Page 186 of Reverie

“You sure you want to do this, H?” Leo’s voice comes from behind me, and I think about his words.

My greatest desire is to burn Isla Cara and all the depravity that comes along with it to the ground, but am I ready?

I look at my hands, seeing the blood of the dozens I’ve killed on them.

“I’m ready for this to be over,” I say and turn around to face my best friend. From the bags beneath his eyes, he looks tired, but there’s a flash of energy in his expression. For all I’ve experienced on Isla Cara at the hands of my father and his friends, Leo has gone through his own version of Hell there.

What could our lives look like on the other side of this bullshit?

Sighing, Leo claps his palm onto my shoulder and says, “Well, let’s fucking go.”

“Not so fast,” Luna says, popping back into the room and halting our progress to the boats. “Leo, you’re on Ella.”

When she says the words, Leo lets out a strange, choked sound. “Excuse me?”

She smiles, beaming. “You’re on Ella duty. Make sure to keep her on the yacht so she doesn’t run off to get herself into danger. Think you can handle her?”

The silence is awkward, and the longer it goes on, the more ideas start spinning in my brain.

Ideas that I don’t like one fucking bit.

“No problem,” Leo says. Turning to me, he says, “Keep yourself alive.”

I can’t form words because I know I’ll either choke on them or lose my shit, so I nod instead.

Keegan, Patrick, and I split up into three separate speed boats and head to the shore of Isla Cara. We dock at the deep alcove that’s used for all the island’s deliveries, including human beings, several yards from the beach entrance to the veranda that’s seen so many horrors.

In the west, the sun has passed the horizon, casting a deep purple glow as the stars come out.

It’s a dry, breezy night. Perfect in so many ways.

Dimly, I’m aware that we’re near the spot where I ended Ominira’s life.

It’s a fitting type of poetry when I think about it.

“Everybody ready?” I call out.

Patrick sounds slightly manic when he says, “Let’s get these fuckers.”

Let’s fucking do this.

We all head off in different directions—Patrick goes to one end of the mansion with the chain of bombs in his arms, and Keegan goes to the opposite. All of the servants should be heading to the yacht so they can escape to safety, alerted to the plan by Misha’s people on the inside.

Finally, I can give them a way out—an actual way out.

I head deeper into the alcove toward the underground crypts, calling on my fuzzy memory to bring me to where I need to be. There aren’t any maps of the underground matrix, but I’ve been here more than once, even if that time of my life was a haze of drug-induced amnesia. I may lack confidence in some of the details around Isla Cara and my time on this island, but if I know anything to be clear, it’s this: if Morris Winthrope is anywhere, he’s in the crypts below.

I push open the rusty door embedded into the rock face and jam it open with a few palm fronds. Clicking on my headlamp, I take cautious steps toward the center of the maze. Although there likely aren’t very many people down here, I know that there will be at least a few guards.

Not all The Legion members are here tonight, but enough of them are to make a difference—just around seventy people. Judging from the moans coming from the direction of the main ballroom, one of the infamous fuck-offs is happening.

I guess my father being dead doesn’t matter too much to them.

Still, it’s the week of The Hunt, and in the memory of Luna here all those years ago, I remember the gathering of men and their murmured whispers.

The Architect was there. I know it.

Maybe I’ll get lucky and they’ll be here now.