Page 71 of The Reckoning
I slow down, my lungs burning from the exertion and the lingering effects of my short kidnapping. My body isn’t as strong as my anger, unfortunately.
Behind me, the voices grow louder—they’re following the path, following me. Arguing still, their words are indistinct, but their tones are clear enough. Accusation. Defense. Counter-accusation.
The same cycle, over and over, with no end in sight.
I duck off the main trail, taking a smaller path I discover. It winds deeper into the woods, toward a small clearing with a fallen log that makes a perfect thinking spot. They won’t find me there, not right away. Not until I’m ready to be found.
As their voices fade behind me, replaced by the quiet of the forest, I feel something loosen in my chest. For the first time in days—weeks, maybe—I can breathe without feeling like I’m inhaling shattered glass.
Alone in the darkness, surrounded by trees older than all our petty human dramas, I finally let myself cry. Not the quiet, controlled tears I’ve allowed myself in private moments, but real, messy sobbing that wracks my whole body and leaves me gasping for air.
I cry for everything I’ve lost—the illusion of a normal life, the false security of believing I knew who I was, the comfort of ignorance. I cry for the mother who never was, for the father I barely remember, for the family I thought I had.
I cry for Arson, locked away for years for a crime he didn’t commit. For Aries, carrying the weight of guilt and denial. Even for Richard and Patricia, so warped by ambition and secrets that they lost whatever humanity they might once have possessed.
Most of all, I cry for myself—for the girl who just wanted to belong somewhere, to someone. The girl who’s spent her life being careful, being good, being whatever everyone needed her to be. The girl who’s finally realizing that none of it was ever going to be enough.
When the tears finally stop, leaving me empty and hollowed out, I sit in the silence and wonder what comes next. Where do we go from here? How do we untangle this web without destroying ourselves in the process?
I don’t have answers. Not yet. But as my breathing steadies and my pulse returns to normal, I know one thing with absolute certainty. I’m done being a passive participant in my own life. Done letting others—my mother, the twins, anyone—dictate my choices, my future, my identity.
Whatever happens next, whatever truths we uncover in my father’s will or my mother’s plans, I’m facing it on my terms. Not as the fragile Hayes daughter, not as a pawn in someone else’s game, but as myself.
Just Lilian. Whoever that turns out to be.
In the distance, voices call my name, frantic now rather than angry. They’ve realized I’m really gone, not just sulking nearby. They’re worried, probably imagining the worst—that I’ve been taken again, that I’m hurt, that I’ve done something stupid.
Part of me wants to stay hidden, to let them stew in their fear a little longer. A petty revenge for all the emotional whiplash they’ve put me through.
Footsteps crash through the underbrush, coming closer. Two sets, moving in tandem for once instead of against each other. United, briefly, in their concern for me.
It’s not much. Not nearly enough to fix the damage between them, between all of us. But it’s something. A starting point, maybe.
And right now, that’s all I can ask for.
I settle in and wait until they reach me. We need to talk, and I need to be prepared to walk away if they can’t get past their differences. I’m not expecting them to get along, per se, but at the very least, they have to stop putting us all in danger because they can’t focus past their hatred of one another.
Can I walk away from them? Go on my own?I could run. Leave everything behind and start over. I have some cash stashed away, not enough to start over completely, but enough to escape. Would Arson and Aries let me go, or would they come after me? The thought sends a shiver down my spine as the movement in the trees grows louder.
I guess it’s time to find out if I mean more to them than their animosity.
TWENTY-ONE
ARSON
“She’s gone,” Aries says, stating the fucking obvious as he stares at the empty space where Lilian stood seconds ago.
“No shit, Sherlock.” I shove past him, rage clawing at my insides like it wants out—like it wants blood. My shoulder slams into his with enough force to bruise, to break, to ignite. And it does. Something feral snaps loose inside me. The need to hurt. To ruin. To finally make my perfect fucking reflection feel a fraction of what I’ve suffered.
He whirls around and grabs my arm, fingers biting into flesh. Then spins me back so fast I hear something pop.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” he growls. “This is your fault.”
“My fault?” A jagged laugh tears from my throat, sharp and broken like shattered glass. “Of course you’d twist this around and make me the villain.” I lunge at him, the desire to wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze until he understands almost overpowering me. “If you weren’t such a self-righteous prick—if you could’ve given her five fucking minutes withouthovering like she was made of glass—maybe she wouldn’t have run.”
His features twist into something that looks like disgust. “Fuck you. Like always, you deflect and refuse to admit fault. If you hadn’t kidnapped me…” he snarls.
We’re chest to chest now, and I can feel the rage simmering in his veins, feeling the feral beast threatening to break free. “She wouldn’t be in this situation if you hadn’t dragged her into your sick revenge fantasy?—”
