Page 43 of Lone Wolf

The question catches me off guard. “What? Why?”

“Because I want to know you,” she says simply. “The real you, not just what she made you into.”

I stare up at the ceiling, sifting through fragments of memory from before—hazy images, disconnected feelings, a life that sometimes seems like it belonged to someone else.

“I had a teddy bear,” I say finally. “His name was Mr. Fluffikins.” Sunny smiles. “Tell me more about your sister,” I say, wanting to shift the focus away from my past.

Sunny sighs, settling back against me. “Marisol was…the only bright thing in life. Always laughing, always singing. Even when things were bad at home, she could find something to be happy about.” She pauses, her voice catching. “She used to make up these elaborate stories about how we’d escape someday, live in a castle by the sea. And I…believed her.”

“You were young,” I point out. “And you were up against someone evil. Someone who should have protected you both, and didn’t.”

“I was old enough to know better,” she says. “I should have helped her plan, shaken off the fantasy—helped her save?—”

I recognize the spiral of self-blame, the endless loop of “should haves” that can consume you if you let them. Without thinking, I find myself reaching for her hand, lacing our fingers together.

“We’ll find her,” I say, surprising myself with how much I mean it. “Or we’ll find out what happened to her. I promise.”

Sunny looks at me, her expression vulnerable in a way I haven’t seen before. And then she leans in to kiss me again. I lose myself in her—in the warmth of her mouth, the press of herbody against mine, the way she sighs my name. Time becomes meaningless, the world outside this room ceasing to exist.

Until a sharp bang at the door shatters the moment.

“Santiago! War room, now!” Lyssa’s voice cuts into our private world as keenly as one of her knives. “And if you see Graves, tell her the fucking same.”

We freeze, staring at each other. Sunny’s eyes are wide with alarm.

“On my way!” she calls back, then lowers her voice to a whisper. “Shit, shit, shit.”

We scramble off the bed, gathering scattered clothes with frantic efficiency. Sunny pulls on her pants, almost falling over in her haste. “What exactly do we tell them? About why I lost control?”

I pause, considering. “Let me handle it,” I say finally. “I’ll stick to my story. You don’t need to say anything.”

“I can’t let you take the fall alone,” she argues, tying her shoes. “Not when it was my fault.”

“Yes, you can.” I move to her, grasping her shoulders firmly. “Listen to me, Sunny. Your mission is to find your sister. You can’t do that if they kick you out of the Syndicate. Let me handle this. I’m already a monster in their eyes. This won’t change anything for me.”

What I don’t say, what I barely admit to myself, is that I’m afraid—not for myself, but for her. Afraid of what might happen if she loses herself again like she did in that warehouse, if her bright light is dimmed by the same darkness that’s consumed me.

I’m afraid because, for the first time in longer than I can remember, I care about someone else’s fate more than my own.

CHAPTER 16

Sunny

I followAriadne into the foyer and up the stairs to the war room. Even though we’re walking at a normal pace, it feels like we’re marching to an execution. Part of me wants to reach out and grab her hand, but we’re in the open now and anyone could see. I want to keep whatever is happening between us just for us, for now, and besides, we have business to deal with first. So I keep my hands to myself and try to ignore the lingering warmth on my skin where her fingers touched me just minutes ago.

“Let me do the talking,” Ariadne says without turning around, her voice low and flat. “Just follow my lead.”

“I really can’t let you take the fall for this,” I reply, matching my stride to hers as we climb the stairs.

She stops abruptly on the landing, turning to face me with those ice-blue eyes that somehow seem warmer now. “Your mission is to find your sister. My mission is to survive. Let me do what I do best.”

Before I can argue again, she continues toward the heavy double doors marked with the brass Cerberus. The three-headed dogof Greek mythology—guardian of the Underworld, and a fitting watcher over the entrance to the Styx Syndicate’s inner sanctum.

The doors swing open at Ariadne’s push, and I steel myself. Inside, Hadria sits at the head of the long table, flanked by Lyssa and Scarlett on either side. But…no one else is present—not Vanessa or Enzo or any of the recruits, not the other senior members who usually attend briefings. Just these three, waiting for us with expressions that make my stomach drop to my feet.

Hadria’s face is a perfect blank, her silvery eyes cold and unreadable. Lyssa looks like she’s been carved from stone, her usual intensity dialed up to eleven. And Scarlett—Scarlett’s watching us with an expression that mixes disappointment with something I can’t quite read. Pity, maybe. Or resignation.

None of this bodes well.

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