Chapter 4

Seraphina did not take the book. Her eyes, hard and unforgiving, scanned Ethan, then the unconscious Kaelen, then the dusty archive.

"So, Kaelen finally succumbed to his... appetites," she said, her voice dripping with contempt. She nudged Kaelen with her foot. "And you, Ethan, took advantage of his depravity to seek out... what? More ways to wound me?"

Her gaze fell upon the open Liber Veritas in his trembling hands, its ancient pages revealing truths she had never conceived. But she saw only his dishevelment, Kaelen' s state, the forbidden chamber.

"Debauchery in the archives, Ethan? With my own commander? Have you no shame left at all?" Her voice rose, laced with a familiar fury, the old accusations, the old hatreds, instantly resurfacing, blinding her to any other possibility.

The injustice of it, after everything he' d just read, everything he' d endured, snapped something within him.

"Shame?" Ethan' s voice was a raw rasp, bitterness coiling around each word. "You speak to me of shame, Seraphina? Look at me! This is what you have made me! This broken, scarred thing! This is the 'legacy' you spoke of!"

He gestured wildly with the hand not clutching the book, a hand still bruised and bloodied from digging for her damned locket. "You, with your sanctimonious pronouncements and your endless, pointless cruelty, all for a man who-"

He stopped himself. What was the use? She wouldn't believe the book. She wouldn't believe him. Her hatred was a fortress too strong to breach with mere truth.

Seraphina recoiled as if struck. His defiance, so rare these days, seemed to sting her more than his submission. "Enough!" she spat, her face a mask of disgust. "Your pathetic attempts to deflect blame are... tiresome. Get out of my sight. Guards!"

Two new guards appeared, their faces impassive. "Take him to the deepest cells. And take that... filth," she gestured at Kaelen, "to the incinerators." She didn' t even glance at the Liber Veritas again. The truth lay open, and she walked away from it.

As the guards dragged Ethan away, he knew a deeper despair. He had held the truth in his hands, and it had changed nothing.

He wasn't in the deep cells for long. Hours later, he was hauled out, not by Seraphina' s personal guard, but by a different faction within The Order, men whose faces were set in expressions of grim pleasure. He recognized them as loyalists of Lucian, Seraphina' s current favorite.

They dragged him to a different chamber, one he hadn't seen before. Lucian was waiting, a predatory smile on his handsome face. Several of his followers stood behind him, their eyes gleaming with anticipation.

"The Matriarch is... displeased with your recent outburst, Cole," Lucian said, his voice smooth as poisoned silk. "And I have been given... discretion... in ensuring your future compliance."

Ethan braced himself. This was not The Order' s methodical torment. This was personal.

"She felt your earlier dance was... uninspired," Lucian continued, circling Ethan slowly. "She believes you need a more... visceral understanding of pain."

Without warning, Lucian' s fist smashed into Ethan' s gut. Ethan doubled over, gasping for air. The followers laughed.

"Hold him," Lucian commanded.

Hands like vices gripped Ethan' s arms, forcing him upright.

Lucian' s assault was brutal, systematic. Blows rained down on Ethan' s body, targeted to inflict maximum pain without rendering him unconscious too quickly. He felt ribs crack, his vision blurred. The taste of blood filled his mouth.

"You see, Cole," Lucian panted, his eyes alight with a sadistic fervor, "The Matriarch believes you still harbor some... illusion of strength. Some unbroken part of yourself. We are here to disabuse you of that notion."

He gestured, and one of his men brought forward a heavy iron bar.

"She specifically mentioned your hands," Lucian said conversationally, taking the bar. "The hands that dared to touch forbidden knowledge. The hands that... failed to please her in their dance."

Ethan closed his eyes, a silent scream trapped in his throat. He heard the sickening crunch as the bar came down on his left hand, then his right. Agony, white-hot and absolute, tore through him.

"Still conscious?" Lucian sounded almost disappointed. He leaned in close, his breath foul. "Don' t worry, Ethan. We' re just getting started. The Matriarch wants a message sent. She wants every bone in your hands turned to powder. And then, perhaps, your feet. So you can never dance, or run, or even crawl away from her displeasure again."

The torture escalated. Each impact was a fresh wave of agony. He tried to retreat into his mind, to find that place of detachment he had cultivated over the years, but the pain was too immense, too immediate. He heard his own screams, distant and animalistic.

He thought of the yacht, the fire, the freezing water. He had endured that, nearly died. He thought of the experimental surgeries, the agony of healing. He had endured that too. This... this was different. This was designed to break not just his body, but the very idea of himself.

Lucian, tiring of the direct assault, ordered his men to bring salt. Coarse, stinging salt, rubbed into the open wounds on his hands, into the cuts and bruises covering his body. The pain became a fire, consuming him.

His screams faded to whimpers, then to silence as he collapsed, a broken heap on the stone floor. The world dissolved into a red haze of agony.

Through the haze, he heard Lucian' s voice, triumphant. "There. I believe the message has been delivered. The Matriarch will be pleased."

The last thing Ethan was aware of was the metallic tang of his own blood and the fading echo of Lucian' s cruel laughter.