too shallow. "You walked into my house. My fortress. My war zone. You don't do that without a reason."
He exhaled like this was just another business meeting, like he wasn't the reason Elise broke inside that room ten minutes ago.
"I came to ask something simple," he said, tone even, voice almost soothing. "Protect her. That's it. No mind games. No dragging her into your spiral. No breaking what's left of her.I just want her to be safe, Carson. That's all I've ever wanted."
I laughed.
It wasn't a laugh. It was a scream with its throat cut.
"She's already in the spiral," I whispered. "She's already bleeding."
Kylon didn't flinch. Bastard didn't move. "Then be her shield."
He moved toward the window, looking out over the city like a king surveying his kingdom.
"And in return," he said, too casually, "I'll fix your mess. The fish. The drugs. Your mother. Damian."
At the mention of my brother, something snapped. I picked up the nearest glass and hurled it at the wall behind Kylon's head. It shattered like a gunshot. He didn't even blink.
"Don't say their names like you're offering a gift," I said through gritted teeth, walking toward him, pulse pounding. "You ruined everything you touched and now you want to play god? What—suddenly I'm your project again? Your trained dog?"
"You're not a dog, Carson," he said softly. "You're a wild card. Which is why I came to you."
I started pacing again, the carpet wearing thin beneath my feet. My brain was on fire. Every word he spoke sank into my skin like tiny knives.
"There's someone bigger," he added finally, watching my reaction. "Stronger than me. Than you. Then all of this. And they're watching. Hunting. Elise is a pawn in a game she doesn't know she's playing."
"Then tell me who."
But he didn't. Of course not.
He just looked at me with that same expression—the one that said, you're already too late.
I turned on him so fast he almost stumbled.
"You come into my house," I hissed, chest heaving, veins singing, "and give me riddles and threats and half-truths like I'm some stupid, broken little boy still begging for your approval. You think I need you to fix me?"
"No," he said. "I think you're too far gone."
I grinned. Wide. Wild. My knuckles cracked as I stepped forward, inches from his face.
"Damn right I am."
He walked toward the door. Like he'd won. Like this was his final move. "Just protect her, Carson. That's all I ask. Let her live. Let someone live."
"Don't tell me how to love," I whispered. "Because I will, Kylon. But I'll do it my way."
And I slammed the door so hard behind him the walls shook.
The silence after was unbearable.
I leaned my forehead against the wall, breathing like a man who just outran death, heart ricocheting off my ribs like bullets in a locked room. I stood there for what felt like hours, maybe days, until the storm in my veins dulled to a simmering ache.
Then I moved.
Jerky. Quick. I turned on the stove, cracking eggs like they were skulls. The yolk bled into the pan and it smelled like home—if home were a battlefield soaked in gasoline. The oil hissed. I stared into it like it could give me answers.
My mind split in half.
One side: Elise in that room, her hands probably shaking, mind spiraling into places I've lived too long.
Other side: Ryder. The dark web. The new tunnel we uncovered. A backdoor coded into a customs surveillance system. Buried beneath fish shipments and fake IDs. Hidden like a virus. Glory's digital bloodstream.
And soon, we'd infect it.
We weren't going in with guns. We were going in with code and rot and lies. We were going to bleed them out from the inside—until there was nothing left but smoke and ruin.
But first, Elise.
I didn't knock on the door. I didn't say a word.
I just slid a plate of eggs onto the table and waited.
If she wanted to talk, she would.
And when she was ready—
We'd burn the world together.
They booked the whole top floor.
Soft jazz in the background. String lights like halos. Every table spaced perfectly for privacy, as if secrets couldn't travel through the air here.
I wore black. Clean. Tailored. The kind of suit you wear to either a wedding or a funeral. My eyes said both.
Leona arrived in red.
Not just red—fuck-you red. Silk that shimmered like blood over her skin, collarbones sharp, eyeliner cruel. She smiled like she was holding a loaded secret in her clutch bag.
Alex, Marco, Dante, and Diego took their seats like kings pretending to be students. All of them dressed sharp, dangerous. Laughing too easily. Clinking glasses with names on their lips that weren't present. People we lost. People we're going to lose.
And Elise?
Elise sat at my side like porcelain. Fragile. Beautiful. Silent.
She kept her tone light, her smile perfectly placed, downplaying everything—her father's visit, the confrontation, the chokehold of memory. Anyone listening might think she had a cold, not a crumbling mind.
I didn't press. I knew better than to ask a girl covered in bruises to lift her sleeve in public.
Earlier that Day
I was buying the candle.
Something basic, sure, but meaningful. Leona doesn't like obvious sentiment. She likes things that smell like sugar but could double as fire starters. Like her.
The store was quiet.
And then I heard it.
"Carson?"
High-pitched. Almost unsure.
I turned—and there he was.
Damian. My little brother. Fourteen now. His school uniform still neat, his hands full of strawberry chews and a pack of gum.
My first thought wasn't warmth.
It was calculation.
How did he know where I'd be?
He grinned. "Mom says you've been busy."
I crouched slowly, eye-level. "You shouldn't be here alone."
He tilted his head. "Neither should you."
There it was—that look. Not innocence. Not concern.
Awareness.
He knew something.
We exchanged maybe thirty more words before he skipped off, humming like the devil in a lullaby.
But he left a scent behind.
Not of candy.
Of danger.
Now. At Dinner.
Toasts were made.
Alex raised his glass with a crooked grin. "To Leona. For passing the exam and surviving herself."
She bowed her head in mock humility, then drank like the world was on fire.
Laughter bloomed.
Plates clattered.
Everything was almost normal.
Until Leona pulled me aside—into the glass corridor overlooking the skyline.
The city spread beneath us like a sick patient. Neon veins. Asphalt bones.
"I know," she whispered. "Everything."
I didn't flinch.
She went on.
"I saw the files. The ones Ryder keeps hidden behind the X-ray reader. I know about the Glory entrance point. The implants. The survivor unit. I know what happened in that hotel in Morocco. What you did. What they made you do."
I stared at her.
She blinked hard, voice cracking. "I know why you don't sleep."
Still, I said nothing.
She stepped closer. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because you're already broken," I said quietly. "Why give you a sledgehammer?"
Leona's breath hitched. For a second, her whole armor shook.
"I want in."
"No."
"I deserve to choose."
"You don't know what you're asking."
"Don't I?"
We stared at each other.
Two ghosts in fancy clothes.
Then I said, "If you ever bring this up in front of Elise again, I'll make sure you forget it all."
Not a threat. A promise.
She smiled. "I missed you too."
We returned to the table.
I sat.
Elise looked at me—eyes uncertain, almost pleading. But I didn't reach for her.
I let her reach on her own time.
Instead, I raised my glass again.
"To surviving," I said simply. "For now."
The others followed. The clinking of glass sounded like bone.
And beneath the table, my phone buzzed with Ryder's message:
"We will breach tomorrow. Glory dies from the inside out."
Good.
Because after tonight—after Damian's eyes, Elise's silence, Leona's knowledge—I knew:
The war already started.
And I'm not fighting to win.
I'm fighting to burn.
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