Villain's Last Chance

The Everhart estate held its breath.

Cairon's words still echoed in my mind—They think you betrayed me. The weight of them settled in my chest, heavier than steel. If the Revenants believed I had turned against Cairon, it meant one thing.

Someone had lied.

And someone wanted me dead.

The candlelight flickered, elongating shadows across the dark oak walls. The air between us was thick, taut as a wire about to snap. Cairon sat on the edge of his desk, fingers idly rolling the Revenants' dagger across the polished surface. His movements were unhurried, measured. Testing.

I recognized it for what it was.

I was being sized up, dissected.

His golden eyes locked onto mine. He was waiting—waiting for my reaction, waiting for the weight of his words to crack something in me. But I had long learned the art of a steady gaze. I had spent years hiding my thoughts behind an unreadable mask, and I would not falter now.

I exhaled, slow and deliberate. "I don't play their games, Cairon."

His lips curled at the edges. Not quite a smile, but something close. "That's the problem, isn't it?"

A slow hum of frustration rolled through me. I wanted answers, not riddles. But before I could push him, the door swung open.

Marek.

His usual calm was gone. A muscle twitched in his jaw.

"There's been another attack."

Cairon's gaze sharpened. "Where?"

"The outer district." Marek's voice was clipped. "The governor's envoy. Slaughtered before dawn."

A heavy silence fell.

The Revenants were moving openly now. And if they had struck someone with such political weight, then this was more than a warning.

This was war.

I straightened. "I need access to the vaults."

Marek's head snapped toward me, a flicker of disbelief in his dark eyes. But it was Cairon's reaction I watched. His fingers stilled against the dagger.

Slowly, he lifted a brow. "A bold request."

"I don't have time for anything less."

Cairon considered me, turning the dagger over in his palm. Then, with the fluidity of a man entirely in control, he pushed himself off the desk and approached.

"You want access," he murmured. "Then take the Oath."

My breath stilled.

Marek shifted beside me. "Cairon—"

"I know what I'm doing, Marek." His tone was light, but the warning beneath it was unmistakable.

The Blood Oath. A Revenant ritual. A contract sealed in magic and flesh, binding two fates together. It was ancient, dangerous. And utterly unbreakable.

My throat tightened. "You can't be serious."

Cairon only smiled. "Oh, I'm very serious."

Marek's fingers twitched near his belt, where I knew he kept a blade hidden. His stance had shifted, his body angled just slightly between Cairon and me, as if preparing for a fight.

I forced my voice to stay level. "That's a death sentence."

Cairon lifted the dagger, watching the candlelight catch the edge of the blade. "Only if you plan to betray me."

I inhaled sharply. He was testing me. Pushing me toward the edge to see if I'd break.

If I refused, I lost.

If I accepted, I was bound to him in ways I couldn't yet predict.

My fingers curled into fists.

I was tired of being played with.

I stepped forward, meeting his gaze head-on. "Fine."

Surprise flickered across his face—brief, but there.

I reached for the dagger. The hilt was still warm from his touch. The weight of it felt heavier than it should.

Without hesitation, I dragged the blade across my palm.

A sharp sting. Then warmth. Blood welled up, dark and rich, slipping down my fingers in slow rivulets. The coppery scent filled the space between us.

I extended my hand toward him. "Your move, Everhart."

A beat of silence.

Then, something shifted in his expression.

For the first time, the amusement in his eyes faded.

Cairon watched me for a long moment, and then, in one swift motion, he pressed the dagger against his own palm. The blade cut deep, crimson spilling over his skin.

He clasped my outstretched hand.

The moment our blood mingled, the magic ignited.

A sharp pulse.

Heat flooded my veins, searing through me like wildfire. My breath caught as the invisible force coiled around my bones, wrapping me in something ancient and unrelenting.

The Blood Oath was no mere legend. It was real. And it was claiming me.

Cairon's fingers tightened around mine, his jaw set. I could feel it too—the bond settling, rooting itself deep. Magic twisted through my ribs, locking something in place.

Then, as quickly as it came, the heat vanished.

Cairon released my hand. A thin line of blood trailed down his wrist, but he barely seemed to notice. He studied me instead, a strange look in his eyes.

"Done," he murmured.

Marek let out a breath, barely audible. His fingers relaxed at his side, but his wariness did not fade.

Neither did mine.

I curled my palm into a fist, watching as the wound sealed itself, leaving only a thin silver scar in its place. The mark of the Blood Oath.

I lifted my gaze. "Now, give me access to the vaults."

Cairon chuckled. "You're relentless."

"You knew that when you bound me to you."

His amusement didn't fade. "Fair enough."

He turned toward Marek. "Prepare the passage."

Marek hesitated, then exhaled sharply. "This is a mistake."

"Probably," Cairon mused. "But we're past playing it safe, aren't we?"

Marek shot me a look but said nothing more.

He strode toward the far side of the room, pressing his palm flat against a section of the bookshelf.

A low click.

The wall groaned, stone shifting against stone. Then, with a slow, grinding sound, a hidden passage revealed itself. Darkness yawned beyond. A tunnel, leading deep beneath the estate.

My pulse thrummed.

The Revenants were hunting me. If I wanted to survive, if I wanted to unravel the truth—I needed to move first.

I stepped toward the passage.

Cairon followed.

And behind us, the door sealed shut.