Chapter 67 Seraphine
I woke up slowly.
Not the sharp, gasping kind of waking—no sudden bolt of panic yet. Just awareness seeping back in, inch by inch, like my body was afraid to tell me the truth all at once.
Darkness.
Thick. Heavy. Pressing in from every side.
My eyes were open—I knew that much—because I could see it. Not nothing, but the faintest outline of light leaking in around a door somewhere ahead of me. A thin, pale line cutting through the black like a blade.
My head throbbed.
My mouth tasted metallic and dry, like I’d bitten my tongue or screamed into fabric. I tried to swallow. My throat protested.
Okay.
Okay.
Don’t panic yet.
I breathed shallowly, testing my body without moving it. The floor beneath me was cold. Concrete, maybe. Hard enough that my hip ached where my weight pressed into it. My wrists felt wrong—too close together, too heavy. Not pain. Not yet. Just… restricted.
That’s when I noticed them.
Shapes.
At first I thought my vision was swimming. Shadows where shadows shouldn’t be. But as my eyes adjusted, the darkness began to separate itself into forms.
Bodies.
Not moving.
Some slumped against the walls. Some lying on the floor like discarded clothes. One close enough that I could make out the pale curve of a shoulder, the rise and fall of shallow breathing.
Alive.
Relief hit me so fast it almost hurt.
Then the rest followed.
Fear.
Cold.
Rage.
My heart started to pound, harder now, louder in my ears. I wanted to reach for my fire out of instinct—My heart began to pound harder, louder in my ears. Instinct kicked in before logic could catch up, and I reached inward—quietly, carefully—for my fire.
It answered.
Weak.
Not gone. Not locked away like I’d feared.
Just… waiting.
A fragile warmth stirred in my chest, like embers buried under ash. It flickered uncertainly, but it was mine. Still listening. Still there.
I welcomed it without feeding it. Let it exist without letting it grow.
Careful.
I scanned the room again, eyes straining for detail—anything. A window. A vent. A crack in the wall where light might slip through if the sun moved high enough. Nothing obvious. Just concrete and shadow and the door.
Footsteps sounded outside.
Measured. Unhurried.
My breath hitched.
I pushed my dragon down instinctively—not banishing it, not silencing it—just tucking it close, folding that warmth inward like a secret I wasn’t ready to lose.
The door opened.
Light spilled in.
And I knew—before I saw her.
It was Renee.
She stood framed in the doorway, calm as ever, like she’d just stepped into a room she owned. Her eyes found mine immediately, sharp and knowing, and her lips curved into a small, satisfied smile.
“Well,” she said lightly. “You’re awake.”
She stepped inside and closed the door behind her, plunging the room back into shadow—except now I could see her. The faint glow from overhead lights somewhere beyond the door caught the sharp lines of her face, her smile too calm, too pleased.
“You really are impressive,” she continued, strolling closer like this was a gallery and not a cage. “Most of them are still out cold.”
She gestured vaguely around the room.
I tried to speak. My voice came out rough. “What… what is this place?”
She tilted her head, studying me. “Neutral ground,” she said. “Places the kings don’t bother watching anymore. Old infrastructure. Forgotten. Perfect for work that requires… privacy.”
My pulse thundered.
I shifted, testing my restraints again. Leather. Tight. My ankles too.
“You don’t need to struggle,” Renee added, almost kindly. “I didn’t take you to hurt you.”
I laughed once. It sounded hysterical even to me. “You put a bag over my head.”
She smiled wider. “And you left a trail anyway. Clever girl.”
My breath caught.
She knew.
“Oh, don’t worry,” she said, reading my face easily. “It won’t matter. Not where we’re going.”
The words sent ice straight through me.
“Why?” I demanded. “Why me? Why them?” I nodded toward the other women. “What do you want?”
She crouched in front of me, heels clicking softly against concrete, eyes level with mine now.
“Purpose,” she said simply. “Power. Balance. You of all people should understand that something extraordinary doesn’t get to exist without consequence.”
Her gaze flicked to my chest.
“You locked it away,” she murmured, almost reverent. “Your dragon. That was… unexpected.”
I swallowed hard. “Get away from me.”
She stood, unbothered. “Rest,” she said. “You’ll need your strength.”
“For what?” I whispered.
Renee paused at the door, her hand on the handle.
“For becoming something you can’t run from,” she replied.
The door shut.
The lock slid home.
But even as fear wrapped tight around my ribs, one thought burned stubborn and bright in my mind:
Dante will come.
And when he does—
Everything will burn.
I stayed frozen for a long moment after the lock slid home.
Listening.
Counting my breaths.
The darkness settled again, thicker now without Renee’s presence—but not empty.
A whisper brushed my ear.
“…Some of us are awake.”
I flinched, then turned my head slowly toward the sound. A woman lay on her side a few feet away, her face half-hidden in shadow. One eye was open. Watching.
“Don’t look at her,” she murmured quickly. “If she comes back.”
My throat felt tight. “Why?”
“She doesn’t like it when we acknowledge her,” the woman said. “Or each other. Makes it harder to control us.”
Another voice joined in, farther back. Hoarse. “We pretend to be out cold when we hear her footsteps. It’s safer.”
Safer.
The word scraped raw.
“How long have you been here?” I asked quietly.
The woman beside me let out a breath that might’ve been a laugh once. “Longest. I think.”
My stomach dropped. “What happens to the others she takes out of the room?”
Silence answered first.
Then, softly, “We don’t know. She drags them out. Sometimes they come back hours later—barely awake. Sometimes she feeds us. Sometimes the food makes us sleep for days.” Her voice shook. “Two girls never came back.”
Ice spread through my chest.
I clenched my jaw. “Why hasn’t she taken you yet?”
“Because I don’t fight anymore,” she said simply. “And because I don’t glow.”
Her gaze flicked toward my chest, even in the dark.
“You do.”
I swallowed hard.
Anger simmered—hot, sharp, familiar. I was done being quiet. Done shrinking. Done pretending I didn’t exist just to survive someone else’s plan.
“I’m tired of not seeing,” I whispered.
The woman’s eye widened. “Don’t—”