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“You’re right,” Nick spits. “It’s about you being a shitty father and a shitty leader and an overall piece of crap that Forsyth has had to endure for way too fucking long.”

Timothy doesn’t react in any way, particularly to deny it. “You’re right. I let Remington down. I lost control over my Barons. I let my ego and need for power dictate how I ran this frat for too long.”

Nick scowls. “So what? That near-death experience made you a softer brand of psychopath?” He shakes his head. “I haven’t forgotten what you forced me to do to get back Leticia’s skull. How you played games with my fucking life.” Nick lifts his finger to his temple like a gun and makes slow clicking noises, one after the other. “What would you have done if I blew my brains out that day? Carried my corpse back to my mother and said it was all part of some bigger balance in the world? That I courted death and had it coming?”

The room is dead silent.

“I won’t justify my actions, Nicholas,” Timothy says evenly. “I accept my role in each and every decision I made over the years. I was bitter and angry. Pissed that I gave my life over to live behind a mask. Angry at you and your brother for giving my son the family he always wanted–the kind of life I couldn’t provide.” He shrugs slightly. “What would I have done if you pulled that trigger and the odds went against you? I doubt I’d be here today–your brother and father would have seen to that. Maybe it was me pulling my own trigger. Setting up my own fate.”

Timothy steps next to me and rests a heavy hand on my shoulder, warm and steady.

“Damon isn’t me,” he says, looking Nick dead in the eye. “He isn’t continuing my legacy. He doesn’t have my blood, and he barely even understands what it means to be a Baron.” The words could sound like an insult, but the tone doesn’t. “BRN needed someone at the helm who understands the gravity of death. Someone who wouldn’t be as careless with it as I was. Someone who has fought to be where he is.” He holds Nick’s gaze. “A victor, as you would call it.”

He steps even closer, almost toe-to-toe with Nick. There’s no doubt Nick is bigger and stronger, but Timothy carries himself with the earned authority of a man who has survived a lifetime of pain and regret.

“The time for fighting is over, Nicky. We need to save that girl, and we need your help to do it.”

Nick stares at him, jaw locked tight, chest heaving like he’s barely holding himself back from throwing a punch. The air in the dining room is electric, crackling with old grudges and fresh tension. For a moment, I think he’s actually going to swing–his fists are clenched so hard the knuckles are white. But he’s not stupid. He knows Hunter and I are right behind Timothy, and neither Pace nor Rath looks ready to back him up. We’re all tired. Bone-tired. Ready for this long nightmare to finally end.

Nick holds Timothy’s gaze for one last, burning second, then lets out a harsh breath through his nose.

“Fine,” he growls, yanking his chair back out with a loud scrape and dropping heavily into it. “Let’s set the trap with some fresh viper meat and catch this bastard once and for all. But only because I know you can’t do it without me.”

The room exhales silently, even if the tension still simmers beneath the surface. Timothy gives a single, respectful nod and takes a seat at the table. I sit down beside him, my blood still running hot, but the immediate threat of violence has bled out of the air.

We have work to do.

Timothy eventually excuses himself, saying he needs rest. Hunter leaves not long after, heading to the radio station for his late-night shift. That leaves just Arianette and me in our room, the heavy door clicking shut behind us like a final exhale after a long day.

I’m already in bed, one arm bent behind my head, watching her move around the room. She unbuttons her sweater, revealing the smooth, rich, dark skin I can never get enough of. Her body has changed since she first arrived at the House of Night–still soft in all the right places, but stronger now. The curve of her hips is fuller, her thighs toned from dance, her stomach showing the faintest definition from everything she’s endured. My eyes trace the pentagram scar on her chest, the raised lines that mark her as ours. Then lower, to the silver hoops through her nipples that catch the low lamplight. She’s not the same girl who was found on the water’s edge. She’s connected now. Present. Here with us, not drifting away into whatever shadows used to claim her mind.

She catches me staring and smiles, slow and knowing. She walks over and sits on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under her weight. I reach out and run my hand down her side, fingers brushing the underside of her breast.

“You’ve been quiet since the meeting,” she says, studying my face. “Did something happen?”

I chuckle low, threading my fingers with hers and bringing her hand to my lips. “Nothing surprising with a room full of Royals, I guess.” I graze her knuckles with my teeth. “I think we got our plan together, though.”

She slides under the covers and presses her body against mine, warm and soft and perfect. Her tits brush my chest as she snuggles closer, one leg draping over mine.

“Something’s bothering you,” she murmurs, running her fingers through my hair. “Talk to me, Damon.”

I exhale, staring up at the ceiling for a moment before lowering my gaze to those deep, patient eyes. Something twists in my heart, something I don't have a name for and don't particularly want to examine.

“I spent my life disconnected from others,” I admit. “That ‘always in a group, but still alone’ feeling. Noisy apartments, overcrowded detention centers, group homes, residential facilities… The Barons were the first time I ever truly felt like I was part of something real.” I run my finger over the top ridge of the pentagram scar on her chest, tracing the lines. “Then I became King and, I guess, now I just feel separated again. Powerful, but also temporary.”

“No one in this house looks at you as temporary,” she tells me, voice soft but certain.

“Maybe not in the house,” I say. “But outside it’s different. I couldn’t even get Nick on board tonight until Timothy came in and took over.”

“Nick Bruin?” She tilts her head. “He wasn’t even supposed to be there.”

“I know.” I wince. She’s proving my point. “He didn’t even give a shit about the order I gave. I guess Sy didn’t either.” I pull her closer, burying my face in her hair and inhaling her scent. “I just don’t get all the dynamics. I grew up in East End, but it might as well have been a million miles away from the Purple Palace. And now…”

“Now you’re one of them,” she finishes gently.

“Am I?”

She takes my hand–the one with the heavy pentagram ring–and brings it to her lips. “It’s okay if this is more than you wanted right now. It’s a heavy role for someone without a lot of experience. But you’re a good leader, Damon. You’ve handled this transition better than anyone could have expected. You rooted out the traitors. You handled interrogations. You’ve presided over rites and rituals.” She rolls over to face me fully, her breasts pressing warmly against my chest. “That’s just on the frat side of things. You’ve also stepped up with me and Hunter. With Timothy. He wouldn’t be back in this house if it weren’t for you.”