Page 94 of Silent Oaths
JULIAN
Maxwell’sbreathing is uneven, skin flushed, chest still slick with blood and sweat.Theinitials carved over his heart are raw and angry—mine and his, etched like a vow.
Helooks… content.Oras close to it asMaxcan get.
Igrab a clean towel from the drawer in the corner of his office and kneel beside him, pressing it gently to the wound.Hehisses through his teeth but doesn’t stop me.
Withone hand still holding the cloth in place,Ireach for the first-aid kit stashed beneath the desk, popping it open to find gauze and medical tape.
“You’regonna scar this time,”Imurmur.
Hesmirks. “Good.”
Ishake my head, a breath of a laugh slipping free despite myself.
Iwas watching him earlier, sitting in the back surveillance room, flipping through the camera feeds out of habit more than anything.Andthere he was, slouched in his chair,Vicoin one hand, a knife in the other, staring at that old portrait like he wanted to set the whole place on fire.
Hedoesn’t say when he needs help.Hedoesn’t know how.
ButIknow.Ialways do.
“Getanother shirt,”Itell him. “We’releaving soon.”
Maxblinks. “Where?”
Istand, wiping my hands and tossing the bloodied towel in the bin. “Tosee her.”
Hisexpression hardens instantly.Hedoesn’t ask whoImean.
“Whynow?”
“Becauseit’s time.”
Hehesitates, just for a beat, then sighs and nods, pushing himself up off the desk.
Weleave the office together, and on the way, we stop by the house.
Theodoreis already waiting by the front door,Isabelnext to him.Shehas her arms crossed, hair pulled back, that same fire in her eyes that’s always there when she’s trying to look like she doesn’t care.
Theodoregives me a knowing glance as we approach. “Youready?” he asks.
Inod once.
Isabelraises a brow, looking between the three of us. “Whereexactly are we going?”
“Tovisit the dead.”
* * *
Anhour and a half later,we arrive inHollowPine, a quiet, almost-forgotten cottage town just outside the reach ofEbonridge’sdecay.It’sthe kind of place people come to when they’re trying to pretend the world isn’t falling apart.Neatlylined trees.Gravelroads.Birdsthat don’t seem afraid of people.
It’speaceful, deceptively so.
Wepull up to the house—a sprawling vacation-style home nestled at the edge of the woods.It’snot as big as theWhitmoreestate, but it still has that same untouched, too-clean kind of grandeur, like no one lives here, but someone wants you to think they do.
Iroll the car to a stop and cut off the engine.
Isabelopens the door, one foot hitting the gravel before she pauses.Ican see the stiffness in her body, the tension in her shoulders, the way her eyes scan the windows like she’s expecting the house to stare back.
