Page 167 of Ashes of Honor

The city burned. I lit it all. Every street. Every sign. Every lamp post or poster. Blew up every car and crumbled every sidewalk. I used every tendril of flame that had been simmering beneath my skin in preparation to powershareSteamfirewith Amaia. Let the people of this cursed fucking city choke on the smoke of what they’d built. Let them suffocate on the dream they ripped from me—from her.

I couldn’t tell who followed at first. Couldn’t hear their footsteps over the roar in my chest. The smoke stung my eyes, and my vision blurred, but I didn’t wipe it away. Didn’t care if they saw it.

Reina limped behind me, her horse gone and yet to return. Her face was streaked with blood. Tomás leaned against her, barely upright, his body shuddering with each step. His wounds were bad, even after Reina had poured her magic into him. She closed her eyes, lips trembling as she forced herself to swallow down the pain of it all. I knew what she saw when she closed them, every time she blinked—Jessa, Amaia, her father.

The urge to unleash more destruction clawed at me, my vines writhing under my skin.I can still breathe, I can still fight.I wanted to force the world to its knees just as it had done to me. To Amaia.

Amaia. My Amaia. General Bennett. Amaia Drakos.She was gone. And I was still here.

Metal against asphalt drilled into the screams, pleads for help. Wrath trailed behind Tomoe, her eyes fixed on the smoke-streaked sky, scanning for something—someone—none of us could see.

Hunter walked with the weight of a thousand shattered lives on his shoulders. He didn’t cry, didn’t speak. He just moved, Serenity at his side, angry for him having to leave behind the ruins of the father he never wanted and the family he’d lost long before this war began.

“This is not how it ends,” Riley said, his tone so even, so certain it felt wrong. Abel and Millie flanked his side like shadows, both of them covered in blood—theirs and the fallen.

I froze, his boots crunching against the scorched ground as he stepped closer. Riley wasn’t supposed to sound like that—like me. When I turned to him, I didn’t see the calm, steady brother Amaia could always count on.

I saw a man ready to burn with me.

The others stopped walking. All of them looked toward him, but he only brushed past me, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. Determined. Dangerous.

Taking in the rest of their faces, I saw the same thing I felt: emptiness. Fury.

Not one of them looked back.

Let it burn. Let it all fucking burn.

Amaia

Fuck.

Riley

Aslow evening—there was really nothing better. These rooms finally felt like home. I missed the space I had shared with the others before. It had been home for years and held many memories, but now was time for growth. Change.

I sat behind the desk, stealing glances at Yasmin as she sprawled on the couch, sketchbook in hand. Her brow furrowed in concentration, her pencil gliding in quick, precise strokes. The high chair I was carving needed to be perfect. Safe enough so Yasmin wouldn’t have to worry every second Jaxon was in it. Comfortable enough for him to nod off without fussing, and fly enough to catch a million eyes. I didn’t know much about beinga good father—not yet—but I figured small efforts such as this were a good place to start.

Two brief knocks came to the door and Yasmin leaned back to swipe the sheer curtain from the window. She dropped her head with a groan, standing to make her way to the door. I set my tools on top of the desk, watching and waiting to see who it was.

By the agitated toss of Yasmin’s silky black hair, I had a feeling who it was. “Let me guess, here for Riley,” she said, holding the door open but blocking the path in.

“Well, it’s not for you,” Amaia said, breezing past Yasmin with the confidence of someone who did not care that she was not welcome by half the people in the room. She dropped a heavy bag to the floor, and Harley and Suckerpunch bolted through after her, tails wagging furiously. “Knocking was a courtesy, by the way.”

And I’m up. Crossing the room, I greeted my sister with a curious smile. The last thing I needed were the two of them to go at it … again. Once was enough, twice was an inconvenience, three times was a headache, now—it was simply exhausting.

My grin wavered, there was something off about her and the way her hands were stuffed into her back pockets. Her stance was tense. Uneasy. “What’s up?”

Amaia glanced at Alexiares, their eyes locked, simmering from an ember to a glowing flame that refused to dim. I caught Yasmin’s gaze from across the room as she plopped back on to the couch and shrugged, silently asking if she was as nauseated as I was. She grinned, her tongue squeezed between her teeth.

“I’m uncomfortable,” I muttered, loud enough for her to hear.

“There’s no other way to put this so I’m just going to say it.” Amaia hesitated, shifting in place and fumbling with her fingers. Oh, she was nervous. That was new. “Uh, we’re kind of engagedand now we’d like to get married before you know, one, or both, of us die in Ronan’s war.”

I offered no response other than a slow, deliberate blink.Old news. Harley came to a stop in front of my feet and stared up at me, tongue hanging out of her mouth as she barked one, quick, clip of demand.

Yasmin clipped a sarcastic laugh from the other side of the room, not bothering to glance up from her sketch. “Congratulations,” she said dryly. “Psychopaths.” The latter was muttered under her breath—yet still clear enough to be heard by the one person who couldn’t control the urge to bite back.

“Yeah, just wait till the little psycho babies are running around your classroom Titi Yas. The more the merrier, right?” Amaia snapped, the happy, carefree smile on her face replaced by one crafted of spite.

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