Page 57 of Burned

Blaze swears.

Rafe moves closer. “Why?”

“Because he wanted me to come here,” she says. “To do what you said. To tell you lies. To make you weak. To spy on you. And report back to him.” At least she is honest. “But I’m not his pawn anymore.”

The room goes quiet for a moment while I’m being petty.

I hate her accent too. Light, polished, difficult to place. Not like mine, dragged between the dirtier parts of Northern England and New York and panic.

Her voice sounds like money and boarding schools and candlelit rooms where no one ever had to sell the last untouched part of themselves to save their family.

“Lucian,” she says, waiting.

Something in Lucian snaps.

“Since when? You pretended to die in a fire? Screaming my name all the while, me thinking you might be—” His voice breaks. His gaze briefly travels over her body.

He looks away.

And I die a little bit inside.

The room goes silent. Tension fills every corner of the library. “Since I decided to turn on Carlos. It’s been a long time that I’ve had to pretend and plan and I’ve risked everything to come here like this. To bring you the truth.”

The answer is so calm I almost admire her.

Almost.

Blaze laughs once. There is no humor in it. “Rises from the dead and she comes back a martyr. Bold.”

“I’m not that,” Isobel says. “I’m trying to right a wrong.”

Lucian’s voice cuts the air like a knife. “That wrong can never be righted.”

“You came to the wrong cabin if your goal is to make friends,” Bayne murmurs.

“No matter why you say you’ve come.”

She says, “I’m not here to make friends. I’m here to help you defeat our mutual enemies.”

“The Morettis?” Gregory asks.

“Yes,” she says. “And I’m risking my life to do it. I can’t believe I’m even standing here alive. Carlos would have killed me himself if he found the real reason I was coming here. Soon, I won’t return. And he’ll know.” She looks away. “I’ve risked everything to be here.”

Rafe clears his throat. I’m starting to hate that sound. It means he’s got something to say we’re not going to want to hear.

“Like I said, no active breach,” he says. “No movement on the perimeter. No tracker on her clothes, shoes, or medical supplies. No visible tail.”

“But?” I ask.

Because there is always a but.

Rafe’s eyes shift to Lucian. “But Carlos knew where to send her. That is enough.”

The room goes still.

Lucian’s face does not change, but I feel his temperature drop.

Cold fury. The kind he aims inward before he turns it into violence.