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Marlowe stared down at the picture in her hands, tears finally spilling over.

“Mace,” I said quietly, “why tell us now?”

He shrugged. “Because the story’s done. The last of the Sons who held those secrets are either dead or locked away. Lucien’s gone. Skye’s gone. And she deserves the truth without the danger.”

He nodded at Marlowe’s ring. “Besides…you’re building something new. Can’t build right on rotten foundations.”

For a moment, I didn’t hate him. Not even a little.

Marlowe stepped forward, wiping her cheek. “Thank you.”

Mace shook his head like he didn’t deserve it. “Don’t thank me. I didn’t save you.”

Torin’s hand tightened around her waist. “No,” I said, meeting Mace’s gaze. “But you tried. And that counts.”

Mace gave one short nod, turned, and walked down the stairs. He didn’t look back. He never did.

When the door shut behind him, Marlowe sagged against me, breath shuddering.

“I don’t know what to feel,” she whispered.

I kissed her hair, slow and steady. “Whatever you feel is the right thing.”

Her hand lifted, pressing the picture against my chest. “She fought for me.”

“She did,” I said softly. “And now you’re safe. Loved. Home.”

She looked up at me, eyes full of grief and hope tangled together.

“Torin,” she said, voice breaking, “I think I’m finally ready to let the past be the past.”

I wrapped both arms around her and held her like she was the only thing that made sense in the world.

“Good,” I murmured. “Because the future’s ours now.” And I’d guard it with my life.

~ MARLOWE ~

The loft felt too quiet after Mace left. Not an empty kind of quiet. A layered one. The kind that sinks into the walls and sits in the corners like it knows it has every right to be there. The kind that wraps around your ribs and holds tight until you decide what you are going to do with it.

I stood near the window long after the others drifted into their own conversations. Torin stayed close, giving me space without stepping away. It was something I never knew how much I needed until him.

The street below glowed with the soft orange cast of early evening. People moved along the sidewalks with the slow, easy steps of a city no longer holding its breath. Lucien was gone. The Sons of Morning Star were scattered. The Ravens were ghosts from another life. And still, I felt like a piece of me was standing barefoot in the dirt of that old compound again, waiting for someone to tell me where I belonged.

I rubbed a thumb along the edge of the note in my pocket. The one Mace gave me. The one that made my stomach twist in ways I could not name.

Torin stepped up behind me and rested his hands lightly on my shoulders. “You want to talk about it?” he asked.

“I do not know yet,” I said. My voice sounded small, even to me. “I am trying to figure out what I am feeling.”

“Take your time,” Torin said. He pressed a kiss to the back of my head. “I am here.”

His words softened something inside me. Not the ache. Not yet. But the edges of it.

Behind us, Reif was sitting on the couch flipping through a takeout menu like he was studying for an exam. Rook was beside him, pointing out the places that always messed up orders. Tannin pretended to text, though she kept glancing at the door like she expected Mace to return.

Jess leaned against the counter with his arms crossed, his expression thoughtful, maybe even concerned in a quiet way only he could manage without showing it.

This, I thought as I watched them, was what family looked like. It was not born. It was built.

“Do you think he told the truth?” I asked Torin softly.

He lowered his voice. “I think Mace never lies when the truth is painful.”

I exhaled slowly. The glass fogged beneath my breath.

“He said my mother tried to protect us,” I whispered. “He said she tried to keep us together. That someone else was fighting for us too.”

Torin’s hands tightened on my shoulders. “I know.”

“I spent my whole life thinking she left me because she wanted to,” I said. “That she died because Skye chased her out. That she chose Rook over me.”

“She did not choose,” Torin said gently. “Skye chose for her. Lucien’s father chose for her. Men who wanted control made decisions they had no right to make.”

I turned to face him. His eyes were steady, warm, a place I had learned to anchor myself.

“What if everything I believed was wrong?” I asked.

He brushed his thumb along my cheek. “Then you get to rewrite your truth. You get to start with what she tried to do instead of what was done to her.”

My chest tightened. “That is not easy.”

“No,” he said. “It is not. You do not have to do it alone.”

I stepped into him and rested my forehead against his chest. His arms came around me instantly, sure and strong. The loft hummed with the quiet sounds of life behind us, and I stood there breathing him in until the knot in my throat loosened.

When I finally pulled away, Torin kept one hand at my waist and looked at me like he was reading more than my expression.

“Come sit,” he said.

We moved toward the table where the others had claimed every chair except one. Reif pushed aside the menu to make room for me. Tannin slid a cup of tea toward my spot like she had been waiting for me to sit down and admit I needed something warm.

Rook lifted his brows. “You look like you went ten rounds with your own thoughts,” he said.

I let out a shaky laugh. “Something like that.”

Reif nudged the takeout menu toward me. “We are ordering food,” he said. “As a distraction.”

Tannin nodded. “A therapeutic one.”

Jess scoffed softly. “Therapy is not supposed to give you heartburn.”

Rook sipped his coffee. “Speak for yourself.”