8. Nora

8

NORA

T he brownstones on this street stand silent in the dying light, five levels of red-brown brick mourning the loss of their tenants.

They're identical, save for the little numbered plaque next to their doors. But we don't need to search for number 88-2B. It's clear by the broken window on the first floor of the building which apartment we're headed to.

I nod acknowledgments to the two guards standing watch at the front steps.

Sad eyes blink back at me.

Each step up to the front door is heavier than the last, my shoes weighed down by the thought of what we are walking into.

A family slaughtered. Another daughter alone.

There's a sickening familiarity about it all.

Josie had gotten word while we were in the Sins meeting, and instead of interrupting—as if taking care of my people could ever be an inconvenience—she waited until I was halfway through my burning rage with Imogen to pull me away.

I rub a hand over my jaw when I reach the last stair. I made a mess of things with Imogen earlier. And during the car ride here, I found myself yearning to fix that.

If there's anything left to fix.

How fucked up is that? She's the one who betrayed me, and I still want to forgive her?

It's got me off-kilter. My consciousness isn't fully grounded in my body, rather, it's floating alongside it, precariously tied to the weights at my feet. I'm surrounded by a cloud of disorienting emotion, but I wave it all away. I push it deep down in my gut where all my other bullshit lives. Because these feelings are inconvenient and shutting them down is the most efficient way of dealing with them.

Because family comes first.

"Windows were broken from the inside," Josie says. "With no other signs of a break-in."

"So, either they let the person in, or they used magic."

She stands at my back, watching with careful consideration as I make my way through the apartment.

My gut says she thinks I'm going to break.

I won't. Not again.

But I'm becoming less and less confident with each step that I'll leave this place whole.

Glass cracks under my boots as I freeze in the doorway of the kitchen. My heart beats a fraction faster at the scene in front of me.

I'm a trained killer. I've tortured my fair share under Pride's direction. I can handle blood and broken bones and the distinct stench of death.

This is somehow more disturbing.

The room is a tornado-swept mess—the cabinets are thrown open, the shelves swiped clean, and their contents broken across the tile. The two bodies are centered in the room: a pair of lovers staring, unblinking, at the ceiling.

I step over the mess and crouch next to the Halverson's bodies.

Their skin is pale, ashen from the blood that's drained from their veins. A dried red river flows from their throats and into a halo around their heads. I can only hope they were blessed with a painless death, but my heart knows otherwise.

It's the terrified expression that's frozen in their eyes that unleashes something dark and twisted inside of me, a monster thirsty for revenge.

They were under House Pride's protection, working for us on this side of the Veil because we promised they'd be safe in doing so. They were under my care, and I failed them.

The crackling of glass signals Josie's arrival in the doorway. She leans against the wooden frame—it's a casual movement, though her stiff shoulders and tight jaw are anything but.

"Their daughter was upstairs when it happened," she says. Her head shakes as she takes in the sight for herself. "The girl hid, but not before…"

She doesn't need to finish the sentence. Not before she saw .

"Claude is keeping her at the warehouse until we're ready to bring her back to Anwynn."

My head bobs up and down, a never-ending nod, as I try to reel in my body's response. But my deep breaths don't do anything but fan the flame roaring in my belly.

I was already on edge when we got here, unmoored and quick to anger.

My attention snags on the wife, who lies closer to me than the husband. Her eyes are a bright green, similar to mine. And similar to my mother's. I blink away the memories flashing at the edges of my vision; instead, I try focusing on the way her arm is stretched out towards me, reaching towards the cabinets. It's purposefully pointed to the ruined kitchen cabinetry. And to the only cupboard that's still closed.

My hand is steady when I reach for the handle; the hinges squeak as it swings open. It's empty, save for a single folded piece of paper.

My fingers grip the note with white knuckles—the corner of the off-white cardstock creases under the pressure of my thumb. I flip it open and my stomach drops. In an elegant black script is a single sentence.

Happy anniversary, Pride.

The already taught wire grounding me in my body snaps.

Whoever did this, knows .

"Josie, I need a minute."

"Nora—"

" I need a minute alone." I meet her caring eyes and silently beg her to listen. My next word comes out as a command, but it's a desperate plea. " Now ."

She's seen me at my worst, and yet, I still don't want her to see this.

Josie's face is pinched in pain as she nods. "You get five minutes, and then I'm coming back in here."

And then she's gone. And I'm left alone with my grief.

It's all-consuming, worse than I've experienced in years. My skin is hot and itchy, the air around me thick. My body acts on autopilot, doing anything to numb the overwhelm. The wall meets my fist, again and again and again. I barely register the pain of my knuckles splitting open beneath my gloves.

Unsatisfying .

My magic batters against the cage of my ribs. Its displeasure at not having an outlet is apparent.

Soon , I promise it—I promise myself.

This isn't the anger of a broken mind or a broken heart.

It's the anger of one that knows, with certainty, that there is retribution to be paid. For the sins of the past. And of the future. Because things like this —this massacre—is just the beginning.

I know this. Josie knows this. We've seen it all play out before firsthand.

She watched the memories like a motion picture years ago, the same ones that are clouding the edges of my vision now.

They have broken free of their cages, and I can't stop them.