Kael woke up.
Not because he was rested—because the quiet had finally grown too loud.
He turned his head and stared at the alarm clock on his desk.
3:00 a.m.
The red digits burned into the dark.
"Perfect," Noir whispered, her voice curling behind his ears like warm breath.
Kael didn't answer. He slid out of bed, the floor cold against his feet, and opened the drawer beneath his desk.
The C4 sat there, wrapped in cloth. Heavy. Real.
He'd taken it from Raegal's armory just after midnight, hands steady then—too steady. Now they shook as he lifted it out.
This is already done, he told himself.
I'm just finishing it.
The house slept.
Every step down the wooden stairs felt like a mistake made too late to undo. The boards creaked anyway, thin complaints in the silence.
Kael froze.
He counted his breaths.
One.
Two.
Nothing moved.
In the kitchen, moonlight spilled across the counter. He dragged a chair beneath the ceiling panel, the scrape sounding louder than it should have.
"Left," Noir murmured.
"Left again. Good."
Kael climbed up, fingers brushing wires and dust. His heart pounded so hard he was sure the house could hear it.
What if something goes wrong?
It's fine, his gut insisted. Keep going.
"…Maybe,"
Kael thought, hands pausing mid-motion.
"Maybe I am scared."
For a moment, the world waited with him.
Then—
CRACK.
Glass shattered.
The sound snapped through the house like a gunshot.
Kael's head jerked toward the doorway.
"L—Lily?"
Raegal's voice broke as he stumbled into view.
He dropped to his knees.
The scarf.
Wrapped around Kael's head.
Blond hair spilling from beneath it.
Just like his daughter's.
Raegal didn't see Kael.
He saw a ghost.
Kael swallowed. His throat burned.
He glanced sideways, as if Noir might be standing there.
"Is… is he that drunk?" he whispered.
"Told you," Noir purred, pleased.
Her voice softened.
"Kael. The bomb's planted."
"I know," he said. "I know."
Raegal reached out with shaking hands, sobbing now—apologizing to someone who wasn't there.
"…Listen carefully," Noir said.
Kael's fingers tightened.
"It's not our—"
The sentence never finished.
BOOM