I walked into the dining area, the smell of maple syrup and butter mocking the bitterness in my chest. Leo was sitting in a chair, swinging his legs with a vigor I hadn't seen in weeks. A plate of fluffy pancakes sat before him, but he was too busy talking to Nanny B to eat.
A guard stood at the edge of the room—silent, armed, and a constant reminder that this wasn't a home; it was a barracks.
"Mommy! Look!" Leo beamed, pointing toward the massive window. "Dad says the soldiers are here to play hide and seek with the bad guys. And look at my new dinosaur! He has armor just like the big cars!"
I forced a smile, but my heart felt like it was being squeezed by a cold hand. "It's very nice, Leo. Are you enjoying your breakfast?"
"I love it here!" he chirped, his eyes wide with innocent wonder. "The house is so big, and Dad says I can learn to swim in the big pool soon. Can we stay forever, Mommy?"
I felt a sudden, sharp sting of jealousy. In less than twenty-four hours, Asher had managed to buy the loyalty of a five-year-old with toys and pancakes. But under the jealousy was a deep, paralyzing fear. What if he adapts? What if the sight of men with guns becomes "normal" to him? I didn't want a soldier; I wanted a son.
I kissed the top of his head and turned away before he could see the moisture in my eyes. I needed to get back upstairs, to wash the scent of this "sanctuary" off my skin, but as I crossed the foyer, I saw a familiar figure slumped on a stone bench.
It was Marcus. His face was ash-gray, and a dark, blooming stain was spreading across the shoulder of his shirt. He was hissing through his teeth, his hand trembling as he tried to adjust his sling.
My anger at his betrayal was still there, but the surgeon in me was louder. I didn't think; I just moved. "Don't move, Marcus. You're tearing the internal sutures."
I ran to the small medical cabinet I'd seen in the hall and grabbed a fresh kit. I didn't care if I was mad at him—I couldn't watch a man bleed out on a designer floor.
"Chloe, you don't have to..." he started, his voice weak.
"Shut up," I snapped, expertly cutting away his shirt to reveal the angry, weeping wound. I worked in silence for a moment, my hands steady as I redressed the injury.
"I'm sorry, Chloe," he whispered, looking at the floor. "We kept it from you because the 'ghosts' Asher mentioned... They are everywhere. If the word got out that he survived the docks, they wouldn't have just come for him. They would have used you and Leo as bait to drag him out of the shadows. We had to let the world believe the Reed King was dead so we could find the traitor in the dark."
"And did you find him?" I asked, my voice cold as I taped the bandage down.
"Not yet," Marcus sighed. " That is the reason Asher is more worried than ever. The battle becomes very difficult to fight when you don't know who your enemies are."
I didn't answer. I stood up, gathered my things, and went upstairs to freshen up. I scrubbed my skin until it was red, dressed in a simple blouse and jeans, and headed back down for breakfast. I was determined to take Leo and find a quiet corner of this fortress.
But as I reached the ground floor, I didn't hear the clink of silverware. I heard Leo's high-pitched voice shouting, "Again! Again!"
I followed the sound out toward the rear courtyard, which opened into a massive, paved training ground. My blood ran cold.
Asher was standing there, his arms crossed over his chest, looking every bit the warlord. Before him, two dozen men were moving in synchronized violence—hand-to-hand combat drills that ended in heavy thuds and grunts of pain. And there, standing a raised stone ledge right next to Asher, was Leo. He was clapping his small hands, his eyes glued to the violence as if it were a Saturday morning cartoon.
"Again, Daddy! Make them do the kick again!"
The sight snapped something inside me. The fear, the jealousy, and the exhaustion boiled over into a white-hot rage.
"LEO! GET DOWN FROM THERE THIS INSTANT!"
My voice tore through the air, silencing the courtyard. The soldiers froze. Asher turned, his eyes narrowing as I stormed toward them like a whirlwind. I didn't care about the guns. I didn't care about the "Architecture." I only saw my son being groomed for a life of blood, and I wasn't going to let it happen.
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