Chapter 208

Chapter 208
Elora

"What the fuck are you playing at?"

Silence. I didn't give her the satisfaction of an answer. Instead, I straightened slowly, deliberately, and took a step forward. Not away from her. Toward her.

The sound of my footstep echoed in the darkness.

"Oh, I get it now." Her laugh came sharp and mocking. "You've given up. You're done. So what—you're just gonna walk to your death like some tragic little martyr? How pathetically—"

"Just tired of waiting," I cut her off, my voice flat, almost bored. "For you to grow a spine."

Another step. The pain in my arm where she'd injected me earlier flared hot and angry, but the adrenaline flooding my system pushed it to the background. The blood trickling down my skin felt warm, almost comforting in its reality. I was hurt, yes. But I was alive. And I was done being afraid.

I let the metal clipboard slip from my fingers. It hit the floor with a dull clang that echoed through the ward.

"You—" Sienna's voice cracked. "You just—you threw away your only weapon!" The mockery was gone now, replaced by something sharper. Confusion. Disbelief. Maybe even the first edge of unease. "And now you're walking toward me? What the fuck is—"

She stopped. I could hear it—the exact moment realization started to dawn. The way her breath hitched. The way her footsteps, so confident seconds ago, suddenly stuttered.

"Wait." The word came slower, more cautious. "You're not—you're not trying to die. You're—what the fuck is wrong with you? Are you—"

"Crazy?" I finished for her, taking another step. "Probably. But you know what's crazier, Sienna? Thinking you could break me with a little darkness and a needle."

"Shut up!" The words exploded from her, sharp and panicked. "Shut the fuck up! You think—you think you can intimidate me? ME? I've lived in darkness my whole life! I own it! And when this paralytic hits, when you're lying on that floor paralyzed and helpless, I'm going to—"

She was moving now, rushing forward. I could hear it in the sudden acceleration of her footsteps, the way her breathing quickened. She was charging, driven by rage and desperation.

But I could hear everything. The slight hesitation in her stride. The way her right foot landed heavier than her left. The exact trajectory of her approach.

The syringe whistled through the air toward me.

My leg snapped up—precise, controlled, exactly like I'd practiced a thousand times on the ice—and connected with her wrist. The syringe went flying, clattering somewhere in the darkness behind us.

"What—" Sienna's voice choked off in disbelief. "What the fuck—how did you—"

I didn't let her finish. My leg was already continuing its arc, muscle memory taking over, the momentum building as I pivoted. The kick connected with her face with a satisfying crack, and I felt her head snap back from the impact.

She staggered, gasping, and then—

"You BITCH!"

The scalpel came out. I heard the metallic snick as she pulled it from wherever she'd hidden it, and then she was coming at me again, wild and vicious. Slashing, stabbing, a whirlwind of rage and steel.

But it was like watching someone move through water.

Every movement telegraphed itself. The whistle of the blade cutting through air. The shift of her weight before each strike. The ragged sound of her breathing, growing more desperate with each miss.

I moved between her attacks like I was skating through cones, each dodge flowing naturally into the next. Spin left. Duck right. Pivot. The darkness that had been my enemy became my ally, hiding my movements while her own fury made her sloppy, predictable.

And when I found my opening—when she overextended on a particularly wild slash—I let my body do what it knew best. I spun, building momentum, focusing all that rotational energy into my palm.

CRACK.

My hand connected with her face, and the sound echoed through the ward. Once. Twice. Three times. Each slap landed with precision, with purpose, and I felt something savage and satisfied uncurl in my chest.

Sienna stumbled back, gasping, and I could taste the metallic tang of her blood in the air.

"Fuck!" she spat, her voice thick and wet. "How—how can you even move in here? You can't see shit! You weren't—this doesn't make any—"

"That's your problem, Sienna." I cut her off, my voice cold and sharp. "You never actually learned anything from the dark. You just wallowed in it. Used it as an excuse to drag everyone else down with you."

Another step forward. She stumbled back.

"I learned something different," I continued, my tone dropping lower. "I learned that when you've lived in real darkness—the kind that strips everything away—you don't become it. You learn to navigate it. You learn to survive it."

I could hear her breathing now, ragged and uneven.

"But you?" A bitter laugh escaped me. "You never understood that. You just wanted everyone else to suffer like you did. Well, congratulations, Sienna. You're about to get a masterclass in what real darkness actually feels like."

I took another deliberate step.

"The kind you don't come back from."

"You—"

I lunged.

Sienna tried to dodge, but she was slow, off-balance. Her evasion gave away exactly where she'd land, and I was already moving to intercept. My foot hooked around her ankle mid-jump, and she went down hard. The sound of her head hitting the floor was sickening—a wet crack that made my stomach turn even as satisfaction surged through me.

She screamed, clutching at her head, and I could hear the pain in every ragged breath.

"This?" I said quietly, standing over her. "This is just the beginning."

And then—

Light.