Chapter 19 · The Twelfth Name

"You forged this."

"Yeah." Jonah didn't blink.

I shoved the paper against his chest. The inked signature looked like mine—same slant on the N, same stupid loop on the a. Eight years old. Eight years of a funeral, unpaid bills, and believing my brother was dead.

"You put me on Celia's blood-pact list?"

"I put your name where I could control it."

"That's your defense?"

Rafe slammed against the filing cabinet behind me. Silver chain snapped tight around his chest and arms. His eyes flashed gold.

"Keep talking," he rasped. "I want to hear how this gets worse."

Jonah's fist closed around the chain. "Celia needed twelve names. She had eleven. If I didn't give her one, she'd choose Nia herself."

"So you volunteered me."

"I bought time."

"You bought eight years."

His mouth tightened. For once, he didn't argue.

I looked down at the signature again. My fingers had started shaking, so I folded the paper until the creases cut into my palm.

"You died on Langford," I said. "They found your wallet. Your blood. I stood at your funeral."

"The crash was real. My death wasn't.