His hand shifts to my jaw, brushing his thumb over my bottom lip. His gaze drops. His tongue flicks out across his own lower lip like he’s imagining what I taste like.

“I hope you realize,” he says, voice lower now, silk and steel, “that when this is over… when all of this is behind us… I’m going to spend every hour exploring every inch of you. You won’t get space. You won’t get alone time. You are my passion. My greatest desire. My only reason.”

I swallow hard, chest fluttering, legs suddenly unsteady.

Riven’s hand slides down my neck, squeezes gently, then falls away.

He holds it out to me.

I look from his hand, to his eyes, and back again.

Then I place my palm in his, linking our fingers tightly.

He’s all hard lines and clenched fists, breathing like he’s still tasting blood. The silence between us is thick and full of the things we haven’t said.

I glance at him. He’s vibrating with rage, jaw clenched so hard I can see the muscle twitching. I wonder if he even notices he’s shaking.

I don’t speak. I’m scared if I do, I’ll fall apart. Because this time, we’re not just running. We’re gone for good. And that means reckoning with all the things we did to survive this place.

The porch is the same. It doesn’t feel like coming home. It feels like walking into a war I didn’t agree to fight.

The front door creaks open before we knock.

Our father is already inside. Sitting in the living room like a king on his rotting throne.

“You’re late,” he says, not even bothering to look up.

Riven’s entire body draws tight like a bow and nudges me to stand behind him, but I can’t keep my mouth shut. “It’s not like we had an appointment.”

He continues, ignoring me and speaking directly to Riven, “Your little massacre made a hell of a mess for me.”

I glance at him. He’s not even shaken even though he clearly knows about the casualties of Riven’s rage.

That’s when I realize he never cared about anyone. They were pawns in a story he wrote to serve himself just like Riven and I were.

“I knew you’d be waiting for us,” Riven says.

“Of course I am,” our father replies coolly. “You always were predictable when it came to her.”

He finally looks at me, and the chill in his eyes makes my skin crawl. Like I’m an inconvenience. A prize that doesn’t belong to the person who’s clearly winning this little spat.

“Tell her,” Riven says through his teeth. “I want it to come from you. Tell her why I left.”