Chapter 137
Lirael
The first showed me on Damian's balcony, lost in thought, vulnerable in a way I never let anyone see. The second caught my profile at the masquerade, silver mask catching light. But the third made my chest tighten so painfully I couldn't breathe—the cliff altar from the day we met, scattered white irises and broken whiskey still visible, taken hours after I'd destroyed his memorial to his brother.
He'd kept them. Out of everything in his life, these were the only moments worth preserving.
My throat closed up. I thought of the man who'd imprisoned me, threatened me, controlled me—and tried to reconcile him with someone who'd photograph spilled flowers and call them precious. Memory flashed unbidden—Sebastian teaching me to dance in the conservatory, his touch gentle despite his strength. Bringing me books he thought I'd enjoy. His face when I'd saved him on the island, before I learned about the experiments, when he'd looked at me like I was miraculous instead of owned.
If there had been no imprisonment, no control, no blood contract...
"Stop it," I told myself viciously, swiping at my eyes. "Stop being stupid. He's a monster. He kidnapped you. This doesn't change anything."
But my hands were still shaking as I placed his phone back exactly where I'd found it.
I finished the synthetic fingerprints and turned back to Sebastian's sleeping form. His face was peaceful in unconsciousness, harsh lines smoothed away, making him look younger. Almost innocent.
"Goddamn it." I pulled the blanket over him with more force than necessary, then did something unplanned—leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, hating myself for the tenderness in the gesture.
"Wait for me," I murmured against his temple, voice breaking. "If you're innocent... if what I find proves you didn't know... I'll apologize myself. But if you lied..." My voice hardened. "If you knew about any of this, I swear to God I'll kill you."
I straightened, gathering my resolve like armor. From his coat pocket, I retrieved his access card, then changed into tactical clothing. One last glance at his sleeping form—chest rising and falling with steady breaths—and I slipped out the window into the night.
Behind me, Sebastian's eyelashes fluttered. His breathing stayed deep and even, perfectly mimicking sleep, but beneath closed lids, his eyes tracked every movement. He'd heard every word. Every curse, every threat, every broken whisper.
And he'd never felt more hopeful in his life.
---
At 3:40 AM, I stood before the Onyx Guard headquarters, every nerve screaming at me to run. The synthetic fingerprint pressed to the scanner with a hand I couldn't keep steady.
"Fingerprint match: Sebastian Blackwood. Highest clearance. Retinal scan bypassed. Access granted."
"Holy shit," I breathed. "It actually worked."
The door opened and I descended through six levels—Armory, Archives, Training, Medical, Command, Research. Each level made my stomach tighten with dread. At Sub-Level 6, the corridor was empty except for emergency red lights and a faint sound that froze my blood.
Voices. Elven voices, crying in the old tongue.
"No," I whispered. "No, no, no—"
My hand trembled violently as I pressed "-7." The elevator descended one final level, and I pressed my fist against my mouth to keep from screaming.
The doors opened on nightmare made real.
---
Transparent cells lined the corridor, each holding an elf. The first contained a young woman strapped to an examination table, tubes running from her eyes to collection vials. Her silver eyes—my eyes—were empty except for pain.
Specimen 001-F: Extraction Rate 47ml/24hrs. Status: Viable.
"Oh God." I pressed my hand against the glass, legs threatening to give out. "Oh God, oh fuck—"
Tears fell hot and fast as I stumbled to the next cell. A male elf suspended in cryo, electrodes covering his torso. Every few seconds a shock pulsed through him, forcing convulsions that made his mouth open in a silent scream.
Specimen 012-M: Cold Stress Protocol, Day 89. Yield increased 23%.
"You bastards." My voice cracked. "You sick fucking bastards—"
The third cell held a child. Ten years old at most, silver hair turned dull yellow from malnutrition, small body covered in needle marks and burns. They looked up at me without hope, without even recognition that I was there.
Specimen 027-C: Juvenile subject. Testing regenerative limits. Notes: Healing factor diminishing. Consider termination.
My legs gave out. I slid down the wall, hand pressed over my mouth to muffle the sobs tearing from my throat. The corridor stretched infinitely, cell after cell of my people reduced to numbers, to fucking resources for a machine that consumed their suffering and called it progress.
Project Moonfall: Stabilizing High-Alpha Power
Primary Objective: Suppress Entropy Through Lunar Elf Essence
Active Subjects: 47
Mortality Rate: 34% (Acceptable)
"Acceptable," I choked out, hysteria bubbling up. "They call this acceptable—"
"Please..." A weak voice cut through my spiral. "Please help us..."
I scrambled to my feet and rushed to the nearest cell, nearly falling in my haste. A female elf with my same silver-gray eyes lay restrained, wrists and ankles burned raw by silver bands. She was skeletal, every bone visible, features gaunt with starvation.
"I will!" I pressed both hands against the glass, tears streaming down my face. "I promise, I swear to God I'll get you out—"
Her cracked lips curved in something that might have been a smile if it held any warmth. "Too late for most of us. Next full moon... they've scheduled 'enhanced extraction.'"
"What the fuck does that mean?"
"Electrical stimulation. Maximum output." Another tear tracked down her hollow cheek. "They'll shock us until we produce every drop of moon dew, even if it kills us. The high-ranking wolves need it... to delay their entropy..."
Pure rage flooded through me, so intense I saw red. "Who ordered this? Tell me who the fuck ordered this."