Chapter 4
Lirael
Present
The genetic lock burned through my veins like liquid fire, and I couldn't stop myself from fighting it even though I knew—knew—it was useless. My body convulsed in Sebastian's arms, and somewhere in the white-hot haze of agony I heard myself making sounds I'd never made before—animal sounds, broken sounds, sounds that had no business coming from a thinking creature.
Stop. Just stop fighting. You're only making it worse.
But I couldn't. Some stubborn, self-destructive part of me refused to surrender, kept clawing at the invisible chains even as they tightened around my consciousness, kept screaming silently against the violation of having my own body turned into a weapon against me.
"Stop fighting it." Sebastian's voice cut through the pain, not unkind but utterly unmoved by my suffering. He didn't slow his stride, didn't pause to let me catch my breath—just kept walking toward the exit while I shook apart in his arms. "The more you resist, the worse it gets. Accept it, and the pain stops."
Accept it. Accept being collared like an animal. Accept being owned. Accept—
Another wave of agony crashed over me, and this time I did scream—a raw, ragged sound that echoed off the corridor walls and made something in Sebastian's expression shift, though I was too far gone to identify what.
"Your choice, pet. Fight and burn, or submit and breathe. But we're leaving either way."
The casual certainty in his voice—the absolute confidence that my suffering was irrelevant to the outcome—finally broke something in me. Not my will, exactly, but my immediate resistance. I stopped fighting the genetic lock, let my body go limp in his arms, and felt the pain recede from unbearable to merely excruciating.
This isn't surrender. This is strategy. You can't fight if you're unconscious. You can't escape if you're dead.
"Good girl." His hand stroked my hair again, that same mockery of affection that made my skin crawl. "See? So much easier when you don't fight."
I'm going to kill you. I'm going to find a way out of this collar and these nanobots and whatever other sick controls you've put on me, and then I'm going to kill you so slowly you'll beg for death.
We reached the main exit, and I heard Marcus's voice behind us—calm, professional, completely unbothered by the violence we were leaving in our wake. "Sir, we have movement. Three guards, armed, approaching from the east corridor."
Sebastian didn't even slow down. "Handle it."
Gunfire erupted behind us—sharp, controlled bursts that spoke of professional training and complete confidence. I twisted in Sebastian's arms to look back and saw Marcus moving through the guards like death personified, each shot precise and economical, each movement flowing into the next with the kind of grace that only came from years of killing.
Jesus Christ. These people don't fuck around.
More guards appeared as we pushed deeper into the periphery of the island—four, then six, then what looked like an entire security team converging on our position. They shouted orders, raised weapons, formed tactical positions that might have worked against normal intruders. But Marcus cut through them like they were made of paper, and the few who got past him found themselves facing Sebastian's complete indifference—he simply kept walking, and anyone who tried to physically block his path discovered too late that touching him was a mistake.
I watched through half-lidded eyes as one guard grabbed Sebastian's shoulder, trying to force him to stop, and Sebastian's free hand shot out almost lazily to grip the man's wrist. There was a sickening crack, and the guard went down screaming. Sebastian didn't even glance at him.
Note to self: he's not just dangerous because of his people. He's dangerous all on his own.
"Eyes forward, pet." Sebastian's hand cupped my jaw, forcing my face away from the carnage. "That's not for you to see."
Not for me to see? I've seen worse. I've lived worse. You don't get to decide what I can handle.
But I didn't say it. Couldn't say it. The genetic lock had left me too wrung out for defiance, and besides—I was supposed to be playing dumb, playing weak, playing the confused and frightened specimen who didn't understand what was happening.
Except I broke character. When I fought the collar. When I screamed. He knows I'm not as helpless as I pretended.
The thought sent ice through my veins, but there was nothing I could do about it now. I'd shown my hand, at least partially. All I could do was try to salvage what I could of my cover.
Behind us, alarms began to wail—a high, piercing sound that made my ears ring and sent fresh waves of guards scrambling toward our position. But we were already at the gangway of the yacht, Marcus falling back to cover our exit while Sebastian shouldered through them, and then—
Oh.
Suddenly it started to rain. At this moment...Rain hit my face, cold and clean and real, and I couldn't stop the gasp that escaped me. Three years. Three years since I'd felt real rain, since I'd been outside under an open sky, since I'd experienced anything that wasn't filtered through steel and glass and the Foundation's careful control.
The relief was so overwhelming it physically hurt, a tightness in my chest that had nothing to do with the collar and everything to do with the sudden, desperate realization that I was out. Actually out. No longer trapped in that underground hell, no longer breathing recycled air and eating synthetic food and sleeping under artificial lights that never quite mimicked the sun.
I'm out. Oh God, I'm actually out.
Sebastian paused , and for a moment I thought he was going to say something about my reaction—comment on the way I'd tilted my face up to the rain, mock me for my obvious relief. But he just stood there, holding me in the downpour, and when I finally dragged my gaze away from the sky I found him watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read.
"You haven't seen rain in a while," he observed, and it wasn't quite a question.
I didn't answer. Couldn't trust my voice not to break if I tried to speak. Instead I just closed my eyes and let the rain wash over me, let it soak through my hair and run down my face and mix with tears I hadn't realized I was crying.
Don't cry. Don't show weakness. Don't—
But I couldn't help it. The relief was too much, the weight of three years of captivity suddenly lifting just enough that I could feel how heavy it had been.
Three years. Three years of planning and waiting and surviving, and I finally made it off this fucking island. The thought hit me like a punch to the gut. Not the way I planned. Not on my terms. But I'm leaving. I'm actually leaving Black Reef behind.
Thank you.
The irony wasn't lost on me. I'd spent months planning my escape, mapping guard rotations, waiting for Silent Day, preparing for every contingency. I'd imagined stealing a boat, navigating by the stars, making my way to the mainland on my own terms. I'd imagined freedom.
Instead, I was leaving as someone's property, collared and controlled, traded from one cage to another like the specimen they'd always treated me as.