The world narrowed to the point of that green-flamed blade. It cast a sickly, pulsating light over Elias Veylan's features, highlighting a cruel amusement in eyes the color of tarnished emeralds. He stood framed in the broken entrance to the speakeasy, not a hair out of place on his silver-streaked head, his long coat immaculate. He looked utterly at home in the decay, a king surveying his ruined kingdom.
"Elias." Damien's voice was a low growl, thick with pain and a hatred so potent it vibrated in the air between them. He shifted his weight, putting his body slightly in front of Selene's, a move that didn't go unnoticed by his uncle.
"Now, is that any way to greet family?" Elias chided, taking a smooth step into the room. His gaze, cold and assessing, slid over Damien's injury. "You look unwell, boy. That's a nasty void-burn. Messy business, containing a wailing spirit. Especially for someone whose control is… slipping." His attention then landed on Selene, and the amusement in his eyes sharpened into something predatory, intensely curious. "And you must be the little archaeologist. The source of all this delightful noise. My associates were quite impressed with your disappearing act. A natural talent for getting into trouble."
Selene's mouth was desert-dry. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. She clutched the strap of her backpack, her fingers numb. This was the man from her vision—the source of the fear that had saturated the locket's memory. Up close, the feeling was magnified a hundredfold. He wasn't just a man; he was a walking vortex of cold ambition.
"What do you want?" Damien bit out, every word seeming to cost him effort.
"The key, of course," Elias said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He gestured with the green-flamed knife toward Selene's pocket. "It's a trifle too powerful for a civilian, don't you think? A danger to herself and others. I'm here to collect it. For her own protection."
"Liar," Damien snarled.
Elias's smile didn't falter. "Always so dramatic. Very well. I'm here to collect it because it's mine. It belonged to my sister. Your mother," he said, the words aimed at Damien like darts. "It was a… keepsake. Stolen from her effects after her unfortunate passing. I've been looking for it for a very long time."
A fresh wave of shock rolled through Selene. Damien's mother? The locket's vision—the woman sobbing, the name 'Elara'—it hadn't been a random memory. It was a piece of Damien's history. A piece of his pain. She felt the locket in her pocket, cold and silent once more, a heavy secret.
Damien flinched as if struck, his face going paler. "You don't get to speak her name. You don't get to touch her things."
"Sentimentality is a weakness you inherited from her," Elias sighed, feigning disappointment. He took another step, and the green flame on his knife flared, licking hungrily at the stale air. "Now, the girl will hand it over. Peacefully. Or I will take it. And I can be… less than peaceful."
The threat hung in the air, cold and absolute. Selene's mind raced. If she gave it to him, what would he do with it? The locket was terrified of him. If she didn't, would he kill them both right here in this dusty tomb?
Damien straightened up, pushing away from the wall he'd been leaning against. The movement was stiff, pained, but his voice, when it came, was steady and laced with a terrifying calm. "You'll touch neither."
Black fire erupted around Damien's clenched fists. It wasn't the controlled wall he'd summoned at the dig site. This was wilder, angrier, a corona of flickering darkness that spat embers of void-light onto the stone floor, where they sizzled and died. The air grew thick and heavy, the temperature plummeting.
Elias's eyebrows rose in mock surprise. "Really, Damien? In your condition? You can barely stand. This is beneath you. This posturing."
"It's not posturing," Damien said, and he took a step forward.
It was the wrong move. The moment his weight shifted onto his front foot, his injury flared. A spasm of agony twisted his features. The dark flames around his hands wavered, flickering erratically. He stumbled, his knee buckling.
Elias moved faster than Selene's eye could follow.
There was no dramatic charge. One moment he was by the entrance, the next he was directly in front of Damien, his free hand shooting out to grip Damien's wounded side.
Damien cried out—a raw, choked sound of pure agony. The black fire snuffed out instantly, as if doused. He collapsed to his knees, gasping, his hands clutching at Elias's wrist, trying to break the grip that was undoubtedly causing him unimaginable pain. The liquid shadow on his coat spread further.
"You see?" Elias said, his voice soft, almost conversational, as he looked down at his nephew. "Slipping." He released his hold, and Damien slumped forward, breathing in ragged, shuddering gulps.
Elias turned his full attention to Selene. "The key, Miss Ardent. My patience wears thin."
Terror held her frozen. She looked from Elias's outstretched hand to Damien, kneeling brokenly on the floor. The man who had saved her, who was now being broken because of her. Because of what she carried.
Her fingers trembled as she slowly reached into her pocket. The metal was cool. Unresponsive. She wrapped her hand around it.
And a voice, faint but desperate, whispered in the very core of her mind. Not from the locket. From deeper. From the stones beneath her feet, from the ancient brick walls of the speakeasy.
…not him… never him…
It was the same feeling she'd had at the grate. The city's memory. Awake. Listening.
Elias's eyes glinted. "Wise choice."
Her gaze flickered to a rotten barrel beside Elias. In her mind, she didn't push it. She… asked it to fall. She poured her fear, her desperation, her need into that silent request.
The barrel, riddled with wormholes and dry rot, didn't just tip over. It exploded. Centuries-old wood disintegrated into a cloud of splinters and dust, directly into Elias's face.
He recoiled with a furious snarl, raising his arm to shield his eyes from the sudden debris.
It was only a second. A single, precious second of distraction.
But it was enough.
Selene didn't think. She lunged forward, grabbing Damien under his arm. "Come on!" she grunted, hauling with all her strength.
Somehow, he found his feet. Leaning heavily on her, they stumbled back through the hole in the wall, into the main catacomb tunnel. Behind them, Elias's roar of rage echoed in the confined space, mingling with the crackle of his green flame.
"Run!" Damien gasped, his arm slung over her shoulders, his weight threatening to buckle her knees.
They ran. Or rather, they half-ran, half-staggered into the oppressive dark, away from the speakeasy's light. Selene's phone was lost in the chaos, plunging them into near-total blackness. She could only hope the path was straight, guided by the feel of the rough wall under her free hand and the terrifying sounds of pursuit behind them.
"Left," Damien rasped in her ear, his voice faint. "Here. Now."
She obeyed, pulling them into a narrower side passage just as a blast of viridian fire lit up the tunnel they'd just left, scorching the stone where they'd been standing.
They collapsed behind a natural pillar of rock, both gasping for air. The footsteps behind them slowed, then stopped.
"You can't hide forever, nephew!" Elias's voice echoed, smooth and menacing once more, though a thread of anger still ran through it. "The girl has talent, I'll grant her that. A crude parlor trick. But she's out of her depth. You both are."
Silence. Then, the sound of his footsteps began to recede. He wasn't following. He was leaving.
The realization was somehow more frightening than being chased. It felt like a cat allowing a mouse to run, knowing the maze had no exit.
In the absolute dark, Selene felt Damien slump against her, his breathing shallow and rapid. He was shivering. The void-burn was getting worse.
"He's gone," she whispered, her own voice trembling.
"No," Damien corrected, his words slurring with pain and exhaustion. "He's just… changing the game. He doesn't need to chase us." He turned his head, and she could feel the intensity of his gaze even though she couldn't see it. "He knows who you are now, Selene. He knows what you can do. He won't stop. He'll just find a better lever."
A cold dread settled in her stomach. "A lever?"
She felt him nod weakly against her shoulder. "Everyone has something they can't lose."
The meaning crashed down on her an instant before her phone, somewhere back in the speakeasy, began to vibrate with a series of incoming text notifications. She couldn't hear them. But she knew.
Marisa.