Page 52 of The Reckoning
Lilian laughs then, the sound bright and unexpected in the dimly lit bedroom. It’s been so long since I’ve heard her laugh like that—genuine and without restraint—that for a moment I can only stare, captivated by the transformation it brings to her face. The weight lifts, the shadows recede, and for a second, I can see the girl she was before all this—before the drugs, before the lies, and before she got caught between my brother and me.
Arson seems equally affected, his expression softening in a way I wouldn’t have believed possible a week ago. For thismoment, the hatred between us recedes, overshadowed by our shared appreciation of her joy, however fleeting it is.
“We’ll figure this out,” I promise her, meaning it with every fiber of my being. “Together.”
“Together,” she echoes, looking from me to Arson with something like hope in her eyes, fragile but real. “All of us.”
Arson meets my gaze over her head, a silent communication passing between us—not friendship, not forgiveness, but something approaching understanding. For now, for her, we’ll set aside our grievances. We’ll work as one.
The night settles around us, the warehouse quiet save for our breathing and the occasional rustle as we reach for another slice of pizza. Outside, the world continues its chaotic spin—Patricia plotting, Richard scheming, unknown “donors” waiting. In this room, on this bed, with Lilian safe between us, there’s a momentary peace I didn’t know I’d been craving.
Tomorrow will bring new dangers, new battles, and the resumption of old hatreds. But tonight, this strange triangular truce holds, fragile but real. And for now, that’s enough.
SIXTEEN
LILIAN
Morning light filters through the warehouse windows, painting the room in soft gold and shadow. I blink awake slowly, disoriented for a moment before remembering where I am. The events of yesterday come rushing back—Mother, the power of attorney, the mysterious procedure—but the panic that accompanied those revelations feels somehow more distant in the gentle morning light.
I’m still in bed, nestled between two warm bodies. Carefully, I turn my head to study them in their sleep.
They look so peaceful like this, so eerily similar yet utterly different. Arson lies on his back, one arm thrown above his head, his features softened in sleep in a way they never are when he’s awake. The perpetual tension, the barely controlled rage that seems to animate him—all of it smoothed away by unconsciousness to reveal the beauty beneath.
Aries sleeps curled on his side facing me, his breath warm against my shoulder. There’s a vulnerability to him in sleep that he rarely allows himself to show anymore, a softness that captivity and betrayal have stripped from his waking hours. His hair is tousled, falling across his forehead in a way that makeshim look younger, more like the boy I grew up with than the hardened man he’s becoming.
It strikes me, watching them like this, how much pain lies beneath their identical faces. Different wounds, different scars, but the same underlying hurt—of abandonment, of not being seen for who they truly are. The same pain I’ve carried my whole life.
Maybe that’s why we’ve found each other now. Three broken pieces from the same fractured puzzle.
I shift carefully, trying to extract myself without waking them. I need coffee, I need space to think, and I need a moment to myself before diving back into the chaos that has become my life. But as I attempt to slide away, a strong arm snakes around my waist and tugs me back.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Arson’s voice is rough with sleep, his eyes still closed despite his firm grip.
“Coffee,” I whisper, trying not to wake Aries. “I’ll be right back.”
“Mmm. No.” His arm tightens, pulling me closer to his warm body. “Stay.”
His eyes open then, hazel and intense even through the fog of sleep.
The peaceful expression from moments ago has vanished, replaced by something hungrier, more intentional. He studies my face, then glances at his sleeping brother before returning his attention to me.
“You look good in the morning,” he murmurs, his hand sliding up from my waist to brush hair from my face. “All soft and warm.”
The compliment brings heat to my cheeks. I’m not used to this side of him—this gentleness that appears in unexpected moments, catching me off guard. “I probably look a mess,” Ideflect, suddenly self-conscious of my tangled hair and sleep-creased face.
“No,” he says simply, his thumb tracing my lower lip in a way that sends shivers down my spine. “You look perfect.”
Before I can respond, he leans forward and captures my mouth with his. The kiss is softer than I expect from him, almost tender in its exploration. His hand cups my face, holding me as if I’m something precious, something that might break or disappear if handled too roughly.
It’s a stark contrast to the fierce claiming of our previous encounters, and somehow more dangerous for its gentleness. I respond despite myself, my body melting into his touch, into the warmth and comfort he offers.
The kiss deepens, his tongue teasing at the seam of my lips until I open for him. Heat builds between us, slow and insistent. His hand slides from my face down my neck and my shoulder, coming to rest at my hip, where he squeezes lightly.
I’m so lost in the sensation that I almost forget we’re not alone until I feel movement on my other side. Aries shifts in his sleep, murmuring something inaudible, his arm draping across my waist just below Arson’s.
Arson breaks the kiss, his eyes darting to his brother before returning to me with a wicked gleam that makes my pulse quicken. “We should wake him,” he suggests, voice pitched low. “Don’t you think?”
There’s a challenge in his tone, in the slight quirk of his eyebrow. He’s testing boundaries—mine, Aries’s, the fragile truce that formed between us last night.
