That night shifted the balance between us.
After that, every time we saw each other, there was a new heat under the surface. A new hunger. The space between us seemed to dissolve on sight.
And then, just when I was getting used to how easily he responded to me, Evan started missing my calls.
Not all the time.
Just enough.
Enough to make me uneasy.
Enough to sharpen every instinct in me.
The bad feeling only worsened until one morning, I came downstairs and the house manager met me with an unreadable face.
“Miss Prescott,” he said, “something happened to Mr. York.”
By the time I reached Black Harbor, the place was already loud with tension.
They had tied Evan to a metal frame.
His shirt was gone. His body was covered in blood and bruises. A sub-leader named Victor was driving a short blade into Evan’s shoulder and twisting it slowly while Evan’s throat worked around broken, muffled sounds.
For one second, the room went white.
Then I moved.
I kicked Victor hard enough to send him sprawling and stepped directly in front of Evan.
Victor staggered up, furious. “What the hell—”
Then he recognized me.
The anger in his expression dropped by half.
“Miss Prescott,” he said with forced restraint, “this is Black Harbor business. You shouldn’t interfere.”
I bent, picked up the blood-slick blade from the floor, and turned it lazily between my fingers.
“There are rules in Black Harbor,” he continued. “Once you’re in, you live or die by your own ability. No outside revenge.”
“That rule applies between equals,” I said. “Not when a superior abuses his position.”
He opened his mouth.
I was already walking toward him.
“Vice leaders can promise promotions all they want,” I said softly. “But unless the order is official, it means nothing. Otherwise everyone here would already be wearing your title.”
I stopped directly in front of him.
Then I drove the blade straight through the badge on his chest.
The room exploded.
Shouting. Chairs scraping. Men surging to their feet.
I raised my voice above the chaos. “Victor broke Black Harbor rules by using his status to settle private grudges. Anyone who moves to protect him shares his guilt. Manager, remember every face. I want a report sent to my father.”
That stopped them.
Silence rippled outward.
Victor screamed, clutching at the blade pinned through his badge and into his flesh.
I leaned close enough for only him to hear me.
“Beat the dog, and you’d better make sure the owner is dead first.”
Then I yanked the blade free.
He folded.
I didn’t bother looking at him again.
I went straight to Evan, cut the ropes, and barely caught him when his body collapsed against mine.
He was so weak that for the first time since I’d met him, he felt almost light.
“Sis,” he mumbled.
His voice undid something in me.
I got him to the hospital. Sat there through the transfusions. Let the house manager handle the fallout. Eventually my father heard and came in person.
He looked at Evan lying unconscious in the hospital bed, then turned to me.
“You used to hate Black Harbor,” he said.
I did.
When I was twelve, during one of Black Harbor’s internal purges, our family’s enemies took me. I was kept there for three days.
Cold, dark, filthy days.
They were the longest three days of my life.
My father got me out, but by then the family turmoil was still raging, so instead of staying with me, he had to send me away. That was how I ended up with the Caldwells.
Even now, I still hated the place.
“I do hate it,” I said. “But Evan is useful. And more importantly, he can become more.”
My father watched me carefully. “Did you go there today because he’s useful? Or because you wanted him alive?”
The question was precise.
Cruel in a fatherly way.
I let out a slow breath. “I wanted him alive.”
That was the truth.
When I heard he was in danger, my first thought had not been strategy.
It had been: Evan cannot die.
My father nodded.
“Then he won’t.”
The relief that followed was so sharp it almost embarrassed me.
The next day, Evan woke up.
The first thing in his eyes when he saw me was not gratitude.
It was worship.
“You were amazing,” he whispered.
I laughed softly. “You almost died. Regret it yet?”
He shook his head and caught my hand.
“I don’t regret anything.”
Then, after a pause, he said, “I’m going higher.”
I looked at him.
“I’ll be the best blade in your hand,” he said. “Or your best dog. Anything you want. But from the second you stood in front of me yesterday, I swore it. From now on, I follow only you.”
There was something almost frightening in the certainty of his voice.
Not devotion born of gratitude.
Something deeper. Stranger. Sharper.
Obsessive.
Absolute.
I leaned down and kissed his forehead.
“Then heal,” I said. “Because the next fight won’t be smaller.”
He closed his eyes obediently.
The comments floated around us, louder than ever.
He is gone for her.
She saved him twice now.
Honestly I would fall in love too.
For once, I didn’t bother pretending not to hear them.