Page 120 of Decimation

“Agreed,” Victor says, his voice firm.

I lean forward, my gaze steady. “We need to take action now. The world is on edge, and we need to ensure our Chapter Lords remain calm. We must maintain control.”

The Guardians nod, their expressions resolute. Elias speaks up, his voice calm. “What’s the plan?”

“First,” I say, my tone commanding, “we’ll ensure all Chapter Lords know that I am very much still alive, that the assassination attempt was a failure, and that my brother is sadly no more.

Zayn nods, his expression thoughtful. “And Antonio? What about him?”

“Antonio will continue his mission,” I say, my voice firm. “He’s hunting down the Esau, rooting out their influence. When he returns, he’ll be a hero to the Brethren.”

It’s a risk to play that card, to herald him as such. After all, he’s the only one who can bring down my entire house of cards, but will he? He’s loyal to the Brethren, to our continuity. Will he reveal my secret, and in doing so, destroy us all? I’m betting that he won’t.

The Guardians exchange glances, their expressions a mix of scepticism and acceptance.

I don’t tell them the extra details. I don’t mention Ezekiel, or the fact that he too will need to be dealt with. Whether that is granting him an honoured place amongst us or something more nefarious. I need to be tactical with him, I need to be smart, far fucking smarter than my brother ever was.

My gaze sweeps the room. “Let’s begin.”

This is a dangerous game, one that requires precision and control. But I’ve played this game before, and I know how to win.

The Brethren will survive. They will thrive.

And I will be the one to lead them now.

My body aches, every movement is a reminder of the pain I’ve endured. I’m weak, so weak that even sitting up feels like a monumental task. My limbs tremble as I push myself upright, and the sheets pool around my waist. The room is dimly lit with the soft glow of candles casting flickering shadows on the walls.

I’m not alone.

Lazarus is here, standing by the bed, his presence looming yet strangely comforting. His colours are calm, soft blues and greens, steady and sincere.

“You’re awake,” he says, his voice low and smooth.

I don’t respond. My throat feels raw, my tongue heavy in my mouth. I glance down at myself, at the bruises that mar my skin, the cuts and scrapes that tell the story of my suffering.

I feel exposed, vulnerable and weak, and I fucking hate it.

“You need to bathe,” he says, his tone matter-of-fact.

I stiffen, my heart pounding in my chest. Bathe? Absolutely not.

He steps closer, and I instinctively shrink back, my hands clutching the sheets to my chest.

“Don’t touch me,” I whisper, my voice trembling.

He pauses, his gaze softening. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he says. His colours remain steady, almost reassuring, but that doesn’t make it any easier. He reaches out, his hand hovering just above my arm. “Let me help you,” he says.

I hesitate, my mind racing. I don’t want his help. I don’t want anything from him, not right now. All I can think about, all I keep thinking about is how his brother hurt me, how Ezekiel hurt me, how every man has hurt me as soon as they’re given the opportunity to. I might have fallen for Lazarus in some ways, but I fell for Ezekiel too, didn’t I? And look how that turned out.

But my body is weak, and I know I can’t do this on my own.

Reluctantly, I nod.

He scoops me up effortlessly, his arms strong and steady. I tense, my body rigid against his chest. He carries me to the adjoining bathroom where a large, steaming tub awaits. The scent of lavender and chamomile fills the air, soothing yet overwhelming.

He sets me down gently on the edge of the tub, his hands lingering for a moment before he steps back.

“Can you undress yourself?” he asks, his tone respectful.