Page 126 of Goldsin

The lobby of the Cascade Grand Hotel twinkles with the copious diamond chandeliers whose light reflects on the silver and red accents of the ceiling mural.

Plush velvet couches dot the outsides of the room, red cushions matching the heavy curtains, adding a bit of color to the monotonous cream.

It’s like walking into a show of wealth from someone with a lack of style. They’ve just filled up the space with anything that had five zeroes on the price tag.

At the far end of the room, where the elevators are located, stand two tall pillars. The same mural pattern as the one on the ceiling adorns them. To my right is the reception desk. Behind it, a man dressed in a red suit types on the computer, unbothered by the breathtaking view of Elliot Bay through the windows at his back, the night sky reflecting over the black water.

“Welcome to the Cascade Grand Hotel.” The receptionist’s hair is slicked back with precision, and when he glances up at me, I notice how his eyes gleam under the light of the chandelier. “How may I help you?”

I meet his practiced, beaming stare. “Hello. I’m a guest of Victoria Marlowe.”

“Ah, yes.” He presses his lips together as he types on the keyboard. The pair of silver cufflinks he’s wearing glint at his wrists. “Ms. Marlowe told me to let you know she’ll be running a bit late. You’re welcome to wait in her room.” He turns around, grabbing a silver key card, and the leatherTom Fordshoes on his feet catch the rich light of the room.

His outfit is new—he must have just started working here. His shoes still need breaking in.

I slide the card between my fingers and read the engraved word “PENTHOUSE.”

“Thank you.” I send him a curt smile and turn to leave, heading to the elevators.

He’ll be dead in the next hour.Andhe just bought himself a pair of new shoes that cost more than some people’s salary.The thought tightens my stomach.

It’s a bitter pill to swallow. Innocent lives shouldn’t come between us in this war. It’s sickening. But he’s a free-running witness who could identify me. It’s either him or me who dies, and the idea of those slimy bastards remaining untouched after what they did to my mother and others is too much to bear.

Valentine will kill him tonight so the guilty can pay for what they’ve done.

I step into the elevator. The metallic doors are on theverge of closing when a hand springs out and abruptly stops them. A guy with a little kid slips in. My gaze skims over him briefly. He’s dressed in black pants paired with a beige polo shirt. The small child is dressed similarly, in velvet brown pants and a slightly baggy white shirt.

Without exchanging pleasantries, the guy presses a number for his floor and turns forward, his back toward me. The kid, with his tiny hand wrapped around the guy’s pinkie finger, can’t be more than five years old. Those big chocolate-brown eyes keep peeking back at me, only to quickly look away whenever our gazes meet.

A smile threatens to curve my lips at how cute and innocent he looks. But as I watch the numbers on the panel rise, memories of the last time I used this elevator flood in. DeMarco splattered on the floor as the poison coursed through his veins, the Harrows’ fundraiser just floors below.

It feels like a lifetime ago.

My very first kill.

I’ve killed more since then, and yet I’m not even close to the end. There are so many lives I still need to take. Lives that need to pay for the damage they’ve caused.

Acknowledging this reality leaves a heavy weight on me, making each step towards enacting this plan heavier than the last. This isn’t my path of vengeance—I already knew that. But when the guilty have been punished, the consequences will fall on me. Not my mother.

A dull ache spreads through my chest at the thought. I feel guilt for the guilty. What a joke.

Or maybe you’re theguiltyone, the voice in the back ofmy mind hisses.For lying to Julian. For throwing promises around like petals in a graveyard.

How will Julian react? Will he be mad? I don’t believe he cares about the Inferno Consortium enough to ask me not to do it. I thought he hated it. Hated Victoria and his father as much as me, if not more. He’ll thank me when he sees his father’s business tripping over itself. Seeing Lucian in disarray will be the highlight of the month, I’m sure.

I feel those cocoa eyes on me again. The little kid’s curiosity is too strong to control as he peeks up at me, his little body pressed over the leg of the stranger.

When he notices me staring back, I stick out my tongue.

His eyes round in surprise, lips parting slightly before he says, “That’s not very ladylike.” His voice is a bundle of animated, high-pitched certainty. Those little eyebrows crumple as he scowls at me.

“Neither is staring.” I arch a brow at him, causing a small smile to tug at the corner of his lips.

I pause at the sight, basking in the way he radiates simplicity. The life of a child, full of love, joy, and memories.

When does it stop? When does it disappear, stolen like dreams in the dead of night?

Maybe we all grow up to lose it. Or was I one of the lucky ones life decided to throw its worst challenges at?

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