Chapter Text
The tunnel stretched out in front of me like the throat of some old god. Cold, damp stone beneath my sneakers. The walls were rough, scarred—like the underground veins of the city had grown brittle from keeping too many secrets.
I frowned into the dark, illuminated by the light from my star. It was glowing. Brighter now.
I glanced back at the well-lit closet.
The light dimmed.
I turned toward the gloom.
The starlight flared in answer.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered. Not again.
But the star had never led me wrong before. If it wanted me to go into the tunnel…
My feet started pounding a steady rhythm as I jogged forward, starlight flaring from my chest, pulsing in time with my heartbeat.
It reminded me too much of the caves—those tunnels Azriel, Nesta and I had traveled through in that cursed land. Back then, I had company. And purpose.
Now, only silence walked beside me.
And regret.
I kept going. For what felt like hours. Long enough that I wondered if I’d somehow crossed through the entire city. Past the business district, past the Gates, all the way to the Western Road. My legs ached as I walked. Time stopped meaning anything. The stone walls narrowed, then opened again. My breath echoed back at me, louder than I wanted it to be. Should’ve brought some fucking water—
And then—I saw it.
A massive metal door, etched with a colossal eight-pointed star in its center.
The lowest spike of the star extended down, right in front of me. I laid a hand on the cold surface and pushed. It groaned beneath my palm. The spikes of the star began to expand and contract, as if the door were breathing.
It opened. Like it knew me. Like it had been waiting.
I stepped inside. My star flared once—then went out.
The air changed. Cooler. Cleaner. Dry. The space opened around me—so wide my starlight wouldn’t have reached the edges even if it were still shining.
Concrete floor. Concrete ceiling. No windows, only faelight dotting the walls. A vault carved beneath the skin of the city.
And in the center of the cavern: a gods-damned motorcade.
A whole fleet.
Two of everything. Lined up in symmetrical rows. Dusky lilac juxtaposed against black and blue. His colors. And mine, too.
A pair of helicopters—a periwinkle helicopter? Seriously? A lilac scooter and a sleek cobalt motorcycle. A violet convertible with a matching black sapphire twin.
All of them parked on circular platforms carved into the stone floor, like they were meant to rise to the sky above. The ceiling overhead was split down the middle—like it could open to the stars.
Of course he planned a flamboyant escape route. Show off.
I blinked. Slowly.
On the left, a wall of thick glass stretched to the ceiling. Double doors sat at its center. Sealed. The handle—a golden mermaid, her tail delicately curved into a keyhole.
Behind the glass: weapons.
Two halves of the same wall. The wall was split down the middle. Left: black and silver. Right: soft purple and gold. Pistols, rifles, knives, swords, ammo, maces, morning stars, metal shields and gauntlets, armored vests, and holsters, all in their respective colors. Arranged with terrifying precision.
And in the very center of the arsenal—a vault door. Round. Steel. Military-grade. Another matched it above, built into the ceiling. A ladder reached up toward it.
Another exit.
I didn’t move. Could barely breathe. Illyrians never built without a second exit. He’d told me that once.
This place had been here a Hel of a long time.
Across the room, against the right-hand wall—more gleaming metal.
Screens. Dozens. Nine rows of them.
Seven rows showing a panoramic view of the districts surrounding each city Gate. The eighth row—horizon to horizon of The Eternal City. The ninth—
The gallery. Inside. Outside Every angle.
My stomach dropped. Again, of course, he’d been watching.
Below the screens sat a massive wooden desk, its surface cluttered with switchboards, controllers, and keyboards—half computer lab, half war room. A beat-up chair was pushed back. Below the desk sat a small bed. A food bowl and a sealed container sat beside it.
For Syrinx?
I staggered back a step.
He’d lived here.
Azriel had been here. For months. Years?
Watching. Waiting. Tracking everything.
Tracking me.
In the corner, a messy bed. A stone-built open pantry stacked with canned soup and water jugs. A hot plate. Plates and mugs. Minimalist. Militaristic. Him.
I didn’t know what I expected to find.
But this? Doomsday prepper bunker? Was not it.
I wanted to laugh. I wanted to drop to my knees. And I wanted to hurl the keys in my hand at the screens.
“Took you long enough.” A lilting voice crackled through the silence.
I yelped, nearly dropping the keys.
My heart shot into my throat.
“What the fuck—?”
I scanned the room, pulse spiking. No shadows. No figures. No—
“Right here, Miss Quinlan. The mermaid.”
I turned slowly.
The golden tail on the door shimmered faintly. I could’ve sworn it smiled at me.
I squinted. “Who the fuck are you?”
“You don’t recognize my voice?” Cool. Dry. Eerily familiar.
No. It couldn’t be—
“... Viktoria?”
“Pleasure to be reacquainted.” The mermaid purred. “Long time no see.”
My spine locked. “You’re supposed to be at the bottom of the Melinoe trench.”
“I was. Boxed in the dark, forgotten. Your Azriel found me, though I was nearly mad. Had an omega boat drag me out. Although I’m not sure becoming a talking doorknob counts as a rescue.”
“You’re alive in there?” I asked, horrified. “He put you in that… thing?”
“Let’s call it… containment. He said only you could decide whether I deserved to be free.” A pause. “I apologize for my part in your pain.”
I crossed my arms at the memory of Hunt’s betrayal. Viktoria’s part in keeping me in the dark. “How long have you been here?”
“A year, maybe?” Her golden tail flips with her sigh. “At least for a time, I had someone to talk to. Even if he is a rather prickly sort. You seem to have a type.”
“Yeah, yeah…” I grit my teeth. She’s not doing herself any favors.
“He left. Months ago. When you and Athalar ended the Asteri. Well done, by the way. I’ve been monitoring everything since. Including you. Lonelier than you can imagine.”
“I’ll bet,” I muttered.
She sighs. “You and Athalar made quite good television. Though if the gossip is to be believed, there’s trouble in paradise.”
“Seems like you’ve become quite the busybody.”
“Guilty as charged.” I could’ve sworn the mermaid smiled. “He said you’d come. Eventually. Once he got the nerve to explain.”
I laughed. Sharp. Cold. “Of course he did.”
The golden mer lets out a small laugh. “I pray you don’t hold grudges like he does. He can be quite…”
“An asshole.” I finish for her.
“But for what it’s worth,” she added, her voice flattening into something more formal, more like the detective she used to be, “I understand how you’d consider him unsavory—but he never stopped watching out for you. Not once.” A beat.
“I’m not sure there are many males who would’ve done the same. Considering you were in love with someone else.”
I say nothing.
Viktoria’s voice dropped a notch. “You’ve brought the keys?”
I nodded slowly, blinking at the keys in my hand.
“They open this lock. And the vault behind me.”
I stepped toward the door.
“I never really blamed you, you know. But… I still have about five thousand more questions.”
“He never said that you did. He blamed me. For hurting you. I’d wager he took out his frustration on me, considering he couldn’t on Athalar.”
I kept staring at her. At the golden tail. The keyhole.
Considering.
“You’ll answer my questions if I free you?”
“To the best of my ability. You have my word. If you’re willing to hear it.”
I didn’t answer. Just let my gaze drift past her glass wall.
Back to the other side of the hangar. To the desk.
I stepped closer, letting the glow from the monitors spill across my hands. They buzzed softly above me—nine rows of screens, flickering in their quiet, endless loop.
There, taped dead center on the bottommost monitor, was a single yellow post-it. The edges curled slightly from time and heat.
START HERE.
That was all it said.
No timestamp. No signature. He didn’t say “I’m sorry.” He didn’t say “please watch.” Just… START HERE.
Undoubtedly Azriel’s handwriting—slanted, all-caps, and unmistakably his.
I stared at it, my throat tightening. My fingers hovered above the controls.
Behind me, Viktoria spoke. Her voice had dropped into something softer. Older.
“He said you wouldn’t want to look,” she said. “But he thought you deserved the truth.”
A pause.
“He said it wasn’t his right to shield you. Not anymore.”
The words sank deep. Caught somewhere between my ribs.
I sank into the chair. My knees didn’t want to hold me anymore. My fingers curled around the edge of the desk.
He hadn’t chosen to protect me this time.
He’d known there was nothing left to save.
I wasn’t ready.
But I hit play anyway.