Chapter 62: The Crumbling Cage

Chapter 62: The Crumbling Cage
\- SELENE
The morning sun didn’t rise; it just bled a sickly, pale gray through the heavy velvet curtains of my bedroom.
I hadn’t slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt the phantom weight of the flume’s drop or the cold, clinical press of Kaelen’s thumb against my jaw.
I was sitting on the edge of the bed, still clutching Rowan’s silver coin until my palm went numb, when the floorboards groaned. Not the heavy, rhythmic thud of Varick’s boots in the hallway. This was a soft, hollow scrape coming from behind the wardrobe.
I froze, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against the map hidden in my journal.
The heavy oak wardrobe shifted, just an inch. Then, a small, soot-covered hand reached through the gap, fumbling for the latch. A second later, Betsy scrambled out, coughing into her sleeve. She looked like she’d crawled through a coal mine, her apron torn and her hair a wild nest of cobwebs.
"Betsy!" I hissed, rushing over to help her. "How did you—the secret path? I thought Kaelen had the vents barred."
"He thinks he does," she wheezed, wiping a streak of grease across her forehead. "But he forgot about the old laundry chute that connects to the chimney flues. It’s a tight squeeze, Luna, but I’ve got small bones."
I hauled her into the room, quickly shoving the wardrobe back into place. "You’re going to get yourself killed. If Varick hears a peep in here—"
"Varick’s busy trying to explain to the Alpha why two of the perimeter scouts just came back with nothing but empty saddles," Betsy whispered, her eyes dancing with a manic sort of glee. "The house is a hornet’s nest, Luna. Kaelen’s been throwing crystal decanters since six in the morning. I haven't seen him this grumpy since the winter the heaters failed."
"Good," I muttered, a cold satisfaction settling in my gut. "Let him burn through his liquor cabinet. What about the others? Vireya?"
Betsy’s face softened, the frantic energy dipping for a moment. "She’s better. The fever broke around midnight. Liora’s been feeding her broth and keeping her quiet in the cellar. She’s weak as a kitten, but she’s breathing clearly. She keeps asking for you, though."
A lump formed in my throat. I swallowed it back. "Tell her I’m okay. Tell her we’re all going to be okay."
"Liora’s gone, by the way," Betsy added, leaning closer, her voice dropping to a ghost of a breath. "She slipped out through the North pantry before dawn. She said she had a message to deliver to a friend at a bridge. She looked like she was ready to bite the head off anyone who got in her way."
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. Liora made it out. Now it was all on the wind—and on Galen staying put.
"Kaelen’s furious because he knows he’s losing his grip," I said, pacing the small space between the bed and the window. "He’s locking me in because he’s scared. He knows the map is gone, and he knows he can't find the culprit."
"He’s more than furious," Betsy said, hopping onto the vanity stool and grabbing a stray piece of toast from my untouched breakfast tray. "He’s paranoid. He fired three maids this morning just for looking at him sideways. And the guards? They’re jumping at shadows. Everyone’s talking about the 'ghost' that set the study on fire."
"Let them talk. The more they fear a ghost, the less they'll look at the woman right in front of them."
I walked back to the journal, clutching that silver promise until it bit into my skin. I needed to send a message back. If Liora reached Galen, they’d need to know the layout of the guard shifts. They’d need to know that the South gate was the only one left on a manual override.
"Betsy, I need you to do something dangerous," I said, turning to her.
The girl stopped chewing, her eyes wide but steady. "I’m already in your bedroom through a hole in the wall, Luna. I think we passed 'dangerous' three chimneys ago."
I pulled a small, charcoal pencil from my vanity and tore a tiny square of paper from the back of my journal. I didn't write words—too risky if she was caught. Instead, I drew a rough sketch of a bird with a broken wing, perched on a specific stone arch. Underneath, I drew three small dots and a crescent moon.
Third night. Midnight. The bridge.
"Give this to Liora the second she gets back," I said, folding the paper into a tiny sliver. "Tell her it goes to the man with the flint eyes. No one else."
Betsy tucked the paper into the lining of her boot. "Consider it done. But you’ve got to play it cool, Luna. Kaelen’s coming up here after the morning briefing. He wants to 'check' on you again."
"Let him check. He can even search every corner of this room, but he’ll never get inside my head," I said, sitting back down on the bed and smoothing out my nightgown. "He’ll find exactly what he expects. A bored, tired wife who’s too scared to leave her room."
"You’re a better actor than the folks in the traveling shows, I'll give you that," Betsy grinned, already moving back toward the wardrobe. "Stay safe, Luna. And don't eat the porridge—it’s salty today. Cook’s nerves are shot."
She slipped behind the furniture, and with a soft thud, she was gone. The room felt emptier, the silence more pressing.
I looked at the breakfast tray. Cold tea. Hard toast. A cage lined with gold.
I walked to the window and pulled back the curtain just an inch. Below, in the courtyard, I could see the black SUVs idling, the guards pacing the perimeter with their rifles held tight. The "peace" of the manor was a lie—it was just a coiled spring, waiting for someone to trip the trigger.
I thought about Rowan, probably shivering in that ranger’s cabin or pushed up against a rock in the valley. I thought about the way he’d looked at me on the bridge—like I was a person, not a piece of property.
I’m not just waiting for you, Rowan, I thought, my fingers tracing the hidden map through the cover of my journal. I’m building the bridge from this side.
A key turned in the lock.
I didn't jump this time. I sat down, picked up the cold cup of tea, and stared blankly at the wall.
The door opened, and the smell of expensive cologne and simmering violence filled the room. Kaelen didn't say a word. He just stood in the doorway, his silhouette blocking out the light from the hall.
I took a slow, deliberate sip of the tea. It was bitter, just like the man standing in front of me.
"Good morning, Kaelen," I said, my voice as flat as the mountains on the horizon. "Did you sleep well? Or did the ghosts keep you up?"
His jaw tightened, a small muscle jumping in his cheek. The game was back on, and for the first time in ten years, I knew I was winning.