Chapter 97 Linked

Chapter 97 Linked
Vincent's POV

By the time I reached my room, every instinct I possessed was screaming that something was terribly wrong.

One minute Elara had been walking down the stairs looking perfectly fine. The next, she had collapsed without warning. It didn’t make sense.

I pushed the door open with my shoulder and crossed the room in long, urgent strides before gently lowering her onto the bed. She looked impossibly fragile against the dark sheets, her breathing shallow, her skin far too pale. A few loose strands of hair had fallen across her face. My hands — which I hadn’t realized were trembling — brushed them away with surprising gentleness.

“Elara…”

My voice came out softer than I intended as I whispered her name again.

Her eyelids fluttered for a brief moment.

Hope flared in my chest, but it died just as quickly. A faint, pained sound escaped her lips before her body relaxed once more. She looked like she was fighting something I couldn’t see, trapped in a battle happening beneath her skin.

“What happened to her?” Carl demanded, rushing into the room behind me. His voice cracked with panic. “She was perfectly fine a minute ago. This damn house and all its mysteries—”

“I don’t know.”

The words tasted bitter on my tongue. I hated not knowing. I hated feeling helpless even more.

I reached for her wrist and checked her pulse. It was steady. Not weak. Not racing. Normal. I leaned closer, listening to her breathing. Also normal. There wasn’t a single physical sign that explained why she had collapsed so suddenly.

Then, without warning, Elara gasped.

It was a small, barely audible sound, but it snapped my full attention back to her. Her fingers twitched against the blanket.

A deep frown settled on my face.

Something was happening.

Slowly, I turned her hand over.

My breath caught in my throat.

A thin red line had appeared across the center of her palm, as if an invisible blade was carving into her skin. Blood welled up, then the wound began to move — not spreading, but writing.

The first letter formed slowly.

M.

Carl stumbled back. “What the hell is that?”

I couldn’t answer.

Another letter appeared.

O.

Then N.

I.

Q.

U.

E.

The final letter carved itself into her skin. Elara cried out weakly in her unconscious state, her body arching off the bed before falling limp again.

For a heartbeat, neither Carl nor I moved. We simply stared in stunned silence.

Then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the wound began to close. The torn flesh knitted itself back together with impossible speed until only faint traces of blood remained on her palm.

Her healing ability had kicked in.

But it didn’t matter. I had already seen enough.

Monique.

Ice settled deep in my chest. I knew exactly who was responsible.

Without another word, I turned toward the door.

“Stay with her.”

Carl looked up sharply. “What? Vincent, where are you—”

“If she wakes up, don’t let her leave this room.”

He must have seen the darkness in my eyes because he didn’t argue. I was already moving.

The hidden passage behind my wardrobe slid open with a low rumble, revealing the narrow staircase that led down into the underground prison. I descended two steps at a time, my blood boiling with every second that passed.

Every moment I wasted was another moment Elara remained connected to that witch.

The air grew colder and heavier the deeper I went. By the time I reached the prison corridor, my patience had completely evaporated.

Monique’s cell stood at the very end. She was already awake, slumped weakly against the stone floor, but I could hear the slow, deliberate beat of her heart. She had been waiting.

As though she had known I would come.

A slow, knowing smile spread across her lips the moment our eyes met.

“You took your time,” she rasped. “I was wondering who would notice first. I’m glad it was you.”

The last thread of my restraint snapped.

I crossed the distance in a blur of motion. My hand crashed through the iron bars, ripped the cell door clean off its hinges, and hurled it into the opposite wall with a deafening crash.

Before she could even flinch, I seized her by the throat and slammed her against the stone wall hard enough to crack it. Her feet left the ground instantly.

My grip tightened.

“What did you do to her?”

Monique only smiled.

Even as my fingers crushed her windpipe.

Even as she struggled for air.

She smiled.

“I was wondering…” she rasped, voice thin and strained, “…how long it would take you.”

My patience shattered completely.

“What. Did. You. Do?”

She let out a broken, breathless laugh.

“You really do care about her.”

I slammed her harder against the wall.

“Answer me!”

Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth, yet dark amusement still danced in her eyes.

Finally, she leaned in closer despite my crushing grip.

“You’ve already seen my name on her hand, haven’t you?”

My silence was answer enough.

Her smile widened, triumphant.

“We’re linked now.”

Every muscle in my body went rigid.

“If I get hurt…” she whispered through strained breaths, “…she hurts.”

My grip tightened instinctively. Her face reddened as she coughed.

Then, despite everything, she laughed again.

“Go on, Vincent.”

She looked straight into my eyes, almost daring me.

“Kill me.”

She tilted her head slightly, that awful smile becoming victorious.

“…and watch Elara die with me.”