PATRICIA.

I had slowed a few steps behind, my fingers brushing my empty chest before panic flickered through me. The jade pendant—my mother’s pendant—was gone. It must have snapped loose when we were rushing earlier. I turned back immediately, scanning the ground until the faint green glint caught my eye. I picked it up, curling my hand around it like it could still slip away if I loosened my grip for even a second.

By the time I straightened and hurried forward again, Darren was already gone.

When I finally caught up, breath shallow, I was told he had been assigned to room 402. The words landed flat, mechanical, as if they meant nothing. A Rogue was instructed to escort me, and I followed without protest, my legs moving on instinct rather than command.

The stairs stretched endlessly upward, each step heavier than the last. My calves burned, my lungs protested, but I kept climbing, my hand clenched around the pendant, its cool surface biting into my palm. By the time we reached the fourth floor, my chest felt tight, not just from exertion but from something deeper, an unease I couldn’t name.

"Here, ma’am," the Rogue said, stopping abruptly and pointing at a closed door.

Room 402.

I nodded and waved a hand, dismissing her. I needed a moment alone. She hesitated only briefly before turning and leaving me standing there in the quiet corridor.

I reached for the handle and twisted. Nothing. Locked from the inside.

Relief came first, light and fleeting. Maybe Darren had gone to freshen up. Maybe he was in the shower. I exhaled slowly and lifted my hand, knocking loudly against the door.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

No response.

My brows knit together. I knocked again, harder this time, the sound echoing down the hall. On the fourth knock, the door finally opened.

And everything inside me went cold.

Darren stood there—but he wasn’t alone.

Maria was with him.

The room behind them blurred instantly, my vision narrowing until all I could see was her. Standing there. Alive. Breathing. Real. Her presence hit me like a physical blow, stealing the air from my lungs. My fingers loosened unconsciously, the jade pendant slipping against my skin as my hand fell to my side.

Why was she with him?

And how...how the hell had she gotten here?

My mind scrambled uselessly, searching for an explanation that refused to exist. She was supposed to be gone. She should have been. On the road. In the chaos. Anywhere but here. Anywhere but standing in Darren’s room, close enough that I could see the familiar curve of her smile beginning to form.

A bitter, ugly thought rose before I could stop it.

I wished she was dead.

Killed by older Rogues. By vampires. By anything that would have erased her from this world and from my life.

I didn’t care how.

I just hadn’t wanted her to be alive.

And now she was here, flesh and blood, looking at me as if she had every right to be.

"What’s going on here?"

The question tore out of me the moment my eyes swept across the room. I didn’t wait for an answer. My feet carried me forward, fast and sharp, and I reached Darren in two strides, my fingers closing around his arm with a grip that bordered on pain. I turned him slightly, forcing his attention, but my gaze never left Maria. It burned, hot and unblinking, hatred coiling tight in my chest as if it had been waiting for this exact moment to surface.

Darren chuckled lightly, as though nothing was wrong, as though the tension crackling in the air wasn’t choking me. "It’s nothing, darling," he said smoothly.

Before I could pull away, his hand came up, his fingers cupping my face. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to my lips, soft, possessive, deliberate. It wasn’t reassurance. It was controlled. It was meant to quiet me.

"She was the Rogue assigned to me," he added casually when he pulled back, his tone dismissive, as if he were brushing dust from his sleeve. As if Maria weren’t standing right there.

"A Rogue?" I echoed slowly.

I released Darren’s arm and turned fully toward her, my expression shifting instantly. The fury drained from my face, replaced by something gentler, something almost tender. I stepped closer to Maria, reaching out as though drawn by concern rather than calculation.

"Oh no, Maria," I said softly, my voice thick with false worry. "Are you feeling all right?"

My hands closed around her arms, my touch light, almost comforting. I stroked the back of her palms with my thumbs, slow and careful, like I was afraid she might break. Her skin was warm beneath my fingers, solid. Real. Alive. The thought made my jaw tighten even as I smiled. 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝘦𝘸𝑒𝒷𝓃ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝒸ℴ𝘮

She stared at me. Just stared. Her eyes searched my face, sharp and silent, but her body remained stiff, unmoving, as though she didn’t quite trust the ground beneath her feet.

I swallowed and let my lashes flutter. "You know," I continued, lowering my voice, "I begged Dad to let you stay." My words came out hushed, confessional. "I really did."

I lifted one hand, brushing beneath my eye as if wiping away a tear that had escaped despite my efforts. "But he said tradition was tradition," I murmured sadly. "He said there was nothing he could do."

The lie slid off my tongue smoothly, polished by rehearsal and time. I sniffed softly, my shoulders dipping just enough to sell the grief.

Maria’s hands shifted under mine. She pulled back slightly, not enough to jerk away, but enough to create distance. I felt it immediately and loosened my grip, letting her go as though I respected the boundary she’d drawn.

"How have you been faring?" I asked, tilting my head, my tone gentle, almost kind.

For a heartbeat, I thought she might answer. Her lips parted slightly, her chest rose with a breath that looked too heavy for such a simple question.

Then she shook her head.

"Please excuse me," she said abruptly.

The words were clipped, restrained, and before I could respond, she turned and rushed past me. Her steps were quick, uneven, urgency propelling her toward the door.

"Maria!" I called after her.

I spun and chased after her immediately, my voice echoing down the hallway as she fled, my heart pounding, not with concern, but with something sharper, darker, and far more dangerous.