Roses aren't supposed to smell like metal.
But tonight, they do.
Copper. Rain. Blood.
The air in the garden is too thick. The petals too red. They bleed into the moonlight like someone tried to warn me with color and perfume.
And that's when I feel it.
A breath on my neck.
A click.
Metal against my spine.
"I wouldn't move if I were you," Ronan says behind me.
The last time I saw him, he was just a replacement.
The new bodyguard. My father's weaponized shadow.
But now, he's something else.
The executioner waiting for my answer.
"Where's Killian?" I ask, slowly turning.
Ronan's suit is black. Immaculate. Bulletproof in every sense. His hand rests easily at his side — too easily.
As if drawing a gun would be a reflex.
Not a choice.
"He's alive," Ronan replies. "For now."
My nails dig into my palms. "What did you do to him?"
His gaze doesn't blink. "I neutralized a threat. Isn't that what you wanted? To feel safe?"
I hate that part of me does.
