Chapter 65 The Longest Night

Chapter 65 The Longest Night
The wait was the worst thing Hallie had ever endured.
Worse than the weeks after Seth's first disappearance, when silence had stretched into years and she had learned to live with the hollow ache of unanswered questions. Worse than the battle with Soren, when she had watched Seth fall, his blood on her hands, his life hanging in the balance.
Because this time, she had no enemy to fight. No shadows to command. No power that could bridge the distance between them.
Just the phone on the table, dark and silent, refusing to ring.
She didn't sleep. Couldn't sleep. The bed felt too big without him, the apartment too quiet, the night too long. She lay in the darkness, staring at the ceiling, the shadows restless beneath her skin, and waited.

Morning came gray and cold.
Hallie dragged herself to the studio, running on adrenaline and fear. She couldn't afford to miss another day—the spring show was approaching, Madame Leclerc's patience was finite, and the other interns were already sharpening their knives.
But her hands wouldn't cooperate.
She cut fabric wrong. Sewed seams crooked. Pinned pieces upside down, backwards, inside out. Mistakes she hadn't made since her first week, when everything was new and terrifying and she was still learning the language of the atelier.
" Mademoiselle Grey." Madame Leclerc's voice cut through her fog. "What is this?"
Hallie looked at the piece in her hands—a bodice she had somehow managed to attach to the wrong skirt, the seams gaping, the fabric puckered.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I'll fix it."
Madame Leclerc was quiet for a long moment. Then: "Go home."
"Madame, I can—"
"Go home." Her voice softened, just slightly. "Come back when you're yourself again. I can't use you like this."
Hallie wanted to argue. Wanted to insist that she could work, could focus, could push through. But the truth was undeniable. She was useless here. Worse than useless—a liability.
She gathered her things, avoiding the curious glances of the other interns, and walked out of the studio.
Margot caught her at the door.
"Hallie. Wait."
Hallie turned. Her friend's face was pale with concern, her eyes searching.
"What's going on? You've been strange for days, and now Madame Leclerc sends you home? That's not like you."
"Seth is missing." The words came out flat, hollow. "I haven't heard from him since yesterday. I don't know where he is."
Margot's hand found hers. "What can I do?"
"Nothing. No one can do anything." Hallie pulled away. "I just have to wait."
She left before Margot could respond, her footsteps echoing in the empty corridor.

The café on the corner was nearly empty.
Hallie settled at their usual table—the one by the window, where they always sat—and ordered two coffees. An espresso, for her. A latte, for him.
The waiter brought them without comment, setting the cups on the table with quiet efficiency.
Hallie wrapped her hands around the espresso, letting the warmth seep into her fingers. The latte sat across from her, untouched, growing cold. She stared at it, imagining Seth across the table, his easy smile, his warm eyes.
Where are you? she thought. Please. Where are you?
The shadows hummed beneath her skin, restless and angry.
She waited.

The phone rang at 11:47 AM.
Hallie grabbed it before the first ring finished, her heart in her throat.
"Marcus?"
"I found him."
Relief flooded through her—so intense it made her dizzy. "Is he okay?"
Marcus hesitated. The silence stretched, elastic and terrible.
"I don't know," he said finally. "I only know they were supposed to meet at his father's hotel. Greg Sanders is still registered there. But Seth—" He paused. "Seth isn't answering his phone. No one has seen him since yesterday."
Hallie's blood turned to ice.
"The address," she said. "Give me the address."
"Hallie, listen to me. I'm already at the airport. I'm taking the next flight to Paris. Wait for me. We'll go together."
"I can't wait."
"You can't go alone. He's dangerous—"
"I can't wait." Her voice was steel. "Give me the address, Marcus. Or I find it myself."
Another hesitation. Then a sigh, resigned and worried.
"I'll text it to you. But Hallie—be careful. Please."
The line went dead. A moment later, her phone pinged with an address.
Hallie was already out the door.

The hotel was nondescript—the kind of place that prioritized anonymity over luxury, where guests came and went without notice. Hallie pushed through the revolving doors, her heart pounding, the shadows surging beneath her skin.
The clerk at the front desk looked up, his expression professionally neutral.
"Good afternoon. How can I help you?"
"I need Greg Sanders's room number."
"I'm afraid we don't give out guest information—"
Hallie leaned across the counter, letting the shadows flicker at the edges of her vision, letting something ancient and commanding seep into her voice. "His room number."
The clerk's eyes widened. His hand trembled as he reached for the register.
"Room 412," he whispered.
Hallie didn't thank him. She was already running for the stairs.

The corridor on the fourth floor was silent, the carpet muffling her footsteps. Hallie found room 412 at the end of the hall, her hand raised to knock before she could second-guess herself.
The door opened before her knuckles made contact.
Greg Sanders stood in the doorway, older than she remembered, harder, his cold eyes sweeping over her with something that looked like satisfaction.
"Took you long enough," he said. "Enter."
Hallie looked behind her at the empty corridor. She could run. Could flee, regroup, wait for Marcus. But through the gap in the door, she caught a glimpse of Seth—tied to a chair in the middle of the room, his mouth gagged, his eyes wide with warning.
She stepped inside.
The door closed behind her with a click that sounded like a verdict.

Seth was bound with shadow-forged ropes—the kind that resisted light, the kind designed to hold a Slayer. His wrists were raw, his face pale, his brown eyes burning with a mixture of fear and fury. He was trying to say something through the gag, but the words were muffled, incomprehensible.
Hallie dropped to her knees beside him, her hands reaching for his face, his hair, his shoulders. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"
He shook his head, tugging against his restraints, his eyes darting toward his father.
"Why are you doing this to him?" Hallie turned to face Greg, rising to her feet. "He's your son!"
"He's a fool." Greg's voice was flat, cold, without a hint of regret. "I knew you would come looking for him. That's why I set this meeting. He's too blinded by you to see the truth. But now—" He stepped closer, his light blade materializing in his hand. "Now I'll show him."
"What are you talking about?"
Greg's eyes narrowed. "The attacks. They've increased in number over the past few months. More shadows, more frequently, more organized. Someone is commanding them. Someone with royal blood." He gestured at Hallie with his blade. "You."
Hallie stared at him, incredulous. "You think I'm behind the attacks?"
"I think you're pretending to love my son so you can gather intelligence about the Slayers. About our weaknesses, our numbers, our defenses. You're using him to deliver your blow, to annihilate us once and for all."
"That's insane."
"Is it?" Greg's voice rose. "You're a dark royal. It's in your nature to deceive, to manipulate, to destroy. Everything you've done—every smile, every kiss, every whispered word of love—has been a lie to get closer to him. To get closer to us."
Hallie felt the shadows surge inside her, furious at the accusation, demanding release. She pushed them back, but not all the way. She kept them ready, just beneath her skin, waiting.
While Greg talked, she directed them toward Seth—subtle, invisible, working at the knots that bound him.
"It's absurd," she said, keeping Greg's attention on her. "You're completely out of your mind."
"Am I?" Greg circled her, his blade gleaming. "Then explain the attacks. Explain why they've escalated since you came back into his life. Explain why you—a creature of darkness—would willingly be with someone who exists to destroy your kind."
"Because I love him." Hallie's voice was steady, even as the shadows worked behind her, loosening rope, freeing Seth one strand at a time. "I know you don't understand that. I know you can't comprehend anyone choosing love over duty, connection over obligation. But not everyone is as hollow as you, Greg."
His face twisted with rage. "How dare you—"
"Why would I do all this?" Hallie pressed, taking a step toward him, drawing his attention away from Seth. "If I wanted the Slayers destroyed, there are easier ways. I could have killed you in your house. I could have let Soren win, let him invade the human world. I could have done nothing and watched you all burn."
"But you didn't. Because you want something else. Something worse." Greg's voice dropped to a near-whisper. "You want the power for yourself. You want us to trust you. To let our guard down. And then, when we least expect it—"
"I think you've watched too much Game of Thrones."
The shadows snapped the last rope.
Seth was free.
Hallie dropped to her knees beside him, reaching for the gag, trying to pull it away. "Come on, we need to go—"
But Greg was faster.
His blade swung, not at Seth, but at her.