7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Cruel Dream

Ivy covers the old engineering building. It’s a relic from a time when engineering consisted on nuts and bolts instead of superconductors and nanobots. The wind whispers secrets through their leaves, sending a shiver down my spine.

The moon hangs low, casting shadows of bare branches.

These ancient oaks have stood here for decades.

They’ve watched students come and go. They’ve watched people live and die. Now they’re watching us walk alone on a dark street, when we should be back in our dorm room studying. Or at least hanging out in the pub or the student union with friends.

I’m glad Daisy’s with me, even though I’m nervous about what she said. What exactly will Cormac require of us to get the information?

Hopefully nothing.

Daisy scans her student ID card, and a light on a black box turns green. I push open the heavy wooden door at her nod. It creaks ominously, echoing through the empty halls. The building is abandoned at this hour. I imagine there are usually students on the benches and at the computers. Now there’s only an unsettling silence. Our footsteps echo off the cold stone floors.

Cormac Stratford’s office is on the third floor. We climb the staircase, the wooden steps groaning under our weight. The air grows colder, the silence more profound. By the time we reach his office, my heart is pounding in my chest.

Daisy knocks, the sound sharp in the silence.

Then, without waiting, she opens the door, revealing a man with his sleeves rolled up as he leans over some complicated-looking piece of machinery. It’s similar to what Daisy looks like in her dorm, only on a much larger scale.

He looks up, his expression stoic even though I sense his surprise.

He gives Daisy a slow, intense once-over, his gaze traveling from her head to her toes. Tension crackles in the room. She wasn’t wrong about that. He does want her. His desire is palpable enough to make me feel like an intruder.

Then his gaze shifts to me.

There’s a flicker of recognition, but he doesn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he raises an eyebrow. “Can I help you?”

“I’m Anne Hill,” I say, my voice steady despite the nerves churning in my stomach. “I was a student of Professor Stratford. And…more than a student. I need to know where he’s buried.”

Cormac’s expression darkens. “I can’t tell you that.”

“Why not?”

“Many reasons.”

“I have a right to know.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. I loved him.”

“Then let his memory rest.”

“I can’t.”

“Professor Stratford,” Daisy murmurs. “Please.”

It’s strange to hear another man called by that name—Professor Stratford. It makes William’s memory pulse in the room, almost as if he’s here with us. But no, he isn’t. She’s talking to someone else.

It’s also strange to hear the soft, almost submissive voice she used.

As if she’s offering what he wants.

There are undercurrents strong enough to drown a person in here. I don’t know how they ever manage to actually do engineering.

He shakes his head. “No. It’s for her own good.”

“My own good?” I echo, frustration burning inside me. “I’m living in hell. I need closure. I need to say goodbye.”

His expression doesn’t soften. “I can’t help you.”

I take a deep breath, ready to argue, but Daisy steps forward, placing a hand on my arm. She looks at Cormac, her blue eyes steady. “Please. She needs to do this. We’ll do anything. Anything. ”

Cormac looks at Daisy, his expression unreadable.

The room falls silent, lust like a heartbeat in the room. I hold my breath, waiting for his response, wondering if I should even allow her to make this offer. Probably not, but I also can’t bring myself to speak the words to cancel it out.

“Not like this,” he says.

I let out a breath, half frustration, half relief.

Daisy turns to me, her blue eyes serious. “Show him.”

I hesitate, then pull the crumpled note from my pocket. The Society’s seal is embossed at the top, the paper worn and aged. I hand it to Cormac. He scans it, his brow furrowing.

“You see,” she says. “She’s in danger. They must be watching her. If you tell her where it is, they won’t have any reason to warn her away.”

“This wasn’t sent by the Society,” he says, his voice gruff.

I shake my head. “The seal—”

“And the paper,” Daisy adds. “It’s the same.”

Cormac curses under his breath. “I know who sent it. And since you insist on interrupting my work tonight, I’ll take you there. We’ll call it getting even.”

I exchange a glance with Daisy. “What does that mean?” I whisper.

She shakes her head. “No idea.”

He moves around the room, closing up a few mysterious boxes that contain wires, flipping switches, looking like he’s packing up to leave. At that point he’ll presumably take us to whoever sent the threat.

“Could this be a trap?” I ask. “He could be part of the Society.”

She shakes her head. “He hates them. And he can be ruthless, but not about something like this.”

It makes me wonder in what way he can be ruthless, but then Cormac arrives, shrugging into a coat. He’s built with more muscle mass than William. The word beefy comes to mind. William is strong, and even taller, but his musculature is more lean.

“Let’s go,” Cormac says.

We follow him out of the office, the door clicking shut behind us. The hall is dark, the only light coming from the dim glow of the exit signs. Cormac leads us down a narrow staircase, his footsteps echoing in the silence.

We step outside, the cold air hitting me like a slap.

The night is dark, the moon hidden behind thick clouds.

Cormac leads us through the back alleys of the university, past humming generators and towering air-conditioning units. The path is unfamiliar, the buildings looming above us like silent sentinels.

Even if Cormac isn’t leading us into a Society trap, it doesn’t feel precisely safe. The university is different at night, the shadows hiding secrets and dangers.

I stay close to Daisy, her presence a comfort in the darkness.

Cormac turns into a metal door, leading us down a narrow corridor, the walls close and oppressive. The air is thick with dust and dampness.

We reach a door.

He stops suddenly, turning to face us. His eyes are hard, his jaw set. “Listen,” he says, his voice low. “What you’re about to see... But it’s the truth. Maybe you do deserve to know. Either way, it’ll be done.”

I swallow, my heart pounding in my chest. “I’m ready.”

Daisy’s hand finds mine, her grip tight.

Cormac nods, then opens the door and disappears into the night. Darkness swallows him, and we hurry to catch up.

We emerge back into the night.

The old cathedral looms before us, its gothic spires clawing at the dusk-streaked sky like skeletal fingers. I remember it, vaguely, passing by on the student tour when I first got here.

It was built when Tanglewood University was still a private college, when it still had religious ties. Eventually it changed hands. Services continued for a while, even though they stopped being mandatory.

Eventually even those stopped.

Has the building been empty all this time?

It must have been.

The air is thick with the scent of decaying leaves and the distant promise of rain. A shiver runs down my spine as I take in the crumbling facade, the once-grand structure now a shadow of its former glory. The stained glass windows, once vibrant and whole, are now dull from decades of dust.

Daisy’s hand brushes against mine, a silent reassurance that she’s by my side. Her blue eyes scan the cathedral, her expression a mirror of my own unease. “This place gives me the creeps,” she whispers.

Me, too. “You don’t have to come inside.”

“Shut up,” she says with affection.

We step inside, the heavy wooden door creaking behind us.

The air is cool and damp, the silence broken only by the distant drip of water and the echo of our footsteps. The cathedral is a labyrinth of shadows, the faded grandeur of its vaulted ceilings and ornate columns marred by the passage of time and the encroachment of nature.

Cormac stands in front of us, not looking particularly concerned about the dismal state of the building. “Get out here.”

Is he talking to us?

No, he’s talking to someone else, someone inside the building.

Someone who sent me a letter.

Someone who knows more than they should about me.

A figure emerges from the darkness, his silhouette stark against the dim light filtering through the broken windows. William Stratford, his handsome features more rugged, his eyes burning with blue fire. He’s a commanding presence, his broad shoulders and muscular frame a testament to his strength.

A wave of dizziness washes over me, the world tilting on its axis.

I reach out, my hand grasping the cold stone wall for support. Daisy catches me. This can’t be true. I held him as he took his last breath. His death was reported in the news. I felt his loss like a physical wound.

“Hello, Anne.”

“Oh God.” Daisy’s voice.

I hear Cormac explaining, but he sounds tinny, as if I’m hearing him over a poor phone connection. “William needed to make the Society believe he was dead. It was either that or let them kill him.”

The options were to die…or to die.

A laugh bubbles up from deep within me, a sound of pure, unadulterated joy. I clap a hand over my mouth, trying to stifle the sound, but it’s no use. The laughter spills out, echoing through the cathedral, a stark contrast to the somber atmosphere. I sound hysterical. I am hysterical.

He takes a step closer—beautiful and strong and breathing.

More gaunt, I realize. With a shadow on his jaw. He was always shaved close before. He’s different, but he’s still alive.

“It’s okay, brave heart. I’m here now.”

A sob tears from my throat, raw and primal, clawing its way out from the depths of my soul. I press my fists against my chest, as if the physical pain can somehow dull the emotional turmoil raging within me.

“You,” I gasp, the word a choked whisper. “You, you, you.”

He comes close enough to touch. The same piercing eyes, the same chiseled jaw, the same commanding presence that had once captivated me. There’s a new tension in his stance, a wariness in his gaze that speaks of what he’s endured, what his fake death has cost him.

“Yes,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “Me.”

A dam breaks within me, a flood of emotions surging forth. Relief, joy, anger, sorrow—they all crash over me, wave after wave, threatening to pull me under. My fists beat against my chest, a futile attempt to contain the storm raging within me. Tears stream down my cheeks, hot and bitter, a testament to the grief I had carried, the loss I had mourned.

A sob escapes, the sound echoing through the cathedral, a haunting melody of heartache and release. I look up at him, my eyes swimming with tears, my breath hitching in my chest. And then I’m falling, dissolving into him, my body pressed against his. His arms wrap around me, a fortress of strength, a sanctuary I thought I’d lost.

My sobs come harder now, wracking my body, purging the grief and the pain, the fear and the sorrow. I cling to him, my fingers digging into his back, my face pressed against his chest. His heart beats steadily beneath my ear, a soothing rhythm that anchors me, grounds me in the here and now.

“I’m here,” he whispers, his breath warm against my hair.

I cry harder, the tears flowing freely, a river of release.

It’s cathartic, this letting go, this purging of the emotions I had kept bottled up for so long. I had mourned him, had grieved for him, had believed him lost to me forever. But he’s here now, alive and real and solid in my arms.

The bastard.

His hands stroke my back, a soothing touch that seems to calm the storm within me. His lips press against my forehead, a soft, gentle kiss that speaks of comfort and care.

I melt into him, my body molding to his, my breath syncing with his.

The world seems to fade away, the shadows of the cathedral retreating, the weight of my grief lifting. There’s only him and me, only this moment, only this connection that transcends time and space, that defies logic and reason.

It defies death.

I pull back slightly, my eyes meeting his. His gaze is intense, a swirling mix of emotions that mirror my own. There’s so much to say, so much to ask, so much to understand, so much to be afraid of.

For now, there’s only us.

Only him.

Only the impossible.

I’m not sure how long I cry. Long enough that I’m hollowed out inside. He holds me. When I pull back, I see familiar, beloved, handsome features bathed in the ethereal light, and a part of me wonders if this is real.

Maybe he isn’t alive.

Maybe this is just a cruel dream, a figment of my grief-stricken imagination. But the heat of his touch anchors me in the here and now.