Chapter 106
Sebastian
The master key slid into Sophia's lock smoothly—Father insisted on maintaining absolute control, including access to every room without warning.
Let's see what our researcher is really hiding.
I eased the door open, moved silently into darkness broken only by moonlight and surveillance equipment glow. The bed was occupied—steady breathing, covers rising and falling, lingering perfume almost masking moon-touched magic and fear underneath.
Sleeping. Or pretending.
I moved past the bed toward the closet, began systematic searching. Designer clothes, expensive toiletries, research notes that looked genuine but would probably fall apart under scrutiny.
Nothing yet. But she's too careful for obvious hiding spots.
I knelt beside the bed, lifted the skirt. There—luggage positioned just slightly too precisely, the kind of calculated placement that screamed valuable contents.
Gotcha.
I pulled it out, worked the locks. They gave with barely a click, and I lifted the lid to reveal a hidden compartment. Professional grade. The kind spies use, not academics.
My fingers found the release. The false bottom lifted away to expose tools that confirmed every suspicion since that airplane galley moment—lockpicks, EMP device, climbing gear, backup contact lenses for when the hologram failed.
She's not who she claims. Never was. And she's planning something tonight.
I reached for the lenses when I heard it—footsteps converging fast, multiple sets, military precision.
What—
The door burst open. Four figures rushed in with coordinated efficiency. I had maybe half a second before something chemical-soaked pressed over my face—chloroform or similar.
Father's men. Coming for Sophia. And I'm here in the dark, looking exactly like I'm doing something I shouldn't.
I could fight. Take down at least two before the drug worked. Reveal myself and explain.
Or—
Or let them take me. See where they're going. Find out what Father planned.
I made the decision instantly, let my body go limp, felt rough hands grabbing me and shoving me into canvas.
"Boss wants her in the basement cells. Quiet-like."
"What about the guard outside?"
"Already handled. Move."
Basement cells. Father has fucking basement cells. And he's been planning to grab Sophia all along.
They carried me through corridors, down endless stairs, through electronic locks and prison gates. The air grew colder, damper, smelling of mold and stone and dungeons where people disappeared.
Finally, movement stopped. I was dumped on cold concrete, felt the sack pulled away.
I kept my eyes closed, breathing steady, while I listened.
"Package secured, sir. No complications. The emitter should fail within the hour, then we'll see what she really is."
"Excellent." New voice—older, authoritative. "Lord Victor will be pleased. Call him immediately."
Questioning. Right. That's what we're calling it.
Footsteps retreated. Door closed. Silence except for fluorescent hum and distant water dripping.
I counted to thirty, then opened my eyes.
Concrete cell. Single drain. Chains on walls. And near the door with phone to his ear—Marcus, Father's head of security, looking extremely pleased as he reported success.
Marcus. Who's worked for Father twenty years. Who absolutely knows what I look like. Who's about to have a very bad night.
I sat up slowly, let the sack fall away, watched Marcus's expression transform from smug to horrified as he realized who he'd just kidnapped.
"—yes, sir, completely secure—" He froze mid-sentence. "Lord Victor, I— There's been a— Sir, I think—"
I rose deliberately, let him see the gold bleeding into my eyes, feel the caged predator waking up.
"Hello, Marcus. I believe you were expecting someone else?"
The phone fell and shattered. Behind him, three guards backed toward the door, weapons drawn but hands shaking.
"Lord Sebastian, I— We didn't— I thought—"
I took a step forward. All four flinched.
"You thought you were kidnapping a harmless academic. You thought you were following Father's orders." Another step. "You thought there wouldn't be consequences."
"Sir, please, I was just—"
I moved faster than human eyes could track, had Marcus by the throat and lifted before his brain processed the threat.
"You were just following orders. Tell me, Marcus—whose orders exactly?"
"Lord Victor—" He choked, clawed uselessly. "Lord Victor said—secure the Thornwood woman—questioning—she's not—"
"She's not what?" I shook him slightly. "Not who she claims? Not supposed to be here?"
Behind me, a guard made the stupid decision to raise his weapon. I heard the safety click, dropped Marcus to spin and catch the guard's wrist before he could fire, twisted until bones snapped like branches.
His scream echoed off concrete as the gun clattered away. The other two guards bolted.
Smart.
I turned back to Marcus on his knees, clutching his throat.
"Here's what's happening." I crouched to his level. "You're telling me everything. Every detail of Father's plans. Every instruction. And if I think you're lying, I'll make what I just did look like mercy."
"He—" Marcus coughed, gasped. "He knows she's fake. The real Sophia was captured three weeks ago. Sent to prohibited zones. This one upstairs—she's an imposter. He wants to know who sent her, what she's looking for—"
He cut off abruptly, realizing he was about to say something he shouldn't.
"About what, Marcus?"
"I can't—Lord Sebastian, please, if he finds out—"
"If you don't tell me, you won't live long enough to worry about what Father finds out."
We stared at each other, and I watched him calculate—fear of Father versus very immediate fear of me.
"The old cases. The ones he doesn't show visitors. Specimens from before the treaties. He thinks she's looking for evidence of—of what we did to acquire them."
What we did. Not what he did. We. Meaning I'm implicated whether I knew or not.
"And the real Sophia? What happened?"
"Sent to the zones three weeks ago. Special transport. She never arrived—escaped during a stop. But Lord Victor thinks someone in the zone networks grabbed her. Thinks they're using her identity to—"
The door burst open and Father strode in with commanding presence that filled the room, expression thunderous, eyes locked on me.
"Sebastian." His voice could freeze fire. "What an unexpected pleasure finding you in my interrogation facilities. Care to explain why you're assaulting my staff instead of sleeping peacefully?"
I rose slowly, made sure he could see I wasn't backing down.
"I could ask you the same. About kidnapping houseguests. About what happened to the real Sophia. About what you're so desperate to hide that you're risking international incidents."
"Researchers." He laughed coldly. "Is that what you think she is? Have you been so blind, so distracted by your little game with that imposter, that you haven't seen what's right in front of you?"
Fuck. He thinks the imposter is connected to zone networks. He thinks this is espionage.
"What historical matters? What was the real Sophia investigating?"
"Old business. Settled business. Nothing concerning you."
"If you're kidnapping people over it, it concerns me."
We faced each other across concrete and decades of complicated history, and I saw him calculating how much truth to share.
"The lunar elf specimen I mentioned at dinner. The real Sophia was asking uncomfortable questions about acquisition methods. About whether proper protocols were followed. About what happened to the subject before death."
Before death. Not during. Before.
"You're saying she was murdered."
"I'm saying she was acquired through means that might not withstand modern scrutiny, and certain parties have been using that as leverage." He moved closer. "The imposter upstairs—whoever she really is—she's here for the same reason. To find evidence. To build a case. To destroy everything we've built."
Or she's here because you killed someone who looked like her. Or she's here because you're monsters and she's trying to stop you.
"Where is she now?"
"Still in her quarters, presumably sleeping peacefully, unaware we know exactly what she is." His smile was pure predator. "The holographic emitter will fail within the hour. Then we'll see her real face. Then we'll know who sent her."
The emitter will fail. And when it does, they'll see Lirael. They'll see the elf I've been hunting. They'll see my property wearing someone else's face.
"I want to be there. When the emitter fails. When you question her."
Father studied me, expression unreadable.
"Very well. We'll wait together. And when that pretty disguise falls away—" His smile widened. "Then we'll have a very interesting conversation about who's been playing whom, and what the consequences will be."
Including me. Because if that's Lirael under the disguise—if my missing property is the one Father's planning to interrogate—then this just became infinitely more complicated. And probably infinitely more deadly.