Blood and Vows.

Chapter 2 — Buried Words

The cemetery was drenched in gray.

The clouds pressed low, swollen with rain that refused to fall, casting the mourners in a half-light that made every face look carved from stone. The air carried the sharp scent of damp soil and fresh-cut grass, the world smelling like endings.

Alex stood still among them, her black coat tugged by the bitter wind. The others shifted on their feet, adjusted umbrellas, wiped their eyes. She remained motionless, a statue staring at the polished coffin set over the open grave.

The casket was closed. It had to be. The explosion and fire had left nothing whole to see. Only fragments, ashes, and a ring burned black. Now Jacob’s smiling face stared up at her from a framed photograph resting on the coffin lid, his eyes caught forever in a moment of laughter.

It was cruel. That smile was a lie, a frozen reminder of a future stolen.

Her chest ached, hollow and restless. She pressed her fists against her thighs, nails digging into her skin hard enough to sting.

The priest’s voice carried across the graveyard, steady and solemn. His words spoke of eternal rest, of faith and peace. But all Alex heard was the scraping of shovels, the rustle of clothes, the coughing of a man standing two rows behind her.

She wanted silence. She wanted the world to stop, to acknowledge that Jacob was gone. But life went on, indifferent and merciless.

A hand touched her elbow. Emil. His dark hair was plastered by the wind, his eyes heavy with exhaustion.

“You don’t have to stay for the whole service,” he whispered. “You’ve barely slept these last nights. Come back with us. At least close your eyes for a while—”

“Don’t,” Alex snapped, her voice sharper than she intended. Emil’s hand fell away. His jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

Natalie stepped in, her cheeks streaked with mascara, her hands fidgeting with her phone like it might save her from grief. She was the youngest of their team, the hacker who never sat still, the one who laughed too loud. Today her voice trembled, but her gaze held firm.

“You’re shaking, Alex,” she said. “Look at yourself. You’re about to fall over. Please… let us take you home. Just one night.”

Home. The word was empty now. Home had been Jacob’s voice, his arms, his laughter in the dark hours. The apartment she went back to was just walls.

Alex shook her head. “I’ll rest when Sebastian Cortez is in the ground. Not before.”

Steve stepped closer, his broad shoulders casting a shadow over her. The team’s weapons expert had always been the quiet one, the one who spoke when it mattered. His voice now was steady, deep, edged with sorrow.

“Alex,” he said. “Revenge won’t bring him back. You know that better than any of us.”

Her eyes snapped to his, sharp and burning. “And doing nothing—will that bring him back?”

Steve’s mouth opened, then closed. He had no answer. He turned his gaze toward the grave instead, his fists clenched inside his gloves.

The coffin lowered. The ropes squealed under the weight, wood groaning as it descended. The thud when it hit the bottom of the grave was like a hammer striking Alex’s chest. She flinched, swallowing hard.

Memories assaulted her. Jacob brushing his hand against hers during briefings. Jacob smirking when she beat him at target practice. Jacob whispering against her hair that no mission was too dangerous as long as they were together.

Lies, she thought bitterly. All lies. He promised me forever.

Her vision blurred. For a moment, she thought she might collapse. A hand steadied her again—not Emil this time, but Stevens.

“You shouldn’t watch this part,” he said quietly.

“I have to,” she hissed. Her nails dug into her palm until she thought she’d draw blood.

Stevens studied her face, and something cracked in his expression. Not commander to agent, but man to woman he had watched grow under his command. His voice lowered.

“Alex… listen to me. We’re not certain Sebastian caused the collapse. There are questions. Things don’t line up.”

Her laugh was harsh, bitter, carrying through the air until a few mourners turned to stare. “Questions? He’s the cartel prince, Stevens. His shadow falls wherever there’s blood. And Jacob’s blood is on him.”

“I think you’re blinded by grief,” Stevens said, his voice firmer. “Not every trail leads back to him.”

She yanked her arm free from his grip, her body shaking. “Don’t you dare defend him to me. Don’t you dare.”

The priest’s final prayer ended in murmured amen. Dirt struck wood as mourners tossed handfuls into the grave. Each patter of soil was a nail in her chest.

Stevens looked away, jaw tight, but he didn’t argue further. His silence was worse than denial—it planted a seed of doubt, one Alex wanted to rip from the ground before it grew.

The service ended. Mourners drifted toward their cars, black umbrellas bobbing against the gray sky. Emil, Natalie, and Steve lingered.

Natalie wiped her face, stepping closer. “We’re all worried about you. You can’t carry this alone. This obsession—it’ll eat you alive.”

Alex’s voice came flat, empty. “Then at least I’ll die knowing I didn’t let him walk free.”

Emil exhaled sharply, frustration cutting his voice. “Listen to yourself. You sound like him, Alex. Like the monsters we fight. Jacob wouldn’t want this.”

Her head snapped toward him. “Don’t you tell me what Jacob would want.” Her tone cracked like a whip. Emil stepped back.

Steve muttered something under his breath, but she didn’t ask what. She turned away, her coat snapping in the wind.

The walk out of the graveyard was long. Gravel crunched under her boots, the sound sharp in the emptiness. Each step away from Jacob’s coffin felt like betrayal.

They’re lying to me.

The thought beat against her skull like a drum. Stevens. Emil. Natalie. Steve. All of them. They wanted her quiet, obedient, broken. They wanted her to accept Jacob’s death as a neat file in a cabinet. They wanted her to forget the truth that screamed inside her chest: Sebastian Cortez was guilty.

Her fists clenched tighter. She bit her lip until it bled.

At the gates, she stopped and tilted her face to the sky. The first drop of rain landed cold on her cheek. She didn’t flinch.

“I’ll find you, Sebastian,” she whispered. “And when I do, you’ll beg for the peace Jacob never got.”

Rain began to fall harder, soaking her hair, her coat, her skin. She let it. It felt like a baptism into war.

That night, her apartment felt colder than the graveyard. The walls seemed too close, the shadows too loud. She sat on the floor with Jacob’s burned chain in her hand. The ring bit into her palm until her skin broke, a small bead of blood mixing with the ash-stained metal.

Natalie had left three messages: Please call me. I can’t sleep. I’m scared for you.

Emil had called twice, his voice on the voicemail tight with worry. Don’t do this alone, Alex. You’re not thinking straight.

Steve had sent one text: Please don’t do anything stupid.

She ignored them all.

Stevens’s words replayed in her mind. Not every trail leads back to him. Lies. All of it. She had seen Sebastian’s shadow in every operation, every betrayal. Evidence didn’t matter—her gut screamed his name.

Sebastian Cortez.

Her breath came ragged. Her hands shook as she closed her eyes. “I’ll bury you too,” she whispered into the silence.

The words clung to the walls like smoke. Heavy. Irrevocable.

And for the first time since the morgue, Alex felt something other than grief. She felt purpose.