33. 32

32

Bastian

Flashback…

T he last rays of the sun bled out across the horizon as I straightened my jacket, watching Nox and Thorne ready to leave with me.

“Looks like we're off to see the wizard,” Nox quipped, grabbing his car keys with a grimace that didn't quite reach his eyes.

“More like a wizard with a god complex,” Thorne muttered, his hands deftly buttoning up his shirt.

I gave them both a wry look, knowing too well the weight of the chains we all felt tightening around our wrists with every summons.

“Before we go, how about a little liquid courage?” I suggested, moving to the small bar in the corner of the room. I picked up the crystal decanter, pouring the amber liquid into three glasses with an unsteady hand, already feeling sick at the thought.

The vervain petals were already on the counter, and I dropped a few into each glass, more than normal, watching them float before slowly sinking. We had slowly built up a tolerance over the last few months, but it was still always awful having to force it down.

“Here’s to playing the game,” I said, lifting my glass. Thorne and Nox clinked there glasses with mine.

“Cheers,” Nox said as we all took it down in one go.

The familiar burn trailed fire down our throats. It was a pain we welcomed, a small rebellion in the form of self-inflicted agony. A few moments passed before we were able to gather our bearings once more. Our bodies drained and weak but standing.

“Alright, let's not keep the man waiting,” I said with a sigh as we all headed toward the door.

The warehouse came into view, its large, rusted doors yawning open, an abyss waiting to swallow us whole. But as we approached, something felt off. The usual hum of activity from Victor's changelings was absent. Instead, there was silence, a void that set my nerves on edge.

The quiet in the warehouse was a living thing, thick and heavy around us. We stood our ground, waiting for Victor. The shadows seemed to stretch and grow longer in here as the sun dipped below the horizon outside.

“Ah, there you are. I need you to go clean up a mess for me,” Victor’s voice cut through the stillness, each word sharp like shards of glass as he appeared from the opposite side of the room.

There was no sign of struggle or haste in his movements, just the cool, calculated steps of a man who owned the world and everything in it.

“Of course,” I replied, my voice steady despite the storm brewing inside me.

There was a ritual to this, a dance we'd done a hundred times before. Victor calls, we answer. He commands, we obey—or at least, we pretend to unless the compulsion was just too strong on certain days.

I glanced over at Nox and Thorne, seeing the same resigned resolve etched into their features.

“Good,” he said, his lips curling into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. “I trust you'll handle it with your usual… discretion.”

“Always do,” Nox said, but his words felt hollow even to my own ears.

Victor's next words fell like a guillotine. “Excellent. I need you to go make sure the Velikas are dead and clean up the mess.”

Dead. The word clawed at my insides, cold and final. My mind flashed back to Serina and her dad, their smiles warm as they sipped on milkshakes at Mickey's the last time we saw them.

I caught Nox's eye, the muscle in his jaw working overtime. His hands, hidden in the pockets of his pants, were probably clenched into fists. Thorne stood beside him, a statue carved from pain, his gaze flickering with the kind of fire that could either save us or doom us all.

“Excuse me for questioning, Victor,” I started, my voice low and steady despite the storm raging in my chest, “but I thought the Velikas were our assignment? Why are they dead? What happened?”

His casual shrug was a cold blade sliding between my ribs. “Well, I figured since they were in town, I could go ahead and take care of them, especially after they took out one of my changeling houses.” A hint of pride laced his next words, and it sickened me. “I hope it was painful; the group I sent after them were freshly turned, and I made sure to word my compulsion well. I told them to be monstrous… Hmm.”

That hum—it was like he savored the flavor of their suffering. He found joy in their pain, and that was something I couldn't stomach. Not now, not ever.

“Anyways, the group, or what was left of it, returned this morning and told me they made a mess of things,” he continued, oblivious—or indifferent—to the tightness all three of us carried.

I could see they were struggling with the revelation, each in their own silent battle.

“Now, I'm going to be very clear: Clean up the mess. They were in the woods off of Highway 16…” As he spoke, a shiver ran down my spine, the darkness of his command trying to seep into my soul. “Oh, and Bas, if you come across any hunters alive, kill them.” His eyes locked on mine, trying to drown me in his will.

But inside me, there was a war waging—one that he couldn't see. The compulsion wrapped around me, but I held firm. I'd been fighting these battles for far too long to falter now. My hand trembled from the resistance.

“Understood,” I managed to say, my voice hollow.

We all turned and left the warehouse, the silence among us as heavy as the darkening sky.

Nox flung himself behind the wheel with a controlled ferocity, and the engine roared to life under his hands. Thorne slid into the passenger seat in the car; the tension was palpable.

Nox's knuckles were white on the wheel, Thorne stared blankly ahead, and I… I drowned in thoughts of Serina, her smile at Mickey's, her laughter echoing in my memory. It was those fragments of light, moments of pure, untainted life, that we wanted to fight for. That we’d wanted to protect.

As Nox threw the car into gear and peeled out of the parking lot, the tires screeched a protest that mirrored the scream inside my own chest.

“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath, the word barely a whisper, but it echoed loudly in the confined space.

We were too late. The cold truth settled in my chest like a stone. We had failed.

I closed my eyes, leaning back against the seat, the leather cool despite the heat emanating from my body. We’d been reporting her movements to Victor for months, not by choice, but because we had to.

Yet some details, some moments of her life, we had managed to keep hidden from his prying eyes in recent weeks from the vervain.

It hadn't been enough to save her, though.

Now, she was dead… and her blood was on our hands.

“Bas?” Thorne's voice cut through the quiet, tentative and filled with a pain that matched my own. “You okay?”

“Am I okay?” I scoffed, opening my eyes to meet his gaze in the rearview mirror. “No, Thorne, I'm far from okay.” My words were laced with an anger that was really just fear painted with a different brush.

Thorne nodded, solemn understanding passing between us.

As the car hurtled down the highway, I leaned my head against the cool window, the glass fogging slightly with each breath.

And then I saw it.

“Stop!” The word tore from my throat, raw and ragged, as a body rolled out of the woods to our left.

Nox didn't hesitate; the brakes screeched, and the car jerked to a halt. We spilled out onto the pavement, the night air sharp against my skin, carrying the iron tang of blood.

We raced to the ditch, the gravel crunching underfoot, each step heavy with dread. There she lay, crumpled in the dirt. A jacket, a makeshift bandage, clung to her throat, darkened with blood that seeped through the fabric.

She was alive. Barely.

“Help me,” I said, and without another word, we gently eased the jacket away, assessing the damage with hands that had caused far too much of it themselves. The wound was vicious.

Fuck.

“Stay with us, Serina,” Thorne murmured, though her eyes had already fluttered closed.

“Let's move,” Nox urged, his voice a low growl.

I scooped her up in my arms, and we moved back to the car. I climbed into the backseat and cradled her in my arms. Nox and Thorne were a blur of motion, slamming their doors shut as we took off down the road again.

Serina's head rested uneasily in my lap, her body curled up. My fingers combed through her messy hair. Victor's compulsion snaked around my conscience, tempting, demanding—kill her. I could feel it writhing in the depths of my mind, a dark whisper that sought to overpower my will.

But with every gentle stroke of her hair, I pushed back, shaking my head as if to dispel the vile thought. I wouldn't give in. I couldn't.

“Almost there,” Nox called over his shoulder, his voice cutting through the heavy silence.

A few minutes later, Nox whipped the car into the ER entrance. I quickly climbed out of the car and rushed toward the hospital. The automatic doors of the ER whooshed open as we burst through.

“Help us!” Nox barked at the nearest nurse, startling her from her task. “She's been attacked. It's bad.”

I clung to Serina, unwilling to let her slip from my grasp even as we transferred her onto a gurney the nurse rushed over to me. Her breaths were shallow, too quiet against the clamor of beeping monitors and urgent voices.

“Name?” A nurse snapped into focus before me, her eyes darting between the clipboard and Serina's ashen face.

“Eliza Bennett,” I lied smoothly, both of their most recent false identities rolling off my tongue like a prayer. “Her cousin, Michelle, she's the emergency contact. Here’s her number.”

“Is she on the way?” she pressed, already scribbling down the information, her brow furrowed in concentration.

“Should be,” Thorne chimed in, the lie as easy for him as it was necessary.

As they wheeled Serina away, I felt the weight of responsibility settle heavily upon my chest. The doors swung shut behind us as they wheeled Serina away, the finality of their click echoing the urgency of our departure.

We couldn't linger here, couldn't risk being seen, being questioned.

“Come on,” Nox muttered, as he turned to the nurse. “Forget we were here,” he said, and her eyes glazed over from compulsion as we slipped away like ghosts, leaving the nurse looking around confused.

Outside, the cool night air wrapped around us as I pulled out my phone and dialed Serina’s emergency contact number. Her cousin answered on the second ring.

“Hello?” she called through the line.

I masked my accent. “Hi, is this Eliza Bennett's emergency contact?”

“Yes, is she alright? What’s happened?”

“Mrs. Bennett is in critical condition. Get to Healthbridge Hospital as soon as you can.” I hung up before she could respond.

We stood huddled together by the car, the silence stretching until it was almost too much to bear.

“We can't let Victor get to her again,” I said, breaking the stillness, my voice more steady than I felt.

Nox and Thorne nodded, their expressions hardening. “We won't,” they agreed in unison.

We climbed back into the car, the engine coming to life with a roar that matched the newfound purpose coursing through us. Now, we weren't just fighting to be free of Victor; we were fighting for Serina. For her right to live, to laugh, to love in a world that had shown her little kindness.