Askai watched Brendon from across the table as the man moved the glass between his fingers, pushing it in small, frantic circles against the polished surface. The faint scrape grated on his nerves.
"Would you just stop doing that?" Askai said at last, rolling his eyes. "You're acting like I pulled the sun out of the sky. Yeah, I used the security codes without telling you this time—but don't pretend their system is some holy scripture. You have a dozen other ways to wreck it. Hell, I've done it myself."
Brendon froze, his grip tightening around the glass. Then he set it down a little too hard. "You're really going to spin this on me?" he asked, genuinely shocked. "You told me you needed the codes to get in and out of some stupid party you weren't even invited to. Not to vanish from under a Regale's nose. Do you have any idea what kind of attention that brings?"
He dragged a hand through his hair, agitation sharpening his voice. "Now I have to find another way into their system just to cover your tracks—and I'll be praying Moraine doesn't find out I helped you. He still hates you, you know."
Brendon's voice whittled down at the end, a note of genuine empathy in his voice.
Askai looked at Brendon, really looked at him—but his thoughts were already drifting elsewhere.
Moraine had taught him how to survive the streets: how to read danger in a man's shoulders, how to disappear before the blade came out, how to endure without breaking. And later, Askai had passed those lessons on to Brendon. The loyalty was still there—solid, unquestioning. Brendon had risked his neck for him without hesitation.
What Askai and Moraine had lost, though, was something else entirely. Trust, once torn, never went back together the same way. Askai didn't know anymore whether that fracture said more about him… or about Moraine.
After running for so long, the questions crept in at the worst times. He would find himself thinking about that little boy wailing behind the dumpsters, ribs sharp under skin, eyes full of fear and fury. Had he made the wrong choice back then? Was this life—this constant flight, this borrowed safety—worth everything it had cost him?
"Stop worrying, Bren," Askai said finally, his voice quieter but firm. "There isn't just one hole in their security. There are several—and none of them point straight at you." He leaned back in his chair, expression unreadable. "I didn't walk out through the front like an idiot. I knocked out a servant and used his access card to slip through the service quarters."
He shrugged lightly, as if it were nothing. "For all they know, I did the same thing to get out of that room. They'll chase ghosts before they ever chase you."
Askai doubted his own theory almost as soon as it formed. Kyrion and Vance would not be so easily misled. Vance, especially—there was a sharpness to him that suggested he might already know exactly who Askai was.
An impostor from the West.
Once again reaching for something he had no right to claim.
Too bad restraint had never been his strength. He had always been addicted to getting his way.
Brendon seemed calmer now, the edge of panic dulled, but disbelief still lingered in his eyes.
Good, Askai thought grimly. Caution kept people alive longer.
"Any news about Jordan?" he asked. "He was staying at Veronica's. Middle Nolan."
Brendon had always been Diana's favorite, which meant information flowed to him faster than it did to most.
"He's not there anymore," Brendon said quietly. "They got to him, Askai."
The words knocked the breath from his lungs. For a moment, it felt as if the ground itself had vanished beneath his feet. Fear surged through his veins, sharp and immediate, raising the hair on his arms.
"Who got to him?" Askai demanded. "Where is he?"
"Calm down," Brendon snapped. "Honestly, I can't believe this is news to you." He shook his head. "How far removed were you from the streets that you didn't know who Vance Regale was? He's the heir to the East Guards." His voice hardened. "What were you thinking, getting close to him?"
Askai said nothing.
"Vance had men watching Jordan," Brendon continued. "The moment Moraine found out, he ordered Diana to get Jordan out. That part shouldn't surprise you."
"Shit," Askai muttered, dragging a hand down his face.
He should have known. Once Vance realized he was a Regale, tracing his steps would have been easy. Askai had planned to reach Jordan and disappear before anyone noticed he was gone.
"Moraine ruined everything," he said bitterly, pacing the room.
Brendon's head snapped up. "Are you insane?" he shot back. "Moraine saved him."
Askai stopped.
"Your man had military units deployed in the middle of the city," Brendon went on. "They tried to take Jordan out. Moraine took the bullet meant for him." His voice dropped, sharp with accusation. "And you still blame him."
Askai scoffed, though unease twisted in his chest. Vance wouldn't do that. He knew what Jordan meant to him.
Unless he knew the truth.
Unless he knew Askai was Kai—a rat from the West, wearing borrowed skin.
"Are you sure they were trying to kill Jordan?" Askai asked, clinging to the thin thread of hope. Maybe Vance didn't know yet. Maybe he wouldn't care.
"Not at first," Brendon admitted reluctantly. "The East doesn't act without calculation. Neither do we." He paused. "But the moment they realized Moraine was involved, the military was called in."
"What happened then?" Askai demanded.
Bren exhaled slowly, as if weighing how much truth to hand over at once. "Moraine went in prepared. Retaliation was fast and brutal." His jaw tightened. "He's got an ex-military man on his side—Neil Orson. Knows modern warfare inside out. He trained Moraine's men well."
Askai already knew the name. Everyone on the streets did.
"They didn't wait for containment," Bren continued. "Those armored vehicles were hit before the East could seal the borders of the West. Precision strikes. Trust me, Middle Nolan is a ticking bomb these days."
Askai didn't dwell on the imagery. His mind had already moved ahead.
"So where is Jordan now?"
The question cut through everything else—strategy, politics, pride. Bren met his gaze, eyes hard.
"Locked down in one of the rooms at Moraine's mansion." He paused deliberately. "And don't even think about trying to break him out. You're capable, Askai. No one denies that. But going up against Moraine now?" A humorless scoff. "That's suicide."
"Fine," Askai said at once. "Then I'll find Kael first."
Bren shook his head. "That won't work either. Veronica left with Kael. Neither Moraine nor the Regales managed to lay hands on her."
That, at least, made sense.
Veronica had always known when to disappear.
Askai leaned back, eyes closing as his body finally gave in to the weight of it all. The couch creaked beneath him. It felt absurd—how every road he took curved back to the same place. Different streets, same end.
Moraine again.
Everything Askai knew—every instinct, every trick—had been taught to him by that man. Survival, deception, restraint, cruelty. The last time he'd pulled his brothers out of Moraine's reach, he had done it by twisting Uncle Tommie's arm until sanctuary was forced into existence.
He hadn't been proud of it.
It had been a blow well below the belt.
And yet—there was no depth Askai wouldn't sink to if it meant keeping his brothers alive.
His mind turned, ruthless and searching.
So who was left?
Who still had the leverage to stand between Jordan and Moraine Valez?
The answer surfaced at the same instant in both their minds.
"Vance."
"Don't."
They spoke together.