The door slammed behind Lilly like thunder—final, echoing.
Silence crawled in her wake.
Ava leaned back against the wall, cradling her mangled arm with a hiss. Her blood dripped onto the floor in slow, deliberate beats—like a countdown to something worse.
Sam stood motionless, heart still hammering from the chaos, her hands shaking, stitched with Lilly's blood and panic and something that tasted a lot like heartbreak.
"You okay?" she asked, voice raw.
Ava laughed—a sharp, bitter sound. "You really still care about me after she nearly tore my arm off?"
"You provoked her," Sam snapped, too tired to fake softness. "You knew what she was holding back, and you pushed anyway."
"She needed to crack." Ava looked up, eyes like storms. "Better she bleeds now than when it counts."
"Bleed now?" Sam stepped forward. "That wasn't strategy. That was spite."
Ava's mouth twisted. "You think I came back just to stir the pot? To relive ancient scars for fun? No, Princess. I came back because you're both in over your heads. And you're too close to her to see the fall coming."
Sam flinched, then steadied herself. "DON'T CALL ME THAT!"
"Oh?" Ava's smile was venom. "But isn't that what you are? Samaria Lowell, heiress of the Rios empire. Hidden in plain sight. Bodyguarded by the broken girl you're now playing house with. How romantic."
Sam's fists clenched.
"What do you want from me?"
Ava's gaze sharpened, calculating.
"To tell you something Lilly never will."
Sam's blood ran cold. "What?"
Ava stepped forward—slow, deliberate, like she knew every word she said was a blade.
"She didn't just survive Havana. She caused it."
Sam's heart stopped.
Ava's voice lowered, words sticky with venom and grief. "The bodies? The fire? The bloodbath they buried in headlines. That wasn't a mission gone wrong. That was Lilly going off-script. That was her choosing someone else—and people died for it."
Sam's breath stuttered. "You're lying."
"I wish I was." Ava looked away, her voice cracking for the first time. "I was there, Sam. I cleaned it up. I covered her tracks. I buried people. I burned entire networks to keep her safe."
"Why?" Sam's voice was barely a whisper.
"Because I loved her too."
The room spun.
"But she loved someone else," Ava added, bitter. "And she made a choice. She always makes a choice. One day soon, she'll have to make one again."
Sam's throat burned.
"She wouldn't hurt me."
"She might not mean to," Ava said softly, stepping back into the shadows. "But she will."
The silence swelled again.
And this time, Sam didn't fight it.
She just stood in it—broken open, stitched shut, shaking in the aftershock of a truth she hadn't asked for.
Outside, the wind howled.
Inside, something cracked.