"You're shaking."
Veronica hadn't realized it until Serena was gone—until the glass panel no longer bore the weight of lies so twisted they stained the air.
Her hand trembled slightly, just enough for the journal pages to flutter in her grip like frightened birds. She stared down at them, willing herself to stop. To think.
But rage had a pulse. And hers was thundering.
She turned on her heel, storming out of the sunroom with the weight of two girls' ghosts on her shoulders—Amy's, and her own.
And in the hall just outside, the devil awaited.
"Veronica."
Lucas's voice cut through the silence like silk over steel.
She didn't stop. "Not now, Lucas."
But he was already reaching her. Already stepping into her path. And for once, he didn't obey.
"Veronica," he said again, lower this time, gaze unreadable. "You're not thinking straight. You can't let her bait you like this."
She stopped.
Slowly, she looked up at him.
And for the first time since she had entered this new body, Veronica Lin let her fury breathe.
"She drugged her, Lucas. Tortured her in some institution disguised as therapy. And then had the gall to call herself a survivor."
Lucas's jaw ticked. "I know."
"No, you don't." Her voice cracked like a whip. "You didn't see Amy in that video. She wasn't just broken—she was erased."
Her chest rose and fell fast. But Lucas didn't step back. Didn't look away.
Instead, he moved closer—too close—and caught her wrist before she could storm off again.
The moment his fingers wrapped around her, the world narrowed.
"Let go," she snapped.
But he didn't.
Instead, he pulled her sharply down the hallway, away from the direction of the security cameras. Through a back stairwell. Past a steel-reinforced exit. Until they were alone in a narrow alcove framed by brick and shadow.
And then, before she could protest—
He pressed her to the wall.
Not roughly.
Not violently.
But with a deliberate kind of intensity. Like if he didn't ground her now, she might collapse under the weight of too many truths.
"If you fall," Lucas said, voice quiet but ferocious, "I fall with you."
Veronica's breath caught.
The tension that existed between them—always simmering, always dangerous—tipped into something even more combustible.
His hand was still on her wrist. His other braced near her head. Their bodies inches apart, their breathing uneven.
"You think I don't see it?" Lucas murmured. "You're unraveling. Fast. And you think no one's allowed to stop you because you've survived worse."
Her voice was a whisper. "I don't need saving."
"I'm not here to save you."
He leaned closer.
"I'm here to bleed with you."
That stopped her.
For a beat, neither of them moved. Veronica could smell the rain on his jacket. Could feel the tension in his grip—not cruel, but desperate.
She blinked up at him. "Why?"
His gaze didn't falter. "Because I've been on the other side. I've had blood on my hands. And silence in my chest. I've seen people I love disappear in front of me. You're not the only one with ghosts, Veronica."
Her lips parted, but no sound came.
He drew back slightly, enough to let her breathe.
Then—almost too casually—he added, "There was someone once. Someone who tried to burn the past clean. And failed."
Veronica's brows drew together.
"Who?"
Lucas didn't answer right away.
But she saw it—the flicker of pain beneath the stone.
"A girl," he said eventually. "The first person I ever chose to protect."
Her heartbeat skipped.
"What happened to her?"
Lucas's jaw clenched. "I broke the wrong man's rules."
Then—nothing.
He closed the wall of silence again, as quickly as he'd opened it.
And she knew—he still wasn't saying the name.
A silence fell between them, thick with shared regrets. Then—
A storm cracked outside. And a flash of memory split her own mind like lightning.
Flashback.
Concrete floor. Cold as bone.
A traitor kneeling. A man with a trembling mouth and a tattoo of a horned serpent curling behind his left ear.
Veronica's pistol steady. Her words were colder than winter.
"You sold out my family to the Ortega cartel. Gave up routes. Names. Safehouses."
He begged.
She didn't listen.
One shot. Clean.
Blood on her heels.
And just before the body dropped—
She had seen someone else in the shadows.
A woman. Watching.
Not an enemy. Not a friend.
A messenger. Cloaked in black. Wearing no insignia—but eyes that saw everything.
The memory bled away as quickly as it came.
But the tattoo—the exact same tattoo—was on the man Serena had whispered to during the blackout gala.
Her voice turned sharp. "Serena's not working alone."
Lucas's brow lifted. "You've seen someone?"
"Not seen. Remembered." Her tone chilled. "From my other life. From a traitor I executed with that same mark."
Lucas stepped back just slightly. Enough to let her process. Enough to think.
"Whoever Serena's protecting," Veronica said, "isn't just another school elite. He's connected to the old underworld."
A pause.
Her mind worked rapidly, clicking pieces together like shrapnel from a former life. She knew that mark. Knew what it meant.
The Serpent Syndicate.
One of the seven sleeper factions that had disbanded after the Eastern Mafia Collapse. Officially extinct. But symbols didn't die—they waited.
"Lucas," she said quietly, "we need to find out who Serena reports to. Because if the Serpent Syndicate's resurfacing…"
He didn't answer.
Because just then, his phone buzzed.
No contact.
No ID.
Just one word flashing in red:
Compromised.
His expression shifted instantly. He picked it up without hesitation.
A voice on the other end, filtered through static. Familiar.
"You stayed too long," it said. "She's already uncovered the body count. Your face will hit the tabloids in less than twelve hours. The Zhao name isn't clean anymore."
Veronica's eyes flicked to his as his expression changed.
Not fear.
But calculation.
Lucas's voice dropped. "I need confirmation. Who leaked?"
Static.
Then a name.
A name that made his blood run cold.
He turned away slightly, jaw tight.
Veronica took a step forward. "Who was it?" she asked, barely breathing.
Lucas looked at her.
And for once—
He didn't lie.
But he didn't answer either.
Just two words:
"Pack a bag."
"What?"
"Tonight," he said, tone steel. "We're not safe here."
"Lucas, what did they say? Who was the leak—?"
He reached out, just briefly, and smoothed a strand of hair from her face like it might be the last quiet gesture he could afford.
His voice was calm. Too calm.
"I'll explain on the road."
Before she could protest, before she could grab his arm—
He was already walking away.
And behind them, thunder cracked again—like the sound of a gunshot cloaked in rain.
Veronica stood in the narrow corridor, pulse still racing, pages still clenched in one hand.
She had thought the ghosts of her past were buried.
But they were crawling back now.
And this time—
She wouldn't kneel.