Chapter 79 Chapter Twenty Six
The trees surrounded me more and more as I drove deeper into the woods. The road became a narrow, cracked asphalt path, covered with overgrown roots.
By the time the building came into view, the air had gone still. It was exactly as I’d seen it.
The crooked gate slumped against a stone column, tangled with vines. The building loomed in the dark, draped in ivy. Its windows were empty holes catching bits of moonlight, and the paint had peeled away, exposing the old wood and rust beneath.
I stepped out of the car, gravel crunching under my boots, and for a moment, I just stared.
My flashlight beam cut across the yard, catching the outlines of broken furniture, a rusted swing, and a toppled birdbath. They all looked like bits of a horror movie scene. When I pushed open the heavy front doors, the hinges groaned like something exhaling after years of silence.
Inside was....
Empty.
Room after room — empty. Chairs overturned, cabinets gutted, floorboards soft beneath my shoes. I swept my light over a cracked mirror, over a staircase. No signs of life. No signs of him.
But still — something felt wrong.
When I stepped back outside, Ezekiel’s headlights were already cutting through the dark. He killed the engine and climbed out, his silhouette steady, calm as always.
He looked around, jaw tightening. “This is it?”
I nodded. “This is what I saw.”
He glanced past me at the abandoned building. “You said you thought he might be here.”
“I don’t think.” My voice came out rougher than I meant. “I know.”
Ezekiel frowned, scanning the surroundings with a cop’s eye — measured, skeptical. “Salem… there’s nothing here. No signs of activity, no tracks, no tire marks. Whoever was here left a long time ago.”
“I’m telling you, he’s here.”
He sighed, stepping closer, lowering his voice. “Listen. I get it. Vale’s been missing for weeks, and you’re… you’re just too attached. He’s your guardian. That bond doesn’t just fade. But you can’t let it twist what you see.”
I met his gaze squarely. “This isn’t grief talking, Ezekiel. I feel it — in my bones. He’s here. Maybe not right in front of us, but close. Please, I am asking you to trust me.”
For a long second, neither of us spoke. The woods whispered around us again, a low, restless hum that raised the fine hairs on my arms.
Finally, Ezekiel exhaled, shoulders slumping. “You’re impossible.”
“Maybe.”
He glanced back toward his car, then nodded reluctantly. “Alright. We wait. But not all night. If we don’t see or hear anything in an hour, we go back and reassess.”
“Deal,” I said quietly.
He gave me a look that wasn’t quite frustration, wasn’t quite concern. “You’re gonna get me fired for this,” he muttered.
I smiled faintly. “You say that a lot.”
“Yeah, well,” he said, glancing toward the darkened house, “this time I might mean it.”
And somewhere behind those broken walls, something shifted. A faint sound, a scrape, a movement — so soft it could’ve been the wind.
Ezekiel’s head snapped toward it. “Did you hear that?”
My pulse kicked. “Yeah.”
His hand hovered near his holster. “Stay close, Salem.”
“I wasn’t planning on leaving.”
The ground trembled beneath our feet, a low rumble rising from deep within the earth. Instinctively, Ezekiel and I grabbed each other’s hands, our fingers locking tight.
“Is this—an earthquake?” he shouted over the growing roar.
Before I could answer, the world tilted. My vision spun, the earth splitting open right beneath us. The sound of cracking rock drowned my scream as we plunged into the darkness below.
Lucian's pov~
Blood ran down my face in small streams, hissing where it touched the floor. The others hung in silence — six broken gods, barely breathing.
And then came that smooth voice. Cold as preserved glass.
“Guess what, boys,” Harrow said from above, his tone almost light. “We have guests.”
He descended the ridge of ribs like a man strolling through his garden, every step echoing against the bone. His coat brushed the marrow-soaked ground, its hem leaving faint streaks of red.
“I could have said unwelcomed guests,” he went on, glancing at me, “but she had to come right into my traps. So…” He stopped at the pit’s edge, smiling faintly. “I’ll say she’s highly welcome.”
The shard in his hand brightened. A pulse of black light crawled through the Orchard — and the walls responded. Bones turned, vertebrae twisted, and the ribs around us opened like eyelids.
Within their hollow curves, light formed. Faint at first — then sharp, almost blinding.
An image unfurled in the air: dark woods, fog, a crooked gate strangled in vines. Hollow Creek.
And her.
Salem.
Walking. Alone.
Harrow’s smile widened as her figure came into focus, a specter caught in motion. “There,” he whispered, almost fondly. “Do you see her? Curious little moth. Drawn to the very flame that will burn her clean.”
My heart slammed once, then froze. The chains around my ribs tightened like claws.
“A human in the bone orchard?” Ezra sneered, blood running from his temple. “Keep your pet leashed, Vale, before she gets herself killed.”
But I couldn’t reply. Couldn’t move. Couldn't even breathe.
Salem’s flashlight cut through the dark. Her boots crunched on gravel, each step a drumbeat in my skull.
“Why?” I rasped, my voice shredded raw. “Why didn't she fcking listen? Why her?”
Harrow didn’t even glance at me. “Because she came. And I always reward initiative.”
He turned his attention back to the projection. “You know, she’s been dreaming of this place. That’s not imagination. That’s design. I put it there—whisper by whisper, until she could no longer resist the call. A scientist knows: the best way to lure prey is to let it choose the trap.”
Salem stepped through the broken doorway in the image. Dust rose around her.
Every breath I took came with the taste of iron.
“Stop it,” I hissed. “Stop showing her—”
“Why?” Harrow’s head tilted, his tone almost amused. “Don’t you want to see your precious salvation stumble into the dark for you? I should think it poetic.”
The image shifted — A man's headlights flooding the yard, his figure stepping out beside her. They spoke, voices distorted but clear enough.
‘He’s here. I feel it.’
Harrow’s smile curved slow and cruel. “See that? She feels you. Even now, chained in my soil, she follows your scent.” His eyes were now mocking. “Love is such a dependable compass.”
The air thickened, the Orchard beginning to hum. I could feel it through the bones — a faint, greedy tremor, like anticipation.
“She’s close now,” Harrow murmured. “So close the Orchard can taste her.”
On the vision, the ground at her feet trembled. She looked around, frightened.
The other man shouted something — something about an earthquake.
And then the earth yawned wide.
Salem’s scream tore through both worlds — through the vision and through the Orchard itself. Light exploded, the image collapsing into shards that scattered like ash.
When the brightness faded, silence hung heavy as stone.
Harrow exhaled softly, eyes closed, as though savoring the moment. “Perfect timing,” he murmured. “The Orchard wakes hungry, and she answers the call like an obedient child.”
My body convulsed, every chain digging in deeper. “You touch her—”
“Touch her?” He laughed once, low and almost delighted. “Vale, my dear creation, I don’t need to touch her. She’s already where I want her. The Orchard will handle the rest.”
His voice lowered, almost reverent. “Do you feel it? The pulse beneath your feet? That’s her descent. That’s the ground welcoming her blood.”
The Orchard trembled again, faint but distinct — a heartbeat in the earth.
“She’s inside,” he whispered. “Your sweet, fragile Salem. My next vessel. My final perfection.”
I tried to scream, but the chains closed around my throat. Only a strangled noise came out, soaked in blood.
Harrow watched me, head tilting slightly. “Don’t worry. You’ll see her soon enough. I’ve made arrangements.”
The Orchard shuddered again, louder this time — not the rhythmic pulse from before, but a violent, frantic beat that made the bone walls tremble.
Harrow stilled. Then he smiled.
“Ah,” he whispered. “There she is.”
A sound tore through the cavern — faint, distant, yet unmistakable. A scream.
Her scream.
The kind that splits something vital in your chest. The kind that says she’s not just falling — she’s here.
Harrow turned, eyes glinting in the dark. “Seems your little trespasser has arrived.”