Adrian stirred, a broken breath catching in his throat as he struggled against the ruin of his own body. Blood pooled beneath his head, seeping slow and sticky into the splintered boards. He blinked up at the cracked ceiling, the bruised sky beyond it sagging low. Somewhere in the wreckage, a rat scurried unseen but not unheard.
Carmen crouched beside him, folding herself into a poised shadow. She watched with the patience of something that had long since learned inevitability was sharper than any blade. Her gloved hand rested lightly on her knee, her body still and coiled.
Julian lingered beyond the ruined footlights, arms crossed, the glint of his blade catching the faintest threads of moonlight. Vivienne pressed herself into the shattered remains of the orchestra pit, breath tight in her chest. She thought she had seen brutality before, but she hadn't understood it until now. This wasn't rage or heat. It was something colder than the grave, something ancient wearing the face of a woman.
Adrian coughed weakly, blood bubbling in his mouth. His body sagged inward, but his eyes still searched for purchase, desperate for some scrap of control he no longer possessed.
"You're quieter now," Carmen murmured, tilting her head slightly as if listening for a sound already lost.
Adrian tried to laugh, but it broke in his throat, wet and ragged. "You can't kill me," he rasped. "You tried."
Carmen smiled, small and sharp, the kind of smile that precedes the pain. "You think this is about killing?" she asked, her voice soft enough to almost vanish.
Julian stepped forward, boots crunching broken glass, his face unreadable. "We don't kill you," he said. "We erase you."
Adrian's hands clawed weakly at the floorboards. Fear was blooming now, slow and thick, spreading beneath his skin like rot.
Carmen rose to her feet with quiet grace, her coat sweeping the boards. She looked down at him as though he were already dead, too foolish to realize it.
"You wanted to wear our mark," she said. "You wanted to play in our ruins."
She nudged his ribs lightly with the toe of her boot.
"Now you'll drown in them."
Julian hauled Adrian upright by the collar. Adrian staggered, barely standing, blood slicking his face. His knife lay abandoned across the stage, forgotten and useless.
Carmen's gaze slid to Vivienne. "Bring the rope," she said.
Vivienne scrambled, her hands fumbling against the cold.
They dragged Adrian to the old pulley rig at the back of the stage, the place where scenery once rose and fell for plays long forgotten. Julian bound him there, wrists lashed high above his head, feet barely brushing the ground. Blood ran down his arms, dripping into the dust.
Carmen stood before him, studying him the way an artist studies a blank canvas.
"You stole our story," she said. "You thought you could write your name in our blood."
Adrian opened his mouth, but Carmen pressed two gloved fingers against his lips.
"No more words," she whispered.
She turned away, stripping off her gloves with slow, deliberate movements, folding them neatly atop a broken trunk. Julian handed her a knife without a word.
Vivienne watched, frozen, her notebook pressed uselessly against her chest.
Carmen approached Adrian again, steps measured, ritualistic. She wasn't hurried. There was no rage in her. Only a deep, certain patience.
The first cut was shallow, a thin line across Adrian's left forearm. Blood welled immediately, catching the light. The second mirrored the first on his other arm. Carmen worked steadily, carving small wounds, a thousand tiny agonies blooming across his skin.
Adrian writhed against the ropes, gasping, choking, but Carmen never faltered.
"You wanted immortality," she said softly. "Here it is."
The spiral she carved into his chest was the last thing he ever saw clearly. His eyes fluttered, his body sagging as blood fled faster than his heart could hold.
Carmen stepped back, her breathing steady, the knife dripping.
Julian nodded once, understanding without needing words.
Vivienne pressed her hand against her mouth, bile rising in her throat, but she couldn't look away.
Carmen wiped the blade clean against Adrian's shirt, then drove it between his ribs, slow and sure, twisting once.
Adrian exhaled a wet, rattling sigh and went still.
Carmen stood over him a moment longer, watching the last of him drain away, then stepped back and wiped her hands clean with a cloth.
Julian loosened the ropes, letting the body crumple to the stage.
Vivienne dropped to her knees, her notebook falling from numb fingers.
No one spoke.
There was no celebration. No triumph.
Only the steady silence of inevitability, of something finished that could never be undone.
The Spiral tightened its hold.
Adrian Morrow was gone.
Erased.
London would never know the difference.
But Carmen Vale would.
And that was enough.