Page 152 of Their Possession
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Blood welled. I let it fall. Into the grass. Into the dirt. Into memory.
“You weren’t the warning,” I said.
The wind moved. Not soft. Sharp.
“You were the blueprint.”
I didn’t close my eyes. Didn’t flinch. Camille never asked to be saved. She built the war she knew we'd have to finish. And now we would. Not from readiness—from being too late.
I stood. Blood on my hands. Her name cut into leather. The collar in my coat. The vault waiting.
It didn’t creak when I opened it. It welcomed me. Air cold. Still. Holy. Like every silence inside had been waiting for a reason to echo again.
I stepped in. Steel. Leather. Blade. I didn’t inventory. I didn’t sort. Ichose.
Knife. The one Camille carried. Second blade. Short. Balanced. Fast. Holster. Worn. Familiar. Pistol. Loaded. One in the chamber. Everything strapped into place. Tight. Final. Then the drawer. The collar. Not the one I took off. The one she earned.
I didn’t buckle it. Didn’t touch it. Just folded it. Slipped it into my coat. It would go back where it belonged.
After. The vault sealed behind me. Not locked. Entombed. I walked to the mirror. Didn’t see myself. Didn’t need to.
Camille’s initials were carved into the sheath at my spine. Cloe’s collar was pressed to my ribs. And my name? Didn’t matter. Hers did.
I stood in the center of the apartment. Phone in hand. The war table clear. Camille’s ledger open. One name circled in red.Continuity.
They thought Cloe was a variable. They didn’t know she was the answer. I looked at the blade on the table. The one I’d use last.
Then I whispered:
“Tomorrow, you don’t walk away.”
And I made the call. Royal. Barron. Loyal. One by one. Each of them already awake. Already armed. We didn’t say goodbye. We said nothing at all.
The last thing they would hear was breath. And then?
Nothing.
