Chapter 86: Special Interlude: What Remains When the Fighting Stops

SUSANNA POV

Susanna Croft had spent most of her adult life believing preparation could prevent catastrophe.

Locks.

Backups.

Emergency contacts.

Copies of important documents stored in separate locations.

She taught Allison to memorize phone numbers before she was old enough to understand why.

She taught her how to recognize exits.

How to notice when someone followed her.

How to question information before believing it.

How to think.

Safe if you think.

For years, Susanna had believed those words were a gift.

Tonight, sitting at the edge of her daughter’s childhood bed, she wondered whether they had also been an apology.

The room hadn’t changed much.

Not because Allison still lived in it.

She didn’t.

But because Adrian was sentimental in ways he would deny under oath.

The bookshelf remained.

Old photographs.

A stuffed animal Allison claimed she stopped caring about at thirteen but never allowed anyone to throw away.

A dent in the wall from when sixteen-year-old Allison decided she could move her dresser without help.

Susanna touched the dent.

She smiled.

Then her eyes burned.

Her baby.

She had spent twenty years trying to keep history from reaching her daughter.

And history had known Allison’s name before Susanna had even chosen it.

The bedroom door opened.

Adrian leaned against the frame.

"I thought I’d find you here."

Susanna didn’t look back.

"Am I predictable?"

"To me?"

He walked inside.

"Sometimes."

"Careful."

Adrian smiled.

He sat beside her.

For a while, neither spoke.

Then Susanna whispered—

"I failed her."

Adrian’s expression changed immediately.

"No."

"I did."

"No."

"Adrian."

He turned toward her.

"No."

Susanna looked at him.

"You don’t get to billionaire your way out of this conversation."

"I wasn’t aware billionaire was a verb."

"It is when you’re annoying."

"Then I’ve apparently mastered it."

She almost smiled.

Almost.

Then her eyes filled.

"I knew something was wrong twenty years ago."

"You knew pieces."

"I knew enough to be afraid."

"You were twenty-something years old and being hunted by people with resources we didn’t understand."

"I should’ve told you."

"Probably."

Susanna stared at him.

Adrian shrugged.

"What? You want me to lie?"

"No."

"Then yes. You should’ve told me."

His expression softened.

"But that isn’t the same as saying what happened to Allison was your fault."

Susanna looked away.

"I thought silence protected her."

"So did Roman."

"I know."

"So did Elena."

"I know."

"So did Harold."

"I know."

"So did I, more times than I care to admit."

Susanna looked at him.

Adrian continued.

"We all thought information was dangerous."

"It was."

"So was ignorance."

Susanna closed her eyes.

That was the part that hurt.

They hadn’t been stupid.

They hadn’t been careless.

They’d made choices under impossible circumstances.

And still—

Allison had paid for some of them.

"I taught her to think because I was terrified I wouldn’t always be there to save her."

Adrian reached for her hand.

"And it worked."

Susanna shook her head.

"That’s not comforting."

"It should be."

"She shouldn’t have needed it."

"No."

His voice softened.

"She shouldn’t have."

Susanna finally looked at him.

Adrian’s eyes were wet.

That surprised her less now.

The last few weeks had broken something open inside her husband.

Or maybe they had simply stripped away his ability to hide it.

"Do you know what I thought when she was standing across from Charles?"

Susanna asked.

"What?"

"I wanted to grab her."

Adrian laughed quietly.

"Me too."

"I wanted to put her behind me."

"Definitely me too."

"I wanted to tell everybody in that room to stop asking things of my child."

"Susanna."

"What?"

"She’s twenty-two."

"Your point?"

He wisely abandoned it.

Susanna smiled.

Then it faded.

"But I looked at her..."

She swallowed.

"...and she didn’t need me to stand in front of her."

Adrian squeezed her hand.

"No."

"She wanted us beside her."

"Yes."

A tear rolled down Susanna’s cheek.

"That’s harder."

Adrian wiped it away.

"I know."

She laughed through another tear.

"Parenting is terrible."

"I’ve been saying that for years."

"No, you’ve been saying other people’s children are terrible."

"That too."

Susanna rested her head against his shoulder.

After a moment, she whispered—

"Do you regret meeting me?"

Adrian went completely still.

She felt it.

"The fundraiser."

"I know what you’re asking."

"If someone arranged it—"

"No."

"Adrian—"

"No."

She lifted her head.

His expression was fierce.

"They moved Rebecca out of the room."

"Apparently."

"They put us in the same building."

"Yes."

"Then what?"

Susanna frowned.

"What?"

Adrian leaned closer.

"Did they tell you to insult the cake?"

Her mouth opened.

"No."

"Did they tell me to walk over?"

"No."

"Did they make you laugh?"

"No."

"Did they make me call you the next morning?"

"No."

"Did they make me propose?"

"No."

"Did they make us fight about the guest list?"

"You were wrong about the guest list."

"I was not."

"You wanted four hundred people."

"I have business relationships."

"You knew maybe ninety of them."

"That’s irrelevant."

She laughed.

He smiled.

Then his expression softened.

"Did they make us choose Allison?"

Susanna’s smile disappeared.

"No."

"Then they don’t get our marriage."

He touched her face.

"And they don’t get her."

Susanna closed her eyes.

Maybe that was what she needed to hear.

Not that none of it had happened.

Not that they hadn’t been manipulated.

But that manipulation had limits.

Someone could arrange a room.

They couldn’t manufacture twenty years of mornings.

Arguments.

Birthdays.

Grief.

Laughter.

A daughter.

A life.

Susanna leaned forward and kissed her husband.

When she pulled away, Adrian whispered—

"For the record, the cake really was dry."

She laughed so loudly Allison shouted from somewhere down the hall—

"WHY ARE YOU TWO IN MY ROOM?"

Susanna froze.

Adrian smiled.

"Run?"

"Absolutely."

They were halfway into the hallway when Allison appeared.

She stared at them.

"Are you snooping?"

"No," Adrian said.

"Yes," Susanna said simultaneously.

Allison narrowed her eyes.

"Mom."

"I gave birth to you."

"That does not give you permanent room access!"

Adrian pointed toward Susanna.

"Her idea."

Susanna gasped.

"You coward."

Allison stared at them.

Then—

she laughed.

Susanna stopped.

Just listened.

Because for once, her daughter’s laughter didn’t come after surviving something.

Nothing terrible had happened five minutes earlier.

Nobody was chasing them.

No clock was counting down.

Allison was simply laughing at her ridiculous parents.

Susanna smiled.

Maybe that was what safety actually sounded like.

⸻

ADRIAN

Adrian Croft couldn’t sleep.

This wasn’t unusual.

He’d built companies during insomnia.

Negotiated acquisitions at three in the morning.

Once purchased a competitor because its CEO irritated him before breakfast.

Susanna called that "emotionally expensive."

Adrian called it diversification.

Tonight, however, there were no companies he wanted to buy.

No enemy he wanted to destroy.

Well.

That wasn’t entirely true.

There were always enemies Adrian wanted to destroy.

But Allison had apparently instituted a new family policy called:

STOP COMMITTING FELONIES IN MY NAME.

Adrian found it restrictive.

He stood in his office holding a glass of whiskey he hadn’t touched.

On his desk sat three photographs.

Susanna on their wedding day.

Allison at six, missing a front tooth.

Allison graduating.

Adrian picked up the second.

Six-year-old Allison had been furious that day.

She’d lost her tooth at breakfast.

Then she’d accused Adrian of hiding it because she believed the tooth fairy couldn’t possibly know where they lived unless somebody leaked the address.

He’d been strangely proud.

Even then—

suspicious.

Observant.

Impossible.

His daughter.

His phone buzzed.

His attorney.

Adrian ignored it.

Another buzz.

He ignored that too.

For twenty-two years, Adrian had believed his primary responsibility was protecting Allison.

Money made that easier.

Security.

Schools.

Cars.

Doctors.

Lawyers.

Whatever she needed.

Whatever Susanna needed.

Whatever threat appeared—

Adrian removed it.

Then Allison grew up.

And threats stopped being things money could simply eliminate.

Anthony had taught him that.

Adrian had hated that boy.

Even before he had proof.

There had always been something about Anthony’s eyes when Allison paid for something.

Something resentful.

Adrian had noticed.

He’d said nothing.

Because Susanna told him Allison needed to make her own decisions.

He still wasn’t sure he forgave Susanna for being correct.

Then Lucian came.

Adrian hadn’t trusted him either.

Calloway.

Powerful.

Controlled.

Too calm.

Men that calm usually wanted something.

Adrian had spent months waiting to discover what Lucian wanted from Allison.

Eventually he understood.

Her.

Not Croft.

Not access.

Not Adrian’s companies.

Not status.

Just Allison.

That was somehow more terrifying.

Because Adrian couldn’t negotiate with love.

Couldn’t buy controlling interest in it.

Couldn’t audit it.

Couldn’t threaten it without hurting his daughter.

He looked at Allison’s photograph.

"You’re inconvenient."

"Talking to pictures now?"

Adrian turned.

Allison stood in the doorway.

He immediately put the photograph down.

"No."

She looked at the photograph.

Then at him.

"Sure."

"What are you doing awake?"

"What are you doing awake?"

"This is my house."

"It’s also my house."

"You moved out."

"I have a bedroom."

"You yelled at us for entering it."

"Because you were snooping."

"Your mother was snooping."

"You were standing beside her."

"Under protest."

Allison stared.

Adrian stared back.

Then she walked into the office.

She noticed the whiskey.

"You drinking?"

"No."

"Then why are you holding it?"

"Decoration."

She smiled.

Then sat on the edge of his desk.

Adrian looked at her.

Really looked.

There were changes.

Not physical ones.

Something quieter.

She seemed lighter.

Still tired.

Still carrying things.

But lighter.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Allison considered.

"I think so."

"You think?"

"I’m learning that’s an acceptable answer."

Adrian nodded.

"I don’t like it."

"I know."

"I prefer certainty."

"I know."

"Your mother says it’s a character flaw."

"It is."

He frowned.

Allison smiled.

Then she looked at the photographs.

"You kept that horrible tooth picture?"

"It’s one of my favorites."

"I look insane."

"You accused me of leaking classified information to the tooth fairy."

"I had questions."

"You were six."

"And nobody answered them."

Adrian laughed.

Allison picked up the photograph.

Then grew quiet.

"Dad?"

"Yes?"

"Did you ever wish..."

She hesitated.

"...that you didn’t know?"

He knew exactly what she meant.

Genesis.

Legacy.

Consortium.

Charles.

The manipulation surrounding his marriage.

His daughter.

"No."

Her eyes lifted.

"Not even a little?"

"Knowing hurt."

"Yeah."

"But ignorance didn’t protect us."

Allison nodded slowly.

Adrian continued.

"I’d rather know what happened and decide what it means than let Charles decide for me."

She stared at him.

Then smiled faintly.

"That’s almost emotionally healthy."

"Don’t tell your mother."

"Too late."

He sighed.

Allison put the photograph down.

"Are you proud of me?"

The question hit him harder than it should have.

Adrian frowned.

"Why would you ask me that?"

She shrugged.

"I don’t know."

"Allison."

He stepped closer.

"I have been proud of you every day of your life."

Her eyes filled.

"Even when I was with Anthony?"

"Especially then."

She frowned.

"That doesn’t make sense."

"You loved someone."

"You trusted someone."

"Those aren’t shameful things."

"He abused that trust."

Adrian’s voice hardened.

"That is his shame."

"Not yours."

Allison swallowed.

Adrian continued.

"And when you finally saw what was happening, you left."

"When your mother disappeared, you came."

"When everyone wanted to protect you by keeping you ignorant, you demanded answers."

"When Charles offered you power, you refused."

His own eyes burned now.

"So yes."

He touched her cheek.

"I’m proud of you."

Allison hugged him.

Adrian froze.

Not because she never hugged him.

But because this one felt different.

She wasn’t scared.

She wasn’t injured.

She wasn’t asking him to fix anything.

She just wanted her father.

He wrapped both arms around her.

After several seconds, Allison mumbled into his chest—

"You can stop squeezing."

"No."

"Dad."

"No."

"I can’t breathe."

"Acceptable casualty."

She pulled away immediately.

"Oh, absolutely not. We are never using Charles language."

Adrian laughed.

"Fair."

She pointed at him.

"Therapy."

His smile disappeared.

"No."

"Mom already said everybody."

"Your mother says many unreasonable things."

"I’m telling her."

"Allison."

She ran.

Adrian stared after her.

"Traitor."

Her laughter echoed down the hallway.

Adrian smiled.

Then he looked at the untouched whiskey.

He poured it into the sink.

Tonight, he didn’t need it.

⸻

ROMAN & ELENA

Roman woke at 3:17 a.m.

For one horrifying second, he forgot.

Then he remembered.

Elena was alive.

Not a voice through speakers.

Not a photograph.

Not a memory.

Alive.

He got out of bed.

He found her downstairs.

Of course he did.

She sat in the kitchen drinking tea.

Roman stopped in the doorway.

Elena looked up.

"If you keep checking whether I’m real, I’m going to start charging you."

Roman crossed his arms.

"I was getting water."

"There’s water upstairs."

"I prefer kitchen water."

"Naturally."

He walked closer.

Her hair was loose.

Silver threaded through it.

He loved the silver.

He hated the reason he hadn’t watched it appear.

Elena noticed him staring.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Roman."

"You have gray hair."

She stared.

"You woke me emotionally at three in the morning to insult me?"

"I like it."

"Oh."

He sat across from her.

Silence settled.

Not uncomfortable.

Just full.

Twenty years full.

Finally Roman asked—

"What do we do now?"

Elena smiled faintly.

"I don’t know."

"I hate that answer."

"I know."

"I spent twenty years thinking about what I’d say if you were alive."

"What did you plan?"

Roman considered.

"Something impressive."

"Obviously."

"Maybe angry."

"Naturally."

"Then I saw you."

"And?"

"I forgot all of it."

Elena’s eyes softened.

Roman looked down.

"I don’t want to waste another twenty years."

"Neither do I."

His eyes lifted.

"But?"

She sighed.

"But we can’t pretend those twenty years didn’t happen."

Roman nodded.

"I know."

"I’m not the woman you lost."

"I know."

"You’re not the man I left."

"I know."

"We’re going to have to meet each other again."

Roman looked at her.

Then slowly extended his hand across the table.

"Roman."

Elena stared.

"What are you doing?"

"Introducing myself."

She laughed.

"You’re ridiculous."

"Roman Vale-Croft."

He kept his hand extended.

"Former idiot."

"Former?"

"Current status under review."

Elena laughed again.

Then placed her hand in his.

"Elena Hart."

"Former dead woman."

Roman’s smile disappeared.

"Too soon."

"For you."

"For everybody."

She squeezed his hand.

Roman looked down at their fingers.

"Coffee tomorrow?"

Elena raised an eyebrow.

"Are you asking me on a date?"

"I’m meeting you again."

Her expression softened.

"Then yes."

Roman smiled.

"Good."

"And Roman?"

"Yeah?"

"Therapy first."

His smile vanished.

Elena sipped her tea.

"Nonnegotiable."

Roman sighed.

"I liked you better dead."

Elena kicked him beneath the table.

He laughed.

And this time, neither of them needed to mourn the sound.

⸻

AARON

Aaron Mercer deleted the Architect at 4:02 a.m.

It wasn’t dramatic.

No explosions.

No ceremonial burning of files.

No final broadcast.

He sat alone in a guest room with the black phone in his hand.

The same phone he’d given Allison.

She had returned it after the evidence distribution.

He entered the password.

ELENA.

The network opened.

Contacts.

Accounts.

Safe houses.

Encrypted channels.

Operatives.

Twenty years.

Twenty years of grief turned into infrastructure.

He stared at the command line.

TRANSFER ADMINISTRATIVE ARCHIVE?

He selected the federal evidence repository Harold had arranged.

CONFIRM?

Yes.

Files moved.

Slowly.

Aaron watched his life’s work leave his control.

Then—

DEACTIVATE ARCHITECT NETWORK?

His finger hovered.

For twenty years, the Architect had given him purpose.

When Aaron couldn’t save Elena, the Architect could punish people.

When Aaron couldn’t grieve, the Architect could plan.

When Aaron couldn’t sleep, the Architect could work.

When Aaron couldn’t forgive himself—

the Architect didn’t require forgiveness.

Elena’s voice returned.

Find the man before the Architect.

Aaron stared at the screen.

He barely remembered him.

Young.

Idealistic.

Annoying.

Always convinced problems had solutions.

He wondered whether that boy would’ve liked him.

Probably not.

Good.

Maybe that meant something remained worth recovering.

Aaron pressed—

YES.

The screen went black.

That was it.

He waited.

Nothing happened.

No lightning.

No revelation.

Just a dead phone.

Aaron laughed softly.

"Twenty years."

A knock came.

He looked up.

Elena stood in the doorway.

Of course.

"Couldn’t sleep?" she asked.

"No."

Her eyes dropped to the phone.

"Is it done?"

Aaron nodded.

"Yes."

"How do you feel?"

He thought about lying.

Then didn’t.

"Terrified."

Elena smiled.

"Good."

He frowned.

"That’s cruel."

"No."

She leaned against the frame.

"It means there’s something after it."

Aaron looked at the phone.

"What if I don’t know who I am without him?"

"The Architect?"

"Yes."

Elena considered.

"Then figure it out."

"That’s your advice?"

"You’ve had twenty years to prepare speeches. I’m tired."

He laughed.

Then looked at her.

"I’m sorry."

"I know."

"I don’t expect—"

"I know."

He stopped.

Elena continued.

"You don’t have to apologize every time we’re in the same room."

"I probably do."

"No."

She smiled sadly.

"You have to live differently."

That hurt more.

Because it required tomorrow.

And the day after.

And the day after that.

Aaron nodded.

"I’ll try."

"Good."

She turned.

"Elena?"

She looked back.

"Coffee tomorrow?"

Her expression changed.

Aaron immediately shook his head.

"Not like that."

"I know."

"Roman asked you already, didn’t he?"

Her smile gave her away.

Aaron sighed.

"Of course he did."

"He introduced himself."

Aaron stared.

"He what?"

Elena started laughing.

Aaron rubbed his forehead.

"God, he’s insufferable."

"Good night, Aaron."

"Good night."

She disappeared down the hall.

Aaron looked at the black phone one final time.

Then placed it in the drawer.

For the first time in twenty years, tomorrow contained absolutely nothing the Architect had planned.

Aaron Mercer was going to have to meet himself again too.

⸻

ALLISON

At 4:46 a.m., Allison gave up on sleep.

Apparently trauma did not care that the villain had been arrested.

Rude.

She wandered downstairs wearing one of Lucian’s shirts and fuzzy socks.

The house was quiet.

Finally.

She entered the kitchen.

Stopped.

There were three cups in the sink.

One tea bag on the counter.

A chair slightly pulled away from the table.

And a cabinet left open.

Allison stared.

"Why has everybody been awake?"

No answer.

She closed the cabinet.

Then opened the refrigerator.

Nothing looked appealing.

She closed it.

Opened it again.

Still nothing.

"Unbelievable."

"You know the contents don’t change."

Allison jumped.

Lucian stood in the doorway.

She grabbed her chest.

"Jesus!"

He smiled.

"Sorry."

"No, you’re not."

"No."

She glared.

"Why are you awake?"

"You weren’t in bed."

"So you came looking for me?"

"Yes."

She narrowed her eyes.

"That’s dangerously close to monitoring."

"I checked the bathroom first."

"Reasonable."

"Then the balcony."

"Also reasonable."

"Then I tracked your phone."

Allison stared.

Lucian smiled.

"Kidding."

"You have three seconds."

He laughed.

She opened the refrigerator again.

Lucian walked beside her.

"Hungry?"

"I don’t know."

"Thirsty?"

"I don’t know."

"Upset?"

"I don’t know."

"Tired?"

"Yes."

"There’s one."

She sighed and closed the refrigerator.

Lucian leaned against the counter.

Allison looked around.

"Is it weird?"

"What?"

"That it’s over."

"Probably."

"I keep waiting."

"For?"

She shrugged.

"A phone call."

"A clue."

"Someone screaming."

"A countdown."

Lucian’s expression softened.

"Nothing’s happening."

"I know."

"Does that scare you?"

Allison thought about it.

"A little."

Lucian nodded.

He didn’t tell her that was ridiculous.

Didn’t tell her she was safe.

Didn’t promise nothing bad would ever happen again.

He simply waited.

Allison climbed onto the counter.

"When I was with Anthony, I thought leaving him would fix everything."

Lucian stayed quiet.

"Then you happened."

He raised an eyebrow.

"I happened?"

"You were very inconvenient."

"Still am."

"Extremely."

She smiled.

"Then I thought figuring out what Vivienne did would fix everything."

"It didn’t."

"Then Clara."

"Then Mom."

"Then Aaron."

"Then Elena."

"Then Genesis."

"Then Legacy."

"Then Charles."

She stared at her hands.

"Every answer had another door behind it."

Lucian stepped closer.

"And now?"

Allison looked around the quiet kitchen.

"I think there isn’t another door."

"No."

"That’s weird."

"Yes."

"What am I supposed to do?"

Lucian considered.

"Sleep?"

She glared.

"Not helpful."

"Eat breakfast?"

"It’s four in the morning."

"Technically breakfast."

"You’re irritating."

"I’ve heard."

Allison smiled.

Then her eyes filled unexpectedly.

"Oh."

Lucian immediately stepped closer.

She held up a hand.

"I’m okay."

"I know."

That made the tears fall faster.

She laughed.

"Why am I crying?"

"I don’t know."

"You’re terrible at this."

"I could invent a reason."

"No."

"Then I don’t know."

She wiped her face.

Lucian stood between her knees.

Allison looked at him.

"I spent so much time surviving things."

"I know."

"What if I don’t know how to be normal?"

Lucian smiled softly.

"Who said you have to be?"

She rolled her eyes.

"You know what I mean."

"I do."

He touched her cheek.

"Maybe normal isn’t the goal."

"What is?"

"Whatever you want."

Allison stared at him.

There it was again.

Choice.

She’d spent weeks hearing the word.

From Charles.

Aaron.

Her parents.

Anthony.

Everyone talked about what had been chosen for her.

What had been predicted.

What had been manipulated.

But maybe choice didn’t always have to be enormous.

Maybe it wasn’t always marriage.

Power.

Forgiveness.

Revenge.

Sometimes—

"What do you want?" Lucian asked.

Allison thought.

Then looked toward the pantry.

"Pancakes."

Lucian blinked.

"At five in the morning?"

"Yes."

"Regular or dinosaur?"

Allison burst out laughing.

"Too soon."

"Definitely."

He opened the pantry.

Allison watched him.

No guards rushing through doors.

No files.

No voices through speakers.

No dead women coming back to life.

No criminal grandfather.

Just Lucian looking for flour.

"You’re doing it wrong."

He looked over his shoulder.

"I haven’t done anything."

"Exactly."

"Then come help."

Allison hopped from the counter.

She walked toward him.

Stopped.

Lucian looked back.

"What?"

She stared at the kitchen.

Her home.

Her family asleep—or apparently wandering around having emotional breakthroughs at four in the morning.

Her mother alive.

Her father safe.

Roman ridiculous.

Elena home.

Aaron no longer hiding behind the Architect.

Theo probably dreaming about Simone and denying it tomorrow.

Anthony facing what he’d done.

Charles facing what he’d chosen.

And Lucian—

waiting.

Not pulling.

Not deciding.

Waiting.

Allison smiled.

"Nothing."

She walked toward him.

"Move."

He handed her the flour.

"Bossy."

"You like it."

"Unfortunately."

She bumped him with her hip.

He kissed her temple.

And Allison realized something.

She had spent so long believing freedom would feel enormous.

Like winning.

Like revenge.

Like standing over the ruins of everyone who had hurt her.

It didn’t.

Freedom felt like standing barefoot in a kitchen before sunrise.

It felt like flour on Lucian’s shirt.

Her mother’s laughter down the hallway.

Her father’s terrible jokes.

An uncle who needed therapy.

A family that was messy and intrusive and alive.

It felt ordinary.

Maybe that was why Charles had never understood it.

Ordinary things couldn’t be measured properly.

They couldn’t be optimized.

They couldn’t be placed neatly inside a file.

Love wasn’t valuable because it guaranteed an outcome.

Safety wasn’t valuable because it eliminated uncertainty.

And a future wasn’t beautiful because someone had predicted it correctly.

It was beautiful because nobody knew what came next.

Allison poured too much flour into the bowl.

Lucian stared.

"Do you know how to make pancakes?"

"No."

"You said I was doing it wrong."

"I was confident."

"That’s concerning."

She grinned.

"Figure it out."

Together, they did.

Badly.

The first pancake burned.

The second ripped.

The third looked vaguely like a continent neither of them could identify.

By the fourth, Allison was laughing too hard to care.

And as morning slowly crept through the windows, she realized she wasn’t waiting anymore.

Not for danger.

Not for answers.

Not for someone else’s plan to reveal itself.

The fire had burned through all of them.

Some had lost years.

Some had lost people.

Some had lost illusions.

Some had finally lost the lies they told themselves.

But something remained.

Choice.

Messy.

Unpredictable.

Terrifying.

Beautiful choice.

Allison looked at Lucian.

"What are we doing today?"

He flipped another terrible pancake.

"Nothing."

She smiled.

"Perfect."

And for once—

nothing was exactly what Allison Croft wanted.