Page 93 of Phoenix's Last Heist
“Hey, Brill!” I shout, standing right near the edge of the statue’s base. “You know something? I hated every single second I had to spend with you. It probably would’ve made my life a lot easier if I’d just fucked you and been done with it, but the thought of touching you was so repellent, I spent fourteen yearssuffering every other kind of abuse instead. Pretty pathetic, huh? A half-Velusian who wasmadefor pleasure was so grossed out by you, torture was a more enticing option.”
He seethes—his eyes burning with hatred. He charges.
Three steps.
Four.
I wait until the fifth, until he crosses the invisible line my memory burned into the backs of my eyelids.
The tile beneath him crumbles with a shuddering crack.
“No—!” he screams, hands scrambling for purchase. But there’s nothing. Only open air and ancient gravity. His scream echoes off the chamber walls as he disappears into the pit below, swallowed whole by the hollow floor presided over by the stone Xylothian priestess.
Silence returns.
My chest heaves. My pulse thunders.
Orion climbs up to me slowly, eyes scanning the hole, the idol, my face. He places one palm over my heart like he needs to feel it—like proof I’m still here.
“He’s gone,” I whisper. Tears prick behind my eyes, disbelief making my knees wobble.
“He is,” Orion confirms. His voice is rough, shaking.
We stand there in the hush of the temple, with the Solar Mother watching, the chamber pulsing with peace and old power. Outside, the jungle sings.
I let myself lean into him.
Not because I need to.
Because I want to.
Because I finally can.
Because this is the part they never tell you in the stories. It’s not about the fight. It’s not about the treasure.
It’s the quiet after.
The home you find.
The hand you hold.
The sun rising again.
epilogue
LYRA
A Promise Fulfilled
The restaurant is tuckedinto a side street that smells like citrus blossoms and spiced steam. Dim lanterns hang from vine-draped archways, flickering with bio-luminescent gas that paints everything in golden hues. Inside, the walls are carved from obsidian-flecked Xylothian stone, the tables ringed in translucent mineral that shifts color with the mood of the diners. Ours has taken on a shimmering pink-gold.
“I swear,” I say around a mouthful of something buttery, savory, and possibly illegal, “if you’d told me you were hiding this place back when I was slogging through jungle slime and being hunted by Brill’s meatheads, I would’ve defected sooner.”
Orion grins, sipping something cool and sharp-smelling from a blue crystal tumbler. “You would’ve hated it if you weren’t starving and freshly un-traumatized.”
“I hate how much I love it,” I mutter, wiping my mouth with the cloth napkin. “I didn’t expect you to actually be good at this ‘romance’ thing.”
His green-gold eyes crinkle at the corners. “I’ve had good inspiration.”
