Smoke clung to the air like a curse.
Eliana blinked awake to the distant crackle of dying flames, the acrid sting of ash coating her throat. For a moment she didn't remember where she was, only the ghost of blood, the echo of screams, the weight of a body falling. Then it all came rushing back. The ambush. The betrayal. Calder's gun pressed to her temple as chaos swallowed the night.
She coughed, dragging herself upright. The room was dim and unfamiliar, stone walls, rough bedding, a single lantern guttering near the door. Someone had cleaned her wounds and wrapped her arm in linen, but the ache in her ribs told her she'd been unconscious for hours, maybe days.
Outside, muffled voices argued, Calder's voice among them. That was enough to make her pulse spike. She swung her legs off the cot and stood, ignoring the dizziness clawing at her vision.
The door creaked open before she could reach it.
"You shouldn't be up," Calder said, stepping in with that calm, soldier's authority he wore like armor. His dark hair was unkempt, eyes rimmed in exhaustion, but his stance was as steady as ever, too steady for a man who'd nearly gotten them all killed.
Eliana's glare was sharp enough to cut through the haze. "You sold us out."
Calder didn't flinch. "I did what I had to do to keep us alive."
"You led us into a slaughter."
"And yet," he said quietly, "you're still breathing."
The words hit harder than they should have. She took a shaky step closer, her voice low. "Damien's men were there, weren't they? You thought you could take them, take him, and you failed."
Calder's jaw flexed. "We weren't ready. Someone leaked the plan."
"Someone?" She laughed bitterly. "You mean yourself?"
His silence was answer enough. He moved closer, expression unreadable. "You don't understand what's at stake, Eliana. If we don't cut him down now, he'll rebuild everything. His reach is spreading again, and people are already whispering his name like he's some kind of god."
"He's not a god," she said coldly. "He's a man who doesn't die easily."
"Then you of all people should understand why we can't stop until he's gone."
Her hands clenched. "You think killing him will fix the world? You'll just take his place. You already sound like him."
That flickered something behind Calder's eyes, guilt, maybe, or anger too well hidden. He stepped back, voice dropping. "The people follow strength. They need a symbol. If that means becoming what he was..."
"Then you're no better than him," she snapped.
They stared at each other across the dim light, the air thick with things unsaid. Finally, Calder broke the silence with a sigh. "You should rest. We move camp at dawn."
He turned to leave, but she stopped him with one last question, quiet, trembling. "Why did you save me?"
Calder paused at the door, his shadow stretching long across the wall. "Because I still believe you're the only one who can stop him."
And then he was gone. Eliana sank onto the cot, her body trembling from more than exhaustion. The world outside had become a battlefield of ghosts, rebels and tyrants, both wearing masks of righteousness. She was trapped between them, the only one who knew that every side was already tainted.
She stared at her bandaged hand, remembering Damien's touch, not gentle, never gentle, but careful in its own twisted way. The memory made her heart ache in ways she hated. He had called her angel. He had also caged her. And yet, somewhere deep inside, she couldn't shake the thought that there had been something in his eyes that night, not pity, not desire, but recognition.
The lantern flickered. A sudden gust slipped through the cracks in the stone, whispering like a voice she knew too well. She closed her eyes, telling herself it was just the wind. But it sounded like him.
You're still mine. She pressed her palms to her ears until the whisper died.
***
Far across the wasteland, Damien Moreaux stood in the ruins of what had once been one of his own safe houses. The ambush had cost him three of his best lieutenants, a shipment of weapons, and patience he hadn't had much of to begin with.
"Find whoever gave the rebels our location," he said softly.
Ronan, his second-in-command, shifted uneasily beside him. "Already working on it. But...there's something else."
Damien didn't look up. He was staring at a burn mark on the floor, a perfect handprint, left in ash. "Speak."
"We found signs of her there."
A muscle ticked in Damien's jaw. He didn't need to ask who her was. "Eliana."
Ronan hesitated. "She was with Calder. They barely made it out."
Barely. That word should've pleased him. It didn't. Damien straightened, brushing the soot from his gloves, his voice low and cold. "Alive?"
"Yes."
He turned his gaze toward the horizon, a long, dark line where the world seemed to burn into night. "Good."
"Good?" Ronan repeated, incredulous. "She's with the man who's been trying to kill you for months."
"I'm aware."
"Then why not send the order? End it. You've had the chance."
Damien's eyes were distant, unreadable. "Because death is mercy. And I'm not feeling merciful."
Ronan swallowed and didn't ask again.
As the men cleared the wreckage, Damien walked to the shattered window and watched the ashes spiral into the sky. The fire had taken everything that wasn't nailed down, and yet, something about the destruction felt clean. Necessary.
He had once built an empire from chaos. Maybe he could rebuild it again, stronger, colder, untouchable.
But her name lingered in his mind like smoke. Eliana. Even now, when he should've been thinking of revenge, his thoughts tangled around her. Not with tenderness, he wasn't capable of that, but with a gnawing awareness that she had changed something inside him he couldn't name.
He lit a cigarette, inhaling the taste of burnt paper and ruin. Somewhere deep down, he wondered what she would do now that she'd seen what rebellion truly was. If she'd still curse his name. If she'd understand why monsters like him existed at all. The ember flared, then died in the wind.
**
By nightfall, Eliana stood by the campfire with the rebels, her cloak pulled tight around her shoulders. Calder addressed the crowd, ragged men and women with eyes full of desperation. He spoke of freedom, vengeance, destiny. His voice was strong, his words hollow.
Eliana barely listened. The firelight reminded her too much of the inferno that had consumed Damien's estate, the one she'd escaped through blood and glass. But in her mind's eye, the flames didn't devour; they danced. They flickered in the same rhythm as the cigarette ember she used to see between his fingers.
She clenched her fists. She couldn't afford to think of him anymore. Not now.
When the speech ended, Calder approached her again, face solemn. "We move east tomorrow. There's a town that still swears loyalty to him. I need you to talk to them. Convince them to turn."
"You think they'll listen to me?"
"They know who you are." The implication hung heavy. The girl who had survived the devil. The one he'd called his angel.
Her stomach twisted. "You're using me."
Calder didn't deny it. "If it works, it's worth it."
She turned away, her voice sharp. "You're becoming him, Calder."
"Maybe," he said softly. "But at least I know what I'm fighting for."
"Do you?" she whispered. "Because right now, all I see is another man obsessed with power."
He said nothing. And for the first time, she saw something break behind his eyes, a flicker of the man he used to be before all of this began.
That night, Eliana couldn't sleep. She sat by the dying fire, watching the embers fade to gray. The world had burned before, and it would burn again. And somewhere, she knew, Damien Moreaux was watching too, rebuilding, waiting.
The thought should've filled her with dread. Instead, it filled her with something far more dangerous.
Curiosity....
What would he become next time their paths crossed? The same devil, or something worse?
The fire crackled, spitting one last spark into the dark.
Eliana whispered to the night, not knowing if the words would reach him.
"You won't win again, Damien."
But even as she said it, a part of her wondered if that was true. Because devils didn't need to win to own you. Sometimes, they only had to remember you.