Page 89 of Run of Ruin

“They charged me with murder in a sham of a trial. Blamed me for the death of the only person I ever trusted.”

A stunned, strangled kind of silence settled over the room. No one dared breathe.

“I might be the reason he’s dead,” Ezra breathed, voice quiet now, almost a whisper meant for me alone. “But I didn’t kill him.”

I reached for him, gripping his hand in mine. Ezra clung to me like I was the only thing tethering him to solid ground.

The crowd sniffled, a few people openly sobbing. Someone from the back shouted,“We still love you, Ezra!”and just like that, the tide turned. He bared his soul to them, for me, to cover the wreckage I caused with my reckless mouth. And I hated myself for it.

He brought my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. I squeezed his fingers tighter.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, my throat tight.

“It’s okay,” he murmured back, though we both knew it wasn’t.

Another wave of“awws”rolled over us, the crowd so easily swayed, so quick to forgive what moments ago they would’ve killed for. How fickle they were. How blind.

“Thank you for sharing that piece of you, Ezra,” Annalese said, her hand clutching her chest like some self-appointed martyr. As if she wasn’t the one who’d nearly gutted him in front of everyone.

“Unfortunately,” she continued with a bright, brittle smile, “that’s all the time we have for tonight, folks! Thank you, Wildguard, for joining us. We’ll be cheering you on, won’t we?”

The crowd erupted in cheers and applause, but the sound rang hollow in my ears. Because I could already feel Jax’s medicine slipping further out of reach. Briar and Thorne, marked by association. Zaffir, who hadn’t even said a word, painted a traitor by proximity. And Ezra… Ezra, who’d just salvaged us all with his own bloodied history, would carry the heaviest weight.

I’d signed my death warrant tonight. Maybe all of ours.

The noose was tightening. And it was my fault.

CHAPTER

TWENTY

Ezra

I thought tellingKade’s story,my story, would destroy me. The idea of digging up those pieces of my past, of laying bare the darkest, bloodiest corners of my life for the world to gawk at, had felt unbearable. I’d spent a long time convincing myself I’d break if I ever let them see it. If I let anyone see it.

But then I saw the way the color drained from Bex’s face on that stage. The way her reckless, beautiful defiance on my behalf painted a target on her back. And at that moment, it wasn’t a hard decision. It was the easiest one I’d ever made. I knew Kade would’ve thought so too.

While pulling the attention off of her, I somehow set myself free from the weight of that secret.

When we made it back to the house, the truth of it all finally hit me. I muttered something about being tired, excused myself to my room, not to hide, not out of regret, but to finally breathe. For the first time since I got that damnmessage that my best friend, my brother in every way but blood, had been buried beneath the rubble.

I laid on the bed, arms splayed out, staring up at the cracked ceiling, and for once it felt like I could move without the world pressing in on my chest. It didn’t matter if no one truly believed me, if the stain of the accusations never washed clean. At least tonight, they’d let me speak. They’d listened. Unlike those bastards who closed my trial before I’d even opened my mouth, who condemned me without a word of my defense.

“They know the truth now, Kade,” I whispered to the empty room. I let myself believe he could hear me.

A soft knock broke the silence.

The door creaked open, and there she was. Bex. Still dressed in her interview outfit, all sharp lines and dark Collective colors. Her hair was a little messy but damn, she was beautiful.

“Can I come in?” she asked softly from the threshold.

“Please,” I said, scooting over and patting the empty space beside me.

She crossed the room in a heartbeat, kicked off her shoes, and climbed in, curling against me like we’d done this a thousand times. Her head settled against my chest, and I felt the tightness in my body ease, my hand instinctively finding her hair and combing through it carefully.

“How’s your head feeling?” I asked, my voice low.

“Better,” she murmured. “A doctor stopped by and gave me something for the pain.”

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