Page 73 of Reverie

Amelia still remains silent.

“Basically, they’ve had a year-long head start,” Leo concludes.

I drop my head back, my thoughts spiraling. My first duty: Protect my family.

“Hunter.” Amelia’s soft voice cracks through my breakdown.

I don’t acknowledge her. Instead, I still my body, practically holding my breath.

“Hunter, we can’t reverse course at this point. We need to cut them off at the head. We need to find The Architect.” This comes from Misha.

The Architect. The Architect.

The name echoes in the deep recesses of my brain, and suppressed memories batter at my consciousness.

“You all have been running in circles trying to find The Architect. Meanwhile, Morris Winthrope is a direct threat to my family. He is the one we need to be focused on,” I say while staring at the wall.

Amelia responds, “Yes, that’s true. But the reality is that if The Architect is still around, then there’s nothing to stop the next Morris Winthrope or Benjamin Brigham. And we don’t know who The Architect is or where they are, but we do know that if the top falls, so will the rest.”

Misha begins to speak. “The tracking technology you used for Winter. We can implant that same tracker in Ella. A second one, for redundancy, plus our guy on the inside. If we give her to them, they will take her to The Architect. We’ll be able to take out both issues with one cut. We can end this.”

The room spins.

“No,” I grind out. “Find another way.”

If it were just me that they wanted to use, I’d consider it. But they want me to hand over Ella, and fuck if I will do that.

“Hunter, you’re being unreasonable. We’ll make it as safe for her as possible,” Misha says.

“You can’t guarantee shit!” I burst from my chair and spin to face Misha. “You may have fuck all to lose, but if you want my sister, you’re going to have to kill me.”

Misha takes a step toward me and my right hand twitches, eager to reach for my knife. “I don’t mind killing you, Brigham,” Misha spits. We’re chest to chest, and when Misha’s face cracks into a mocking smile, I ball my fist and smash it into his nose.

Misha takes a step back but is generally unaffected. He laughs, wiping blood away from his upper lip. “That was your one shot,” he says.

Still. Fucking. Grinning.

Leo huffs, and from the corner of my eye, I track as he leans against the wall farthest from us, arms crossed.

Rage at Misha blurs my vision, and I charge at him. I know he’s going to give back as much violence as I give him, but I don’t give a fuck.

I want someone to hurt.

I want someone to bleed.

“Hunter!” Amelia rushes to put herself between us, and Misha pushes her behind him. I grapple with him, and I have an advantage because the dress shoes he wears with his slacks cause his feet to become unstable on the slick floors.

“Stay back,” he says to Amelia. “This is between Hunter and me.” On the last word, he punches me in the stomach, and the air leaves my lungs.

His wife shifts, moving closer to us.

“Luna, sit this one out,” Misha says, not even winded.

I follow up with another punch. It’s a dirty one—right to his throat.

Misha makes a choked sound as he goes to the ground, grabbing his neck. I swing over him to sit on his chest, pinning his arms beneath my knees. My knife is out and pressed just under his right eye.

“I hate you,” I spit.