-Alexia-
The silence was the worst part.
For five hours, I'd been alone. Five hours of listening to the drip of water somewhere nearby and the low, constant hum of the magic that held me. Gideon hadn't come back. There was no grand torture chamber, no dramatic monologue, just cold stone and absolute, infuriating quiet. He had left me here to stew, letting the silence do the work of breaking my resolve. It was a tactic worthy of him—subtle, insidious, and aimed straight at the core of my fear.
I pulled against the chains again, a sharp, steady tug. The metal was dark and cool, looping my wrists and ankles just enough to allow some movement but not enough to reach anything. They weren't physically painful, but they throttled my light. Every time I pushed a spark of magic into them, the chains absorbed it, humming louder, sending a deep thrum of Gideon's control back into my veins. It was like shouting into a pillow; the noise was silenced, and the effort was wasted.
I sat back against the rough-hewn wall, tasting the metallic scent of damp earth and old stone. This wasn't a dungeon, not precisely. The room was deep underground, likely within the foundation of whatever fortress Gideon had taken over, but the walls were too clean, the air too managed. It felt like a sterile holding cell in a forgotten castle—a cage built for someone special.
I closed my eyes, forcing the image of the destroyed courtyard out of my mind and reaching instead for the bond.
Finn's fire. I felt it like a distant, frantic pulse—hot, raging, and directed at me, but too far to provide comfort. Soren's shadow. A tight, dangerous restraint, the kind of stillness that preceded a violent storm. And Jasper's heartbeat. Steady, yet aching. It was the only rhythm keeping me grounded.
They're alive. That was the only thought that mattered. They're looking for me.
My sacrifice hadn't been a permanent end; it was a distraction. I needed to figure out how to make it worth it.
I focused on the faint, hidden pulse of my own power—the light I had tucked away, the silver and gold energy that refused to be extinguished. The chains contained the flare, but they couldn't contain the source of the fire. I needed a flaw, a weak point in Gideon's architecture. He was powerful, but he was arrogant. He thought my light was a flood he could simply dam; he hadn't considered it might be a river that could carve a new path.
I slowly moved my right hand, dragging the chain a few inches along the stone floor. The metal scraped, a tiny, annoying sound in the overwhelming quiet. I let my fingers brush against the cool stone, tracing the invisible border of the runes. The air above them felt thick and dense, filled with suppressed energy.
I let a whisper of my light—not a push, but a thread—leak out, following the circuit of the runes. The thread of light met the shadow magic, and instantly, the chain tightened minimally, but the hum intensified.
The hum was the sound of the magic feeding. Gideon wasn't just containing me; he was siphoning my power, using my own light to fuel the cage.
A cold surge of understanding hit me. He didn't want a broken captive; he wanted a battery.
I suppressed my light completely, cutting off the supply. The hum dropped instantly, and the chains settled back into their previous, heavy silence. A cruel smile stretched across my face.
Game on, Gideon.
I was going to use every second to learn the language of my cage.
I had just begun visualizing the invisible lines of energy that connected the floor runes, searching for the single point where the spell was initiated, when the stone wall opposite me hissed. Not a rough, grinding sound, but a sharp, magical exhale.
A section of the wall—a massive slab of reinforced stone—slid inward with silent, terrifying precision, revealing a brightly lit corridor. The sudden change from damp, heavy darkness to sharp, sterile light made my eyes burn.
And there he was.
Gideon stepped through the opening. He looked less like a conqueror and more like a professor who had just finished grading papers—calm, composed, and utterly devoid of remorse.
He paused, taking me in, a faint, almost pitying smile touching his lips.
"Ah, Alexia. I trust you haven't been too uncomfortable."
I lifted my chin, refusing to give him the satisfaction of flinching.
"You're treating this spell like a cage," I said. "Too tight. Too rigid. Anything alive forced into something like this eventually fights back—or breaks."
Gideon's smile curved, slow and amused.
"Always thinking like a caretaker," he said. "Trying to heal what was never meant to be gentle." He stepped closer, his voice lowering. "But this containment wasn't designed for comfort, Alexia. It was designed for control."
He walked toward me, and the air immediately thickened, the oppressive weight of his power pushing against my own suppressed light. The chains on my wrists began to warm slightly.
He knelt, not touching me, but close enough that I could feel the chill radiating off him. "The waiting period is over. You've had your time to mourn the loss of your freedom. Now, you must fulfill the bargain. You saved your friends, your little sidekick, and your beloved mates. It's time for you to face the actual price."
"Which is?" I challenged.
"Cooperation," he said simply. He stood and waved a hand toward the door. "We are moving. I have no intention of keeping you chained in the dark, Alexia. Not when you are meant to be standing by my side."
The thought of walking freely next to him made my stomach churn. "Don't mistake my presence for support, Gideon," I warned.
He ignored the retort, pulling a minor, ornate key from his robes—it looked less like metal and more like carved bone. He inserted it into a tiny lock near my wrist. With a soft, metallic click, the dark magic in the chains vanished. They fell away, clattering harmlessly onto the stone floor.
The sudden freedom was dizzying. My limbs felt heavy and light all at once, tingling with the release of the suppressed energy. I struggled to my feet, my muscles stiff and sore.
"This way," he commanded, turning to walk out.
I hesitated, wanting to run back, to gather the remnants of my light and strike, but the air around him was a wall of cold, unmoving power. I had no weapon, no leverage, and I needed to see what he was planning.
I followed him out into the corridor. It was long, torch-lit, and smelled faintly of incense and polished wood—definitely a castle, ancient and grand, but infused with the wrong kind of magic.
He led me past several turns and finally stopped before a heavy oak door. "We have an important gathering tonight," he explained, not looking at me. "My... Inner Circle requires a formal introduction to its new acquisition. You will be presenting yourself appropriately."
He pushed the door open to reveal a small, luxurious chamber—a stark contrast to the cell. There was a large, curtained bed, a vanity, and a simple, elegant black dress.
"Change," he ordered. "The ceremony starts soon. You will wear that, and you will present yourself with the dignity of someone who understands the power she now possesses."
I crossed my arms. "I understand the power I possess. I still don't understand yours, or why you needed to kidnap me to prove it."
His gaze finally locked on mine—sharp, hard, and utterly dismissive of my resistance. "You have no choice, Alexia. None. Every second you spend fighting this is a second your little friends are searching and putting themselves in danger. You will play your part, and you will stay alive until I decide otherwise. Do you understand?"
I took a slow breath, my jaw aching with the effort to hold back a flood of angry, useless words. I looked at the black dress—a symbol of my confinement, a uniform he expected me to wear.
"I understand," I said quietly, letting the words carry a promise of defiance he couldn't hear. "But I will be wearing my own strength, not your colors."
Gideon gave a curt nod, satisfied with the surface compliance. "Good. Ten minutes. Do not try to escape. Every exit is locked, and every shadow is watching. I will return for you."
He stepped out, and the oak door clicked shut. I heard the faint singing of a bolt being thrown home.
I was alone again, but the silence this time was sharp, charged with urgency. I walked over to the chaise, picked up the dress, and looked at my reflection in the dark, polished wood of the vanity. My eyes were burning silver-gold, my hair was a mess, and ash smeared my cheek.
He wanted a presentation. He wanted control.
I would give him a performance. I would put on the black dress, but I would wrap my core in an armor of light he couldn't see, and I would meet his Inner Circle not as a captive, but as a spy.
The countdown had begun.