Page 61 of His to Destroy

But now… with Almeria’s broken voice still in my ears, I realize something I should have seen all along:

Loyalty is a performance in this world.

And betrayal wears a familiar face.

Flashbacks of that night batter me as I study the reports.

Almeria—sweet, fierce Almeria—standing in the alley, tears streaming down her face. Her hands clutching at me. Begging me not to leave.

Me—angry, humiliated—shoving her away. Accusing her of being a pawn.

Her small frame shrinking into the shadows as I turned my back on her.

I squeeze my eyes shut.

The shame is corrosive.

When I open them again, I see something else in the files.

A coded journal entry—one of Stark’s old habit logs. He used to keep them meticulously, recording movements and assignments for our inner circle, encrypted in a shorthand only a few of us knew how to read.

Father had confiscated it that night. I realize now that he’d never gotten it back.

I decode it slowly.

One entry catches my breath:

“Diversion successful. Bait isolated. Target left unattended. No further surveillance.”

My stomach drops.

Bait.

Isolated.

No further surveillance.

It’s dated the exact night of the raid. The night I dragged Almeria to the alley.

The night I abandoned her and left her to be assaulted.

My fingers curl into fists on the desk.

Stark is the monster. And from the looks of things, he’d set me up to get Almeria to where he wanted her to be.

That explained how I found and knew about her diary in the first place.

The rage burns hotter with every breath I take.

I can feel it vibrating under my skin, tightening my muscles, blackening the edges of my vision.

I need confirmation.

Something more than coded words and suspicion.

I need proof.

I call Enzo.

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