Fury floods through me in a sudden rush. But in this moment, it’s not directed outward. It’s all directed inward. At myself.
This is my fault. I have one job as the oldest of the three of us, and that’s to keep my brothers safe. I should have been the one to stop Quinton from shooting Amora. I should have protected Frost, should’ve demanded that Quinton do that shadow shit on me instead.
But I let Frost down.
I’ve let them all down.
Even Amora.
Anger, despair, grief, hate… all of those emotions barrel into me at once. I can’t control them, just like Frost wasn’t able to control his wild, feral tendencies when he woke up. I feel like I’m about to burst out of my own skin, like all the rage in my chest is going to transform into a physical thing and tear me apart.
I can’t be in this room anymore. I can barely stand to be in my own body.
So I turn around and stalk past Amora, who’s standing silently by the open door. I avoid her gaze, and I avoid Malix’s questioning look as I pass through the work room to the staircase.
I bound up the stairs and out of the house before I boil over and burn it all to the ground.