Chapter 111
Lirael
The water was tepid and metallic, but I splashed it on my face anyway, trying to shock myself back to rationality. My reflection looked like a stranger—dark circles under silver eyes, hair still damp from the river, a fresh bruise blooming along my jaw.
I looked like exactly what I was: a fugitive running out of time.
Behind me, through the thin bathroom door, I could hear Elwin's steady breathing as the painkillers pulled him under. Good. He needed rest, needed his body to start healing from those electrical burns that were my fault.
You got hurt because of me. The words echoed accusingly. I'd dragged a sixteen-year-old half-blood into a werewolf stronghold, gotten him electrocuted, and now I was promising him revenge against one of the most dangerous men in the supernatural world.
Some protector I was.
I reached for my jacket, intending to hang it up to dry. My fingers brushed against something hard in the inner pocket—something that shouldn't be there.
My heart stopped.
I pulled out a device no bigger than my thumbnail, matte black except for a tiny LED that pulsed with faint red light. A nano-tracker.
No. No, no, no—
Sebastian. It had to be Sebastian, which meant he'd planted it during those final moments in the garden, probably when he'd grabbed my shoulders to inject himself, when my attention had been entirely focused on the insanity of him driving a needle into his own carotid artery.
I'd been so busy watching him commit slow-motion suicide that I hadn't noticed him slipping a tracker into my jacket.
Clever bastard. My hands were shaking now, rage and fear and something uncomfortably close to admiration warring in my chest. Because this wasn't just about finding me—he could have done that a dozen different ways. No, this was about making sure I knew he could find me, about maintaining that psychological edge even as he lay dying.
About proving that even his surrender was just another form of control.
I stared at the tiny device, watching that red light pulse, and tried to decide whether to crush it immediately or... what? Keep it? Use it somehow?
He's tracking you right now. He knows exactly where you are. He's probably already on his way.
But another part—the part that had listened to his ragged breathing as the poison took hold, that had felt the desperate press of his lips against my neck—whispered something far more dangerous: He gave you a choice. He let you go. Maybe this is just insurance, not a trap.
"God, Lirael, listen to yourself." I pressed my palms against the sink, leaning forward until my forehead touched the cool mirror. "He's not some misunderstood romantic hero. He's a possessive werewolf."
Except he'd said he wanted me to choose. Had poisoned himself specifically to force that choice, to create a situation where I held all the power and he held none. And now here I was, holding evidence that he'd been lying the whole time.
You lying, manipulative, brilliant son of a bitch.
A soft sound from the other room made me freeze. Elwin was awake.
I shoved the tracker back in my pocket and grabbed the medical supplies, composing my face into something that wouldn't betray the chaos in my head. When I emerged from the bathroom, Elwin was sitting up in bed, his face pale but his eyes alert.
"Lirael." His voice was rough with pain and medication. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Just tired." I set the supplies on the nightstand, checked his bandages with hands that were steadier than I felt. "How's the pain?"
"Manageable." He caught my wrist, his grip weak but insistent. "What's wrong? And don't say 'nothing'—I can see it on your face."
I should have lied. Should have deflected, changed the subject, protected him from one more piece of terrible news. But I'd promised him honesty, promised him partnership, and he deserved better than my cowardice.
"I need to tell you something," I said quietly, sinking into the chair beside his bed. "About Sofia."
His expression shifted immediately, hope and dread warring across his young features. "You found something. In Victor's dungeon, when you were eavesdropping—"
"She's missing, Elwin." The words came out flat, brutal in their simplicity. "She was investigating the family's illegal trafficking operations—the hunting and harvesting of lunar elves. She got too close to the truth, and Victor had her... taken. Disappeared."
The color drained from Elwin's face. For a long moment, he just stared at me, his mouth working soundlessly as he tried to process the information. Then his hands clenched in the bedsheets, knuckles white with tension.
"How do you know?" His voice was barely a whisper. "How can you be sure she's not—that she's still—"
"Sebastian... when he heard what his father had done, he was disturbed. Not surprised, but disturbed. Which means he knew his father was capable of it, even if he didn't know the specifics." I leaned forward, keeping my voice steady despite the weight of what I was saying. "But missing isn't dead, Elwin. If Victor wanted her eliminated, he would have made sure there was no trace. The fact that she just vanished means he's keeping her somewhere, probably trying to extract information or use her as leverage."
Elwin's face crumpled, grief and hope playing across his features in rapid succession. "She's alive," he said, voice breaking. "She could still be alive. I thought... I thought maybe I'd never know, that she'd just be gone forever..." He broke off, a shuddering breath escaping him. "But if she's being held somewhere, if there's even a chance—"
"Then we find her." I reached for his hand, gripping it tightly. "I swear to you, Elwin. We'll find Sofia, and we'll make Victor pay for what he's done. To her, to you, to every elf his family has hunted."
"How?" Elwin pulled his hand away, his eyes blazing with desperate intensity. "The Blackwoods own half the law enforcement in this region, Lirael. They've been operating with impunity for decades. Even if we find her, even if we expose what they've done—what makes you think anyone will care about missing elves?"