Chapter 167
Cassian
The air in my room felt thicker than usual, muffled, like the walls themselves were listening.
I sat behind my desk, fingers steepled beneath my lips, my gaze frozen on the untouched tablet in front of me. The surveillance footage looped on its dark screen—Callan’s last moments, grainy but horrifyingly vivid. I have watched it twenty-three times. Maybe more. Each time, the bile crawled up my throat, and the fury behind my ribs ached to rupture skin.
And yet, the worst part wasn’t the footage.
It was Elvira.
She didn’t know. Not fully. But she deserved to.
I ran a hand down my jaw, my fingers snagging on the rough stubble that had grown more than I liked. I hadn’t slept well since Jaxon’s quiet spiral began. He hadn’t spoken to anyone. Not even me. And I’d watched Elvira move through the halls like she was made of shattered porcelain. Just fragments.
I told myself I didn’t care. That my likeness with her didn’t mean I owed her anything. That my care was a product of shared trauma, not tenderness.
But now, I knew that was bullshit.
With a curse under my breath, I rose from my chair and snatched the tablet. My footsteps echoed down the corridor, every light above me humming faintly like they disapproved of what I was about to do.
Elvira’s door was cracked. Odd. She never left it like that.
I paused outside it, listening for movement. Nothing. No rustling, no breathing, no humming like she sometimes did when she thought no one was near.
I knocked softly, then pushed it open.
She was standing by the window, arms folded across her chest, eyes vacant as they watched the twilight fold over the compound. Her long hair was braided loosely down her back, but strands had escaped to curl along her jaw. She didn’t flinch when I entered. Didn’t even turn.
“Elvira. You’re back.”
“I heard you coming,” she said flatly. Her voice had lost that fire, that bite. It unsettled me more than I expected.
I shut the door behind me and crossed the room slowly. “We need to talk.”
“Is this about Jaxon?” she asked, not facing me. “Because if it is, I don’t want to—”
“It’s not,” I cut in. “It’s about Callan.”
She went still. Her fingers clenched slightly against her arm. “Callan?”
“Yeah,” I said, voice lower. “I know you’ve been wondering.”
“I assumed he escaped.” Her tone was hollow, too casual. “He always had that rogue instinct.”
“He didn’t escape.”
The silence that followed pressed against my ears. Her head tilted, just slightly. Then, with a slow turn, she faced me.
Her eyes searched mine, unreadable at first. But I saw the moment it shifted. The flash of hope flickered, quickly swallowed by dread.
“What do you mean?” she asked. “Cassian. Where’s Callan?”
I walked over to her bed and sat, angling the tablet in my hands like it might burn me. “You should sit down.”
“I’m fine standing.”
“Elvira—”
“Play it,” she snapped. “Just play it.”
I tapped the screen. The footage started.
The image was grainy and dark, a backyard lit only by a flickering bulb. Callan’s silhouette appeared from the left, limping, his shirt torn and soaked. He paused, back to the wall, breathing hard.
Then another figure emerged.
Carlton.
Wearing the same cruel smile I’d seen too many times as a boy.
Elvira’s breath caught.
“Is that—?”
“Watch.”
Callan tried to run. He made it four steps.
Carlton raised a hand, and something invisible slammed Callan into the opposite wall. Bone cracked. Callan shouted.
Then Carlton leaned in, said something we couldn’t hear.
Callan spat in his face. Carlton lifted a blade. Silver.
The moment it pierced Callan’s chest, Elvira dropped to her knees beside the bed. Her hands clutched the comforter like it was the only thing tethering her to this reality.
I paused the video.
She was shaking. But not crying.
“Elvira—”
“I left him,” she whispered. “When I was kidnapped, he told me to go. I didn’t want to—I told him—he promised to come after me.”
She looked up, and her voice cracked.
“He didn’t come back.”
I crouched beside her.
“You couldn’t have saved him.”
“I could’ve tried!”
“He told you to go. You honored that.”
Her gaze drilled into mine. “Don’t make excuses for me.”
“I’m not,” I said quietly. “But I needed you to know. He didn’t deserve to vanish without someone mourning him. And you were the only person I trusted to mourn him right.”
Something in her eyes softened, but only for a heartbeat.
Her voice was tight when she asked, “What does that mean? His siblings will mourn him aswell”
I looked away.
Because you’re the only person who deserves to know the truth.
Because I needed to see if you’d remember that Callan died saving you, and if you’d still look at me the same.
Instead, I said, “Because it’s time you start asking the right questions.”
Her brows pulled together. “What do you mean?”
“Carlton,” I said. “You saw him in the video. And he’s not working alone.”
Her voice dropped. “You’re saying the felen’s involved?”
I didn’t answer.
Elvira pushed to her feet. “Is she?”
“I don’t know yet,” I said carefully. “But Carlton wouldn’t act without backing. And whatever it is… it’s dangerous. Strategic. Callan was part of something. He knew too much. That’s why they silenced him.”
Elvira paced to the far end of the room, her hands clenched. “We can’t tell Alpha Jaxon yet.”
My brows lifted. “Why not? Do you remember him now?”
“Hell nah. But because he’s not thinking straight,” she snapped. “He’s mourning a cursed bond, sulking in his chambers like the world’s ended. If we tell him now, he’ll go after Carlton without a plan. And then he’ll die.”
I studied her. “So what’s your plan?”
She turned, her eyes molten with something darker than I’d ever seen in her. “Revenge.”
“You think you’re ready?”
“I’m not the girl who cowered in cages anymore.”
I nodded, slowly. “I believe you.”
But even as I said it, my heart thudded with a different truth—one I hadn’t dared name.
I cared about her.
Not because she was strong. Or Jaxon’s mate. Or the chaos magnet that she always seemed to be.
I cared because she looked at the world like it still owed her something, and instead of waiting, she chased it down with bloody hands.
And I’d never admit it to her face, but I admired that.
Still, the truth about Carlton—it clawed inside me.
I looked at her. “Elvira.”
She paused.
“There’s more.”
She crossed her arms. “I figured.”
I hesitated. Then lied.
“I’ve known Carlton for a long time,” I said. “He and I have history. That’s how I got the footage.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What kind of history?”
“Complicated.”
“Do I need to worry about you?”
“No,” I said quickly. “I’m not on his side.”
“But you know more than you’re saying.”
I didn’t respond.
She nodded once. “Fine. Keep your secrets. But know this—if Carlton’s involved, if he’s connected to Felen and whatever plot they’re building… I’ll burn it all down.”
I believed her.
She stepped closer, her eyes softer now, though still rimmed with the raw sheen of tears. “Thank you, Cassian. For telling me.”
I wanted to touch her, just once. Her hand. Her arm. Anything.
But I didn’t. Instead, I nodded and stepped back.
As I reached the door, her voice stopped me.
“Why did you really tell me?”
I didn’t turn around.
Because I can’t protect you from this. Because the truth will come out either way. Because I care too much.
Instead, I said, “Because someone needed to.”
And I left. The door clicked behind me.
And with it, something inside me shifted. Something final.
This wasn’t just about alliances anymore. Not just about rebellion or power.
This was about the truth. And what it would cost to unearth it.