Chapter 24: Confessional Booth

The vault door sealed with a groan that reverberated into my spine. The darkness inside was near absolute, broken only by the blue flicker of ancient wardlight in the walls—cold as moonlight, older than names.

I stood in it like a blade drawn too long—honed on rage, aching with old grief.

“Talk,” I said. My voice cracked like a whip. “Now.”

Fionn—no, my brother, the word felt unreal—stood still as stone. His shoulders twitched once. Then again. Finally, he looked up, no glamour hiding the sharp cut of our shared cheekbones, or the deep sorrow that lived in the green of his eyes.

“I didn’t die,” he said. “I changed.”

“Changed?” My voice was thin and sharp. “You vanished. You left me.”

Fionn flinched. Lucien didn’t speak, didn’t move, just watched.

“I was born with it,” Fionn said quietly. “The curse. The bloodline. The first time it showed, I was eleven. Eyes black in the mirror. Fangs when I laughed too hard. I started hearing things—smelling blood when I wasn’t supposed to.”

“No,” I whispered, but I knew. I had always known. Something twisted inside me, a thread finally snapping in the tension of a decade.

Fionn stepped closer, careful as a sinner in a sanctuary. “I tried to protect you. I would’ve done anything to keep it from touching you. And then it didn’t. You were... safe. Mortal. Whole. And I was becoming something else.”

He swallowed, throat bobbing. “I could’ve hurt you, Bella. I almost did.”

My knees wobbled. “So you ran.”

He nodded. “I thought it was the only way to keep you safe. But I didn’t get far.”

Lucien finally spoke, his voice low. “I found him.”

I turned to him, breath ragged. “Why?”

“He was fourteen. Alone. Half-starved and terrified of himself. I don’t take in strays, Arabella—but this one reminded me of what it’s like to be hunted.”

Fionn's jaw clenched. “He protected me from them. From our family. You think they were saints, Arabella, but they would’ve bled me dry for ritual and name. The Everleighs always feared the bloodline. Feared what we were capable of.”

I closed my eyes. The word Everleigh scraped through my mind like broken glass. My name. Their name. My curse.

“You left me,” I whispered again. “They passed me from house to house. Family to family. Until there was nothing left of me but fight.”

Tears stung my eyes before I could stop them. “And all that time... I blamed the monsters. I became the thing that killed them. I trained. I hunted. Because vampires killed my brother.”

“I know,” Fionn said. His voice cracked. “I watched. Every time I saw your name whispered on the wind, I wanted to run to you—but I didn’t want to put you at risk. I didn’t want to be the monster you’d have to kill.”

Silence fell like snowfall in the crypt.

I was shivering.

Lucien took a step forward. “It wasn’t fate that brought you to my court, Arabella. It was you. You’ve always been running toward the fire.”

I laughed, bitter and broken. “And you let me.”

“I needed you to come,” he said. “And you needed to know the truth.”

My lip trembled. “Now I do. And it hurts like hell.”

Fionn dropped to his knees before me. “I don’t want forgiveness. I just want you to know... I never stopped loving you. Not one damn day.”

I knelt too, and for a moment, I let my forehead touch his.

We stayed there in the cold and the dark—two children turned myth by blood and time. Fionn’s arms wrapped tightly around me, his chin in my hair, and for a breathless instant I forgot the war outside our skin. I was no hunter. He was no monster. We were just brother and sister, buried in the truth too long denied.

“I missed you,” I whispered. “You stupid coward.”

His laugh trembled. “Missed you too, blade-for-brains.”

I smacked his arm. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“Neither do we.”

But it was real. More real than anything had been in years.

The vault groaned. Pale torchlight spilled into the chamber, illuminating five figures who stepped into view like a band of very annoyed immortals.

Saelene led them, tall and coldly radiant as always, her platinum braid looped in a crown of glass pins. Gwynne trailed beside her, lips pursed, looking sheepishly at the floor like he’d been scolded. Azren, lounging even while walking, somehow managed to glower and smirk at once. Dorian had a bottle of bloodwine in one hand, a sword in the other. Malric followed like a silent storm cloud, his coat dusted with ash.

“About time you stopped glowering, Lu,” Saelene sniffed, glancing around the vault. “Honestly, if you two were any slower, we’d assume you’d eloped.”

“Still might,” Gwynne said brightly. “We support vampire–hunter reconciliation these days, don’t we?”

Lucien stepped in front of me with the world’s most exhausted expression. “We are in crisis.”

“Which is exactly when people get impulsive,” Dorian added, uncorking the wine with his teeth. “War is just foreplay with higher stakes.”

“I hate everyone in this room,” I muttered.

“You say that now,” Azren drawled, eyeing the hairpin still tucked in my corset. “Give it time.”

Malric stepped up beside Lucien, clearing his throat. “They’re already past the lower woods. Daylight wards and siege magic. They knew the layout. They’re moving fast.”

Saelene narrowed her eyes. “How did they breach the outer ring without tripping the alarms?”

“They did,” Malric rumbled. “We just didn’t hear it over the sound of you yelling at Gwynne.”

Saelene gave him a poisonous glare.

Lucien rubbed his temple. “We need to divide the court and secure the strongholds. The archives. The scriptorium. The south tower. They’ll go for blood sources and records first.”

Dorian perked up. “Oooh, are we evacuating the treasury? I left a sword in there I haven’t named yet.”

“I’ll secure the archive,” Fionn offered quickly.

“You’ll stay with Arabella,” Lucien replied, tone leaving no room for argument. “They’ll go for her too.”

“Why?” I asked, folding my arms. “What the hell do they want with me?”

Saelene tilted her head. “Darling, you're the last living Everleigh not in league with the rest of your awful bloodline. You're their shame. Their legacy. Their loophole.”

Gwynne leaned in. “You’re also very stabby. Which we respect.”

Lucien turned to me, jaw tight. “They’ll try to turn you to their side… or take you off the board.”

“Touching,” I said. “I haven’t even had breakfast.”

“You did,” Fionn muttered. “It just came with sass and trauma.”

Lucien’s eyes locked on mine. “I’ll handle the frontlines. Gwynne, with me. Saelene, the eastern flank. Azren—”

“I know,” he said, stretching. “Subtle murder. My specialty.”

Malric simply cracked his neck.

The vault grew quiet.

Then Dorian sighed. “Fine. I’ll guard the wine cellar.”

I stood straighter. “What do you want me to do?”

Lucien’s expression flickered—between command and something too soft to name. “Stay alive.”

“I can do that.”

He stepped closer. “You’re not alone anymore, Arabella.”

I almost believed him.

But my blades would stay sharp. Just in case.