Chapter 41 Seraphine
My phone rang while I was still sitting on the edge of the bed, Amara cross-legged beside me, both of us nursing lukewarm coffee like it might keep reality at bay.
The screen lit up with a name I didn’t fully recognize yet.
Eleanor Shaw
Managing Editor
Great.
New boss. New chaos.
I answered on the second ring. “Seraphine Vale.”
“Good morning,” Eleanor said. Her voice was crisp, professional—the kind of calm that came from someone who had survived decades of newsroom disasters. “I won’t pretend this is a social call. Where are you?”
Straight to the point. I respected that.
“I’m safe,” I said carefully. “But I’m not coming into the office today. Or tomorrow. I’m going to be using the rest of my sick days for the week.”
There was a pause. Not angry. Calculating.
“That’s… inconvenient,” she said finally. “You’re listed on three columns that need edits and approval before they go to print this afternoon.”
I closed my eyes briefly. Of course they did.
“I’m aware,” I said. “And I’m not trying to abandon them. I just can’t physically be there right now.”
Amara leaned closer, mouthing, Say the thing.
I inhaled. “Given the situation with my former editor—and the ongoing investigation—I’m asking to work remotely. Just temporarily.”
Another pause. This one longer.
“Work from home,” Eleanor repeated.
“Yes,” I said. “I can have all three columns reviewed, edited, and ready by three-thirty. You’ll have them on your desk in plenty of time.”
Amara leaned in and stage-whispered, “Tell her you’re terrifyingly competent.”
I elbowed her lightly.
Eleanor exhaled. “You realize I don’t grant exceptions easily.”
“I know,” I said. “Which is why I’m not asking lightly.”
Silence.
Then: “Three-thirty,” she said. “Not three-thirty-five. Not ‘almost done.’ On my desk. Or this arrangement ends today.”
Relief hit so fast it made my knees weak.
“Yes,” I said immediately. “Thank you.”
“And Seraphine?”
“Yes?”
Her tone softened—just a fraction. “I’m aware of what Brantley put you through. That will not be repeated under my watch.”
My throat tightened. “I appreciate that.”
The line went dead.
I stared at my phone for a second, then slowly lowered it.
“I still have a job,” I said quietly.
Amara grinned. “Damn right you do.”
Then reality followed close behind.
“…but I don’t have my laptop.”
Amara’s smile faded. “Ah.”
“And all my files are cloud-based,” I added. “Which means I need access. Secure access.”
She winced. “Which means…”
“Which means,” I finished, “I need to ask Dante to use his laptop.”
We both looked toward the door like it might bite.
Amara tilted her head. “You don’t have to like him to borrow his tech.”
“I don’t dislike him,” I muttered.
She raised an eyebrow.
“I just—” I rubbed my face. “I don’t want to owe him anything.”
“You won’t,” she said firmly. “You’re doing your job. That’s it.”
I hesitated.
“What if he says no?”
She scoffed. “Have you met him? The man practically breathes ‘overprepared.’”
I stood slowly, nerves creeping back in. “I’m going to be working. Not… dealing with everything else.”
“And I’ll be right there,” she said, hopping off the bed. “Moral support. Snack runner. If he starts brooding too close, I’ll throw a pillow at him.”
That earned a laugh out of me—small, but real.
I found them in Dante’s office.
Lucian was standing near the window, arms crossed, jaw tight like he’d been grinding his teeth for an hour straight. Dante was behind his desk, hands braced against the surface, staring down at something on his screen.
Both of them looked up the moment I stepped inside.
Relief flashed across Dante’s face—barely there, but unmistakable.
He took a step toward me.
I took one back.
His expression shifted instantly. Not offended. Not angry. Just… aware.
“I—” I swallowed. “Do you have a spare laptop I can use? I just got a very angry phone call from my new boss, and I need to edit three columns before three-thirty if I want to keep my freaking job.”
Lucian’s brows lifted slightly, like he hadn’t expected that particular emergency.
Dante didn’t hesitate.
“Of course,” he said calmly. “Use mine.”
He gestured to the desk and moved immediately, sitting long enough to type in his password. The screen flickered as he closed out of several windows I didn’t look too closely at—out of courtesy, not curiosity—then he stood and stepped away completely.
“It’s all yours,” he said.
I nodded, tense, and slid into the chair.
Amara dragged another chair over, plopping down beside me and immediately pulling out her phone. “I’m on emotional-support duty,” she announced. “And Candy Crush.”
I huffed despite myself and logged into my cloud.
Folders loaded. Drafts appeared.
I opened the first column.
Read the headline.
Then frowned and scrolled back up.
“…What?” I muttered.
I read it again.
And again.
My stomach dropped.
The column wasn’t about zoning issues. Or city funding. Or any of the safe, boring pieces I’d expected.
It was about internal corruption within the police department.
Specifically—
My brother.
And his partner.
My breath caught.
“No,” I whispered. “No, no, no—”
Amara glanced over. “What? What is it?”
I scrolled, hands shaking now, words blurring as I read phrases that made my skin go cold.
Unreported evidence discrepancies.
Payoffs routed through shell accounts.
Witness intimidation.
“Oh my god,” Amara breathed.
Then she screamed.
“SERAPHINE—”
The air changed.
I didn’t realize it at first. Not until heat surged up my spine, sharp and sudden, like someone had struck a match inside my chest.
The desk beneath my hands grew warm.
Too warm.
“No,” I gasped, pushing back from the chair. “No, no—stop—”
Flames licked along the edge of the desk.
Not big. Not wild.
But unmistakable.
Dante moved instantly.
“Seraphine,” he said firmly, crossing the room in two strides. “Look at me.”
Lucian was already beside Amara, pulling her chair back, one arm out protectively. “Hey—hey, you’re good. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
“I didn’t do this on purpose,” I choked, panic flooding in. “I didn’t—I didn’t mean to—”
“I know,” Dante said, voice steady, grounding. He stopped just short of touching me, like he was giving me the choice. “Breathe. In through your nose. Out through your mouth. You’re reacting to shock.”
The flames trembled.
Then flared.
My vision blurred. “They’re saying my brother is dirty,” I said, voice breaking. “They’re saying he’s corrupt. That he—”
“I know,” Dante said quietly.
That made me snap my head up.
“You know?”
Lucian glanced at Dante, then back to me. “We were going to tell you. After breakfast. Preferably without… spontaneous combustion.”
The fire flickered again.
Dante lifted his hands slowly, palms open. “Seraphine, listen to me. You didn’t cause this story. You didn’t write it. You just found it.”
“But it’s my byline queue,” I said, shaking. “If this runs—if this is real—”
“Then the truth comes out,” Lucian said carefully. “And that’s not on you.”
My breath hitched.
Dante finally closed the distance, resting his hands lightly on my forearms—warm, solid, anchoring. The heat in the room eased, like it recognized him.
The flames died down to embers.