Fault Lines

[Rowan's POV]

The room was small, the air thick with dust and the lingering scent of damp wood. A single candle flickered on the crate I had repurposed as a table, casting long, wavering shadows along the cracked walls. This was home now—at least for the next few days.

I exhaled, rolling my shoulders to ease the tension coiling in them. It had been a week since I brokered the alliance with Valerie, that venom-tongued bitch. Even now, the thought of her sent irritation prickling beneath my skin. But the deal was made, and it held. That, at least, was something.

A lot had happened since then. Plans laid out, schemes built layer by layer. My mind had been running itself raw, always moving, always calculating. I could still see the pieces shifting across an invisible board, alliances solidifying, tensions stretching thinner by the day. The Spiders were in. That part felt certain now—unshakable.

But certainty didn't mean safety.

Tomorrow, we would take a son from one of the higher-ups. A move that would tip the scales, force a reaction. The war was accelerating, slipping past the point of no return. And despite all the planning, all the preparation, I couldn't shake the gnawing question—were we truly ready?

Probably not. But that wouldn't stop us. It couldn't. I ran a hand through my hair, letting out a slow breath, grounding myself in the silence. And then—

A voice.

Low, familiar, pulling me back to the present. A reminder of why I had shut myself away in this room in the first place.

Handy's voice cut through the dimly lit room, laced with skepticism. "And yer sure we can trust 'em to do their part later?" His words hung heavy in the stale air, carrying the weight of every betrayal we'd ever endured.

I leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, meeting his gaze without flinching. "As much as you can trust anyone in this godforsaken place." My voice came out steady, but even I could hear the tightness beneath it. "I've worked with him before. He's not clean, but he's not as bad as the others. I think we can trust him."

Handy exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. "Alright," he muttered, though his tone was far from convinced. Then, with a sharp glance, he added, "But if he fucks us over, it'll be on yer."

I nodded, already knowing the weight of that risk. If this went wrong, it wouldn't just be my name on the line—it would be all of us.

Pushing off the wall, I made my way toward the door, the thin wooden barrier between me and the rest of my people. Beyond it, they were waiting—tense, restless, filled with doubts they barely bothered to hide anymore. They didn't trust me the way they used to. Not completely.

It didn't matter.

Trust wasn't what made people move. Fear did. Desperation did. And when the time came, when I gave the order— They would move.

"You don't have to sneak off for your little heart-to-hearts, you know. We won't judge."

Tobias's voice cut through the room, laced with amusement, his smirk widening as he lounged against the wall. He was watching us, eyes gleaming with mischief, but there was always something sharper beneath—something calculating.

"Very funny, little man." I shot back, letting my voice dip just enough to remind him where he stood. Tobias liked to toe the line, testing how far he could push before someone pushed back.

His smirk didn't falter. "What'd you two talk about anyway?"

There it was. The edge. He was prodding, not just teasing.

"The upcoming attack," I answered, my tone as casual as I could manage. No point hiding it. It was just one small step in a much bigger game, and by this time tomorrow, it would already be set in motion.

"You mean the kidnapping?" His tone sharpened slightly. Questions, always questions with him. Tobias had been undermining me for a while now, circling like a wolf testing for weakness. Maybe it was time I reminded him exactly where he stood.

"Yeah." I met his gaze without wavering. "I mean the kidnapping." My voice was calm, steady, unbothered. He could pry all he wanted, but he wasn't going to rattle me.

Before he could say anything else, Handy's voice cut in. "Finn, a word?"

I turned my head just in time to see Finn tense before nodding. He still carried grief in his posture, his movements stiff, like he hadn't quite decided if it was grief or anger that weighed him down more. At this point, they were probably the same thing.

He followed Handy into the room we had just left, the door clicking shut behind them. I sighed, dragging a hand down my face. This—this whole thing—wasn't good for anyone's sanity.

"Talia," I said, exhaling as I turned my focus back to the present. "You remember the plan for tomorrow, or do you want to go over it one more time?"

Talia's head snapped up, her eyes locking onto mine, carrying that same unshakable readiness. No hesitation. No doubt. At least someone still trusted me to lead.

"It's simple enough," Talia said, her tone flat. "We sweep in, take the guy, leave some traces, and get out. Right?"

I watched her, searching for any hint of doubt, but as always, she was steady—calm in a way that almost irritated me. "Yeah," I said, exhaling. "That's the most simplified version, but yeah."

Simple. That's what we kept telling ourselves. A clean job, in and out, no loose ends. But there was nothing simple about war.

We'd wait outside the brothel, keep low, keep quiet. The second our target stepped out, we'd move—fast, efficient, no time wasted. Leave just enough behind to make it look like the Hounds were responsible. A smear of blood, a discarded emblem, a trail leading straight to their doorstep.

And with Valerie's informants whispering in the Angels' ears, the whole thing could spiral into exactly what we needed—a war inside the war, three factions clawing at each other while we slipped between the cracks. The more chaos, the better. The more they were distracted, the weaker they became.

That was the goal. Break them apart. Make them bleed each other dry. It wasn't clean. It wasn't safe. But it was necessary.

"I still don't get why I can't tag along." Tobias's voice cut through the room, sharper than usual, laced with something just short of defiance.

"Because this needs to be fast and low-key," I said, leveling him with a look. "Even bringing the Spiders is already pushing it, and I can't afford to fuck this up."

His frown deepened, lips pressing into a tight line, but he didn't argue. Didn't have to. I could feel the weight of his frustration settling between us, unspoken but heavy.

I exhaled through my nose, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of it. The tension in the room was my doing—I knew that much. I had made too many choices alone, walked ahead instead of alongside, and now here we were. Accusations hanging in the air, the cracks between us widening.

And maybe they were right to feel left out. Maybe they were right to doubt me. But the choice had already been made, and I couldn't waver now.

I let my gaze drift across the room, landing on Elias and Alicia, huddled together on the floor, heads bent over a battered old board game. Where the hell had they even found it? The sight of them—so focused, so lost in their own little world—was almost jarring against the backdrop of everything else.

For a second, just a second, it felt like another life. A life where things like board games and friendly rivalries still mattered. A life that war hadn't swallowed whole.

My relationship with these two had once been effortless, built on shared laughter, late-night talks, and the quiet comfort of knowing we had each other. But war changes things.

Slowly, relentlessly, it had carved fault lines between us, turning what was once unshakable into something fragile. These days, it felt like we were just coexisting, each of us caught in our own battles, unable—or maybe unwilling—to reach across the growing distance.

Especially with Elias.

I still loved him, of course—I always would. But love alone wasn't enough to bridge the space between us, not when he stood on the other side of my revenge, unwilling to follow where I led.

His refusal, his belief that there was still some way out of all this without more blood, had driven a quiet wedge between us. I knew he wasn't wrong to want something better, but I couldn't walk that road with him.

And I wasn't sure if we'd ever find our way back to how things used to be.

Maybe we wouldn't. Maybe we couldn't.

I could only hope.

With a quiet sigh, I pushed the thought aside and took a step forward, closing the distance between us. As I neared, both Elias and Alicia turned their heads toward me, their expressions unreadable—equal parts confusion and curiosity, as if they hadn't expected me to approach at all.

I lowered myself onto the floor beside them, glancing down at the worn game board between them, the faded pieces scattered across its surface.

"What are you playing?" I asked, my voice softer than I'd meant it to be.

For a moment, neither of them answered. Just looked at me. Like they were trying to figure out what this was, why I was here. Hell, maybe I was wondering the same thing.

After a brief silence, Elias finally spoke, his voice quieter than I remembered. "Beasts and Bastions." There was no excitement in his tone, none of the easy warmth he used to have when we talked. Just careful distance. This runt.

I let the words settle before replying, keeping my tone casual. "Where'd you even get the board?"

They exchanged a glance, hesitation flickering between them like they weren't sure why I was asking. Like they weren't sure why I was here at all. What, I couldn't talk to them without needing something?

Alicia was the one who answered. "We had to improvise," she said, brushing her fingers over the edge of the board. "Found an old one here and made the figures out of whatever we could find."

I turned to her, watching the way her hands hovered protectively over their makeshift game, the way Elias kept his eyes down. They still weren't sure if they should let me in.

I hesitated before speaking, the words feeling unfamiliar on my tongue. "Can I play?" The question came out quieter than I intended, laced with something I couldn't quite name—doubt, maybe. Or something closer to reluctance. I wasn't sure what I was doing here, why I was suddenly trying to bridge a gap I'd spent so long pretending didn't exist.

Elias looked at me, then flicked his gaze toward Alicia, like they were sharing some silent conversation I wasn't privy to. A question passed between them, something unspoken but understood.

"Sure… I guess," he finally said, his voice carrying the slightest edge of hesitation.

Not exactly an invitation, but not a rejection either.

It was something.