FLASHBACK — Eleven Years Ago
The orphanage was freezing that day.
I remember it like a scar: peeling paint, wet socks, the smell of bleach and boiled cabbage. I was nine and already knew how to sharpen a toothbrush handle into a weapon. I'd learned early that the world doesn't give second chances — only openings.
He arrived in a black coat, sharp-shouldered and quiet. Didn't smile once.
One by one, he called our names.
Crow was first — mouthy, angry, already full of fight.
Then Phoenix — too calm, too quiet, eyes that saw too much.
Dove and Sparrow, clinging to each other like some final line of defense.
Robin, the youngest, shaking but silent. Brave in ways I never was.
I was last.
He looked at me like he already knew who I'd become. Not just who I was — but what I'd do for him, for the family he was building like a weapon. Like a war machine.
"You," he said, voice low, heavy with finality. "You're the spine."
Not the heart.
Not the soul.
The spine.
I didn't ask what it meant.
I just nodded.
Because I already knew I'd say yes to anything.
Two weeks.
Fourteen days of nothing but stale air and shadowed silences.
The Viper has disappeared like smoke off a knife. Dock Nine turned up blood, an empty crate, and a single torn glove soaked in sea-brine and rust. The lead went cold before we even stepped out of the car. And now, I'm stuck in this mansion like a lioness in a glass cage, pacing the upstairs hallway while the rest of the world forgets how to breathe.
The wallpaper smells expensive. The floor doesn't creak. The mirrors are too clean—they reflect a version of me I don't always recognize.
My phone buzzes in my thigh holster. One sharp vibration like a warning.
PHOENIX
Update. Now.
Typical.
I thumb the screen open and type without stopping, the other hand resting on the hilt of the blade I now wear like an extension of my bones.
RAVEN
No movement. Waiting. Watching.
There's a beat.
PHOENIX
That was the update two days ago.
RAVEN
Still accurate.
No reply.
Not surprised.
I slide the phone away and breathe deep, the leather of my vest stretching with the inhale. There's a knot forming under my ribs—frustration, maybe. Or guilt. Or something I refuse to name.
Footsteps echo softly behind me—too confident, too casual. Alejandro.
He rounds the corner with two black coffees in hand, looking like sin in silk: dark jeans, shirt unbuttoned just enough to tempt violence, and that smug half-smile that always means trouble.
Without saying a word, he tosses me one of the coffees. I catch it. Scalding hot. No lid.
"You look murderous," he says, sipping his like it's wine.
"I am murderous."
He tilts his cup toward me in salute. "Then drink. Nothing worse than killing on an empty stomach."
I scowl at him, but take a long sip anyway. Bitter. Strong. It cuts through the fog in my chest.
We head out onto the back terrace. Morning light slices through the hedges, casting golden bars over the marble. The garden below looks like something out of a painting—perfect and cold. Manicured roses. A fountain shaped like a swan mid-scream.
I hate how still it is here.
"Still no word?" Alejandro asks, leaning against the railing.
"Still nothing."
He hums—a low sound that vibrates in the space between us. "He's smart. I'll give him that. But no one stays hidden forever."
"Robin did."
That gets his attention. His eyes flick toward me, slower this time. There's something behind his gaze—regret, maybe. Or memory. Or calculation. It's always hard to tell with him.
"He wasn't hiding," Alejandro says finally. "He was being hunted."
I go still.
His words hang there like broken teeth between us.
I want to argue. I want to scream. But instead I drink my coffee and stare at the stone lion on the terrace wall. It's missing an eye. Someone painted a tear on the other. I wonder which sibling did that, and why.
Then the gate buzzes.
Sharp. Loud. Like a throat being cleared with a knife pressed to it.
I rise instantly. Every muscle tenses.
The screen beside the door lights up in grayscale.
Crow.
Of course.
He's leaning against his bike, all black leather and arrogance, arms crossed like he's been waiting for hours. His hair is slicked back the way he wears it when he wants a fight. His boots are already stained with something that looks suspiciously like blood.
Alejandro steps beside me and gives a slow, exaggerated whistle. "And here I thought today might be peaceful."
"I should've known better," I mutter.
"Do I let him in?" he asks, half-smiling.
"Do you want blood on the marble?"
Alejandro chuckles. "It's good for the shine."
I press the intercom button. My voice is cold.
"State your business."
Crow doesn't flinch. His grin widens like a weapon. "Family check-in. You know. The kind where I insult you and try to beat up your boyfriend."
Alejandro lifts an eyebrow.
I don't reply. Just buzz the gate open.
A moment later, Crow's boots hit the marble like thunderclaps. He doesn't knock. Of course not. He just swings the door open and walks in like he owns the fucking place.
And he goes straight for me
"You look comfortable," he sneers, eyes raking over the estate like it offends him. "Matching his lifestyle now? You two share cigars too, or just pillows?"
I stay seated on the edge of the terrace, hands clasped, calm like the eye of a hurricane.
"Crow," I say coolly. "You always bring this much salt, or is it a special delivery?"
His mouth twitches, but it's not a smile. It's the grimace of someone who came looking for a fight and is pissed I'm not giving it fast enough.
"You're wasting time here," he snaps, voice raised. "Weeks go by and what? You've gotten soft? Playing guard dog for this snake in a suit?"
"I'm watching," I say through clenched teeth. "Waiting. Like we planned."
Crow's laugh is low and mean. "That wasn't the plan. The plan wasn't to shack up with the guy who may or may not have been working for the Viper this entire fucking time."
Alejandro appears behind me, coffee still in hand, and leans against the stone arch like he's watching a theater show with front-row seats.
Crow's glare shifts immediately.
"And you," he growls. "What's your end game here? You hiding the bastard or just distracting my sister with whatever dark charm you think you've got?"
Alejandro takes a slow sip. "You're loud for someone with no proof and no plan."
Crow steps forward like he's about to lunge. I'm on my feet before I can think, hand at my hip. The tension snaps like a wire — all of us drawn tight, ready to break.
"Enough," I say, stepping between them. "You want to yell, do it later. Right now, we need to focus."
Crow's jaw clenches so hard I hear his teeth grind. He looks at me like he doesn't recognize me — or worse, like he does and hates what he sees.
"You used to be one of us," he mutters. "Now look at you. Sleeping in a traitor's house, sipping his fucking coffee."
"I haven't slept," I snap. "I've interrogated, tracked, bled. I've put up with this man's games because it's our only lead. What the fuck have you done, Crow?"
His nostrils flare. "Don't push me."
I take a step closer, nose to nose.
"Don't give me a reason."
Behind me, Alejandro murmurs, "Sibling bonding. I love it."
Crow whips around. "Say one more word—"
"No," I cut in, sharp as a blade. "Say another word, and I'll let him bury you on his property."
A beat of silence.
Then Crow laughs — but it's empty. Bitter.
"You're not her anymore," he says, turning to go. "Not the one who protected us. Not the one Robin loved."
His words hit harder than a punch.
As he storms down the marble hallway, I hear the slam of a door and the fading echo of his boots.
Alejandro steps up beside me.
"He's charming," he says lightly.
I don't speak.
Because Crow is right about one thing.
I'm not who I used to be.
But maybe that's the only reason I'll survive
The door slams behind Crow with enough force to make the glass panels rattle. Silence follows. Not the peaceful kind — this one has teeth. It gnaws at the edges of my patience.
I stay frozen, fists still clenched, as if the argument carved its anger into my bones.
Alejandro doesn't move either.
He watches me from the corner of his eye, quiet for once. The smirk gone. The games paused. Only that unreadable calm — the kind that follows violence. The kind that feels like an invitation to bleed.
"You okay?" he finally asks.
I shake my head, slow and deliberate. "No."
"Want to talk about it?"
"Do I ever?"
He hums, noncommittal, and turns away, heading back toward the terrace. But after a few steps, he stops.
"Come on," he says. "Walk with me."
I hesitate.
Then follow.
We step into the garden. The air is thick with roses and storm clouds, sky turning slate-gray above us. Alejandro leads us toward the fountain, hands in his pockets, jacket swaying with every step.
"I take it your brother doesn't like me," he says after a while.
"That's generous," I mutter. "He'd shoot you if I let him."
Alejandro chuckles. "Family loyalty. Endearing."
"It's not loyalty," I correct. "It's obsession. He sees betrayal in everything."
"And what do you see?"
I don't answer right away.
I look at the water. It's too clear. Artificial. The whole estate is a lie — a mask of luxury built over something brutal. Like Alejandro himself.
"I see what I have to," I say finally. "To stay alive. To stay ahead."
"You always this poetic when you're pissed?"
I turn to him. "You always this smug when people threaten to kill you?"
His smile widens. "It's kind of my thing."
I roll my eyes but don't look away. There's something different in the way he watches me now. Less teasing. Less performative.
More... precise.
Like he's reading me.
Like he's waiting for me to see it too.
"You think he's right, don't you?" I ask. "Crow."
"About what?"
"That I'm not who I used to be."
Alejandro tilts his head. "No. I think you're still her. You're just more dangerous now."
That shouldn't sound like a compliment. But it does. And it scares the hell out of me.
We walk in silence for a few minutes more. Then Alejandro stops beneath one of the stone archways near the edge of the garden. He leans against the pillar, eyes on me.
"You loved Robin," he says.
It's not a question.
I nod. "Of course I did."
"And Phoenix?"
"He's my twin," I say. "That bond — it's deeper than blood."
Alejandro studies me. "And Crow?"
I pause.
"Crow... was my shadow," I admit. "I'd get hurt, and he'd throw a punch before I even bled. But after Robin died, something in him cracked. Like we were all just glass pretending to be steel."
Alejandro doesn't speak. He just watches me.
And for once, I let myself speak freely.
"I tried to hold them together. I did everything I could. But they were already burning, and I just—" I stop. Swallow hard. "I let the fire in too."
There's a long pause.
Then his voice is quiet. "You ever think it wasn't your job to hold them together?"
I look at him. Hard. "Then whose was it?"
He shrugs. "Not yours."
"I was the strong one," I say. "I had to be."
"No." Alejandro steps closer. "You were the brave one. There's a difference."
I feel something shift in me — like a splinter pressing deeper.
I want to pull away. I want to mock him. But instead, I whisper, "You don't know me."
He looks down at me, close enough to touch. "Then let me."
The wind picks up.
Somewhere in the distance, thunder growls.
But I don't move.
Because in that moment, I realize something I've been trying to ignore:
I don't hate Alejandro.
Not really.
I hate that he sees me.
And worse, I hate that I want him to.
My breath is still caught in my throat when the phone buzzes in my pocket.
Not now.
I force myself to look away from Alejandro's eyes, from the way the storm wind has tousled his dark hair just slightly. I don't know what I would've done if the phone hadn't rung — kissed him? Hit him? Broken apart?
PHOENIX
Answer now.
Of course.
"Give me a second," I mutter, turning my back to Alejandro and hitting the call button.
"About damn time," Phoenix says the moment I answer.
His voice is tense, clipped — which means something's happened.
"What is it?"
"We found her."
The words crack like a whip in my chest.
I straighten. "Who?"
"The girl Robin was seeing before he died. The one we didn't know about."
Everything inside me stills.
I remember the way Robin used to sneak away sometimes. Quiet. Secretive. How we all thought he was just trying to avoid Father. Or us. We never once considered he was in love.
"She's real?"
"Yeah," Phoenix confirms. "Dove tracked an old encrypted file on his burner. Messages between them. She went off-grid right after Robin died — we assumed she was dead or vanished."
My stomach twists. "Where is she?"
"Northwest. Small village near the border. She's under a different name. Sparrow cross-checked it. It's her. No doubt."
Alejandro steps slightly closer, watching me. Silent.
Phoenix continues. "I've already booked the jet. We leave in three hours. Bring your new guard dog with you."
I bite down on my frustration. "His name is Alejandro."
"And I don't give a shit."
"You just said bring him."
"I said it because he's useful. Not because I like him."
I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Where's the plane?"
"Private airfield, outskirts of town. I'll send the location. Just get there, Raven."
He hangs up without a goodbye.
I lower the phone slowly, the wind now colder against my skin.
Alejandro raises an eyebrow. "That sounded unpleasant."
"They found her."
His expression sharpens. "Robin's girl?"
I nod. "She's alive. Somewhere quiet. And we're flying out in three hours."
Alejandro looks thoughtful for a moment, then smiles faintly. "Guess I better pack."
"I'm not asking you to come."
He shrugs. "But I'm coming anyway."
I narrow my eyes. "This isn't a vacation, Alejandro. If she knows something, this might be the break we've been waiting for."
"Which is why I'm coming."
I move past him, walking fast toward the house. "I don't have time for your cryptic one-liners today."
He catches up in two strides, keeping pace beside me. "No games, Raven. If this girl meant something to Robin, there's a reason no one knew. That makes her dangerous. And if she's dangerous, you're going to need someone like me there."
"You mean someone who kills before asking questions?"
"I mean someone who knows when not to ask questions."
I glance at him, frustrated that I can't argue with that logic.
We walk in silence back through the marble halls. I climb the stairs to pack what I need — knives, files, my old burner — and I hear him downstairs, giving instructions to his staff, prepping the car.
Three hours.
Three hours and I might finally get answers I didn't know I needed