The Vote
[Talia's POV]
I woke to the first pale light of dawn stretching across the horizon, painting the sky in soft hues of gold and violet. The air was crisp, carrying the last whispers of the night's chill—a perfect morning for plotting revenge. Not mine, though. That would have to wait.
I pushed myself up from the stiff mattress, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. My hair was a tangled mess, sticking up in odd directions, and I grimaced as I ran a hand through it. Crossing the room, I stopped in front of the makeshift mirror—a slab of polished metal bolted to the wall. The reflection staring back at me looked as worn as I felt, but there was no time to dwell on it. I needed food.
Making my way to the main room, I scanned the space for something, anything, to eat. My stomach gave an impatient growl as I searched through the meager supplies. And then I found it.
Bread. Stale, three-day-old bread.
I sighed, rubbing my temple. "Seriously?" I muttered to no one in particular. I thought we were past this. Past choking down rock-hard scraps like we were still desperate.
Suddenly, the quiet of the room was interrupted by the sound of footsteps, slow and heavy against the worn wooden floor. I turned my head, catching sight of Tobias as he shuffled in, looking just as wrecked as I felt. His face was drawn with exhaustion, his hair a mess, and his eyes barely open. If I didn't know any better, I'd think he was sleepwalking.
I exhaled sharply, rolling my shoulders to shake off the lingering stiffness. The dull ache in my ribs still flared up now and then, a persistent reminder of last night's disaster. But at least my awakening had its perks—my body could heal nearly twice as fast as a regular person's.
"Tobias, why the fuck is there nothing to eat?!" I called out, my voice a mix of exasperation and teasing. The words came out louder than I intended, bouncing off the walls of the small space.
He barely spared me a glance, still half-asleep, before cracking a lazy smirk. "Because you ate it all, you fat pig," he shot back, then burst into laughter as he made his way over.
"Oh, you'll see what this pig can do."
Before he could react, I swung a punch at his gut, reinforcing my arm just enough to make him feel it. I had to be careful, though—even after my first
---
A while later, we all gathered in the main room, the air thick with unspoken thoughts. The tension sat heavy between us, settling into every breath, every hesitant glance exchanged across the dimly lit space. No one spoke, but the weight of what was coming loomed over us like a storm cloud waiting to break.
This discussion—this moment—could decide our future. Life or death.
Rowan stood at the center, his presence commanding, yet there was something different about him now. A heaviness clung to his shoulders, his usual composed demeanor cracked at the edges. He cleared his throat, his gaze flickering over each of us before he finally spoke.
"So, thank you all for being here," he began, his voice steady, but there was an edge of something else beneath it—regret, maybe. "I know what happened yesterday was a massive failure on my side… and for that, I'm sorry." His jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides before he forced himself to continue. "I was reckless. I lost control. I dragged you all into something personal, something that never should've clouded my judgment as a leader. And I failed you."
There was a pause, thick and suffocating. The silence stretched, wrapping around us like a noose. I studied his face, searching for sincerity in his words. Did he truly regret it? Or was this just something he felt he had to say?
From my left, a voice broke through the quiet. "It's alright, chef. I would've done the same," Handy said, his tone brimming with understanding. His easy acceptance sent a ripple through the group, some nodding slightly, others simply watching Rowan, waiting.
Rowan exhaled, a small nod of acknowledgment. "Thank you, Handy," he murmured, but his expression darkened. "That said, what I'm about to ask might create conflict. So I need you all to think carefully before you react. I ask—no, I expect—you to act like the adults you are."
He took a deep breath, steadying himself, then let his next words hang in the air.
"As you already know, I won't let these bastards walk away from what they did. I'll hunt them down, one by one, until their heads lie at my feet." His voice had sharpened now, cold and filled with quiet fury. "But this isn't just about me. This is about you. About all of us. I won't force anyone into this. You have a choice."
He straightened, his gaze piercing as it swept across the room.
"So decide." A pause. A challenge. "Who's with me?" His voice was steady, unwavering. "And who's not?"
"Rowan, you really plan to split the group over this?" Tobias's voice cut through the heavy silence, carrying an edge of disbelief. His question wasn't just about strategy—it was about loyalty, about the foundation we had built together.
Rowan didn't hesitate. "Yes," he answered, his tone firm, unshaken. "I won't force anyone into this fight if they don't want to be here." His gaze flicked to Tobias, leveling him with an unspoken warning. "Tobias, this will be bloody. Death might be just around the corner."
Tobias's usual easygoing demeanor faltered for a fraction of a second. His face darkened, his expression shifting into something unreadable. But then, just as quickly, he forced a grin—one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Alright, alright," he muttered, rolling his shoulders like he was shaking off the weight of the decision.
I exhaled slowly, my focus shifting back to Rowan. I searched his face, trying to decipher the storm raging beneath the surface. I could see the regret there, lingering in the way his jaw tensed, the way his fingers curled into his palm as if restraining something. But deeper—beneath the layers of restraint and apology—I saw it. The rage. Raw and boundless. A reflection of my own.
A quiet understanding settled between us. This wasn't just vengeance. This was something deeper, something that had festered for years, something that wouldn't be satisfied until it was drenched in blood.
Rowan inhaled sharply, snapping his indifferent mask back into place. "Alright, enough talk," he said, his voice cool and detached. "Who's in?"
He let the question hang in the air, his gaze scanning each of us, waiting.
I raised my hand without hesitation. It would be hypocritical not to. After all, when the time came for my revenge, I had no doubt that Rowan would stand beside me. At least, I hoped he would.
But as we waited, the silence stretched on, suffocating and absolute. No one moved. No hands were raised.
Rowan exhaled through his nose, a slow and measured breath, though I could see the tension settling into his shoulders. His gaze swept over us, unreadable, before he spoke again. "Who's against?"
For a moment, no one reacted. Then, suddenly, a few hands shot up.
Elias. Alicia. Tobias.
I hadn't expected that.
Handy's hand remained conspicuously down, but it wasn't commitment—just hesitation. His face was pinched with uncertainty, eyes darting between Rowan and the others. Despite running out of options, despite always being the one who followed orders, even he wasn't ready to make a choice yet.
Rowan's expression didn't change, but I knew this moment was heavier than he let on. These were the people who had stood by him for the last five years, the ones he had fought beside, bled beside, protected. And now, one by one, they were turning against him.
His voice remained steady. "Who abstained?"
This time, only one hand rose. Handy. His only hand, trembling just slightly.
"I'm sorry," he muttered, though Rowan hadn't asked for an apology. His face carried the weight of it anyway, guilt settling deep in his eyes.
The room felt uneasy, thick with something close to shame. No one wanted to be the one to oppose Rowan, the man who had led us through hell and back, the man who had carried burdens no one else could shoulder. And yet, here we were.
Tobias was the first to break the silence. He let out a slow breath, glancing at Rowan with something like regret. "Sorry, Rowan. You know how I feel about this."
Rowan nodded once, curt, though something flickered in his eyes.
I frowned. Know how he feels? Was I missing something?
Then, a softer voice. Elias. "Bro," he started hesitantly, shifting on his feet. "I think this is too dangerous. After what happened yesterday… do you plan to die here?"
Rowan's jaw tightened, his eyes hardening at his brother's words. There was no anger there, no outburst—but disappointment settled in, unmistakable. I wondered if, deep down, he had already expected this.
Elias didn't have it in him.
He was too gentle, too kind to take revenge for a mother he didn't even remember.
My gaze flickered to Handy—the only one who had yet to take a side. He felt it, the weight of my stare, and when his eyes met mine, he swallowed hard, guilt flashing across his face. He wasn't one to hesitate often, but now, caught between loyalty and reason, he looked torn.
Finally, he let out a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck before speaking. "Chef," he muttered, his thick accent rolling off his tongue, "I'd follow ya to Hell and back, no question 'bout it. But…" He hesitated, his fingers clenching into a fist before he continued, his voice steadier this time. "This could put Alicia in danger. And that's somethin' I can't risk. I'll help where I can, but I ain't gonna throw her into the fire."
So that was it. He had chosen the middle path, walking the tightrope between duty and personal bonds. I couldn't fault him for it. Handy's protectiveness over Alicia was no secret, and he wasn't the type to gamble with the lives of those he cared about.
At the mention of her name, Alicia stirred. She lifted her head from where she had been staring at the ground, her eyes glistening, raw with unshed tears.
"Rowan," she said, her voice strained, trembling with restrained emotion. "You know where this ends. Revenge—it doesn't heal. It doesn't fix anything. It only takes. It only consumes." Her jaw tightened as she fought to keep herself together, her hands balled into fists at her sides. "Don't do this."
Rowan's face remained unreadable, but something in his eyes shifted—something distant, almost resigned. He exhaled slowly, his voice a quiet force when he finally spoke.
"I know, Alicia. I know." His words were measured, steady. He wasn't denying the truth of what she said, but neither was he willing to let it change his path. His hands curled at his sides, fingers twitching as if grasping something unseen. "But this… this is a debt long overdue. And I'll be damned if I don't come and collect it."
The room fell into silence again, a thick, suffocating quiet that pressed down on all of us. No one spoke. No one moved. each member stuck in the quiet contemplation of the implications this would have on our future.