The silence after the scream was deafening.
Lyra's voice still echoed faintly in the corridor, as though the walls were reluctant to let go of her pain. The guards who had rushed to the room now stood frozen at the threshold, unsure whether to step in or step back. One of them, the one with the bent nose, looked to the other for instruction. No one moved.
On the floor, Elira clutched her side, the place where her skin still burned from the metal rod. Her breath came in ragged pulls, lips trembling not just from pain but from the humiliation that came with it. She had screamed. And he'd heard her.
Caius.
He stood just beyond the iron doorway, his dark suit drenched from the storm, raindrops running down his face like tears he'd never allow himself to shed. But his eyes weren't cold this time. They weren't even angry. They were… stunned.
"I said, leave," he barked, but his voice was low, guttural — almost shaken.
The guards vanished in seconds.
He stepped into the room slowly, eyes glued to her. She tried to push herself up, but the pain lanced through her ribs, and she collapsed back down with a weak gasp.
"Who did this?" he asked.
She didn't answer.
"Who?" he demanded again, and his voice cracked the air like a whip. He was no longer looking at her now but at the corners of the room — at the darkness, the chains, the bloodstains on the fabric from where the rod had seared her.
She didn't point. She didn't have to.
The iron rod lay discarded near the wall, still faintly smoking. He picked it up with his bare hand, and for a second Elira thought he meant to strike her with it again. But he didn't. Instead, his fist clenched around it until his skin blistered from the heat — until the metal turned black and cold.
"Who ordered this?" he asked again, voice lower now.
She finally met his eyes.
"Does it matter?" she whispered. "It wasn't your hand that burned me. But it was your name they used."
Caius flinched.
He turned, pacing once like a storm trying to restrain itself. His jaw clenched tight. Then, quietly, he walked toward her and crouched.
"I didn't ask for this," he said. "Not this."
Elira scoffed softly, still breathless. "Then why chain me like an animal?"
A moment of silence passed between them, thick with history neither had said aloud. Her eyes searched his face, but what she found there wasn't hatred or triumph. It was something worse. Regret.
He reached for her — slowly, like one would approach a wounded dog. She didn't pull away, but her muscles tensed as his fingers ghosted the edge of the burn on her ribs.
"I'll kill whoever touched you," he murmured. "You have my word."
"I don't want your revenge," she replied coldly. "I want to be free."
His hand stopped.
Something broke in his face, something small and fragile that slipped through the cracks in his armor. He stood up again quickly, as if ashamed.
"You'll be moved to the east wing," he said stiffly. "Away from them. No chains."
She didn't say thank you. He didn't expect her to.
Instead, she gritted her teeth and forced herself up from the floor. Her legs wobbled, and he caught her before she hit the ground. She tensed in his arms, and he immediately stepped back.
"You don't have to prove you're strong by standing alone," he said quietly.
"I'm not trying to prove anything," she said. "I just don't want your hands on me."
The words landed like a slap. And yet, he didn't retaliate. He only nodded once, jaw flexing, and turned to call for someone.
Within minutes, two women dressed in neutral grays arrived. They looked nothing like the guards — no weapons, no cruelty in their eyes. Nurses, maybe. One of them whispered something to Caius, and he whispered back in clipped Latin. Then he left without another word.
Elira was helped into a clean robe and slowly walked down a quiet corridor she'd never seen before. This side of the estate was different. Less prison, more palace. Chandeliers glowed with soft light. No mold. No screams. No shadows.
Her new room had a window. A bed. A mirror that hadn't been cracked in anger. For a moment, she just stood there, stunned by the simplicity of it all.
"Someone will bring food," one of the women said gently. "You can rest. He gave orders you're not to be disturbed."
Elira didn't respond. She waited until the door clicked shut again before she collapsed into the bed.
And cried.
Not because of the pain.
But because it felt wrong to have a bed. Wrong to have a window. Wrong to be treated like something human when she hadn't felt human in so long.
Elsewhere in the estate, Caius stood before a screen, watching surveillance footage from her cell.
He watched every second. Watched her scream. Watched the guards restrain her. Watched the iron rod press into her skin. Watched himself walk in too late.
He clenched his jaw until blood touched his tongue.
A man stepped into the room behind him. "We found the one who gave the order," he said. "It wasn't one of ours. It came from higher up — the Old Circle."
Caius turned slowly.
"Then burn the whole circle down."
Later that night, Elira couldn't sleep. Her burn throbbed with each heartbeat. Her thoughts were darker than the sky outside. But she wasn't thinking of pain. She was thinking of escape.
Her eyes drifted to the window. Not barred.
She limped toward it.
But what she saw made her freeze.
Below, in the garden, a figure stood between the trees. Tall. Watching. Not a guard. Not a servant.
She stepped back, but the figure moved — lifting something in their hand. A signal. Then they disappeared into the hedges.
A whisper echoed in her mind.
You're not the only prisoner here.