Page 111 of The Monster You Made

***

Back at the safehouse, I sit in the dark, hands still trembling. Vera sits beside me, silent, until at last, she speaks. “You can’t save him by destroying yourself.”

I look at her, hollow. “What if that’s the only way?”

She doesn’t flinch. “Then we save him together. Or we burn Cadmus together. But you don’t face this alone.”

Her hand finds mine, steady, grounding. For the first time in days, the loop falters. Not gone, not silenced, but dulled. I breathe. And the breath doesn’t break me.

***

At dawn, scouts return with new maps, new movements. Crown patrols tightening, resources shifting. Everythingnarrows toward one place: a forest military compound with no name, no mark, too heavily guarded to be anything but Cadmus.

The room stills as the map spreads across the table. Every rebel leans in, eyes sharp, breaths held. My chest pounds. This is it. The path I’ve dreaded and hungered for.

I rest my hand on the map, fingers digging into the ink. “Cadmus,” I say. My voice is steel. “It ends there.”

And in the silence that follows, no one doubts. Not even me.

Chapter 56 - Vera

The march begins before dawn. Frost grips every branch, every stone, every breath. The forest swallows us whole, our column a shadow weaving through white silence. No songs. No chants. Only the steady rhythm of boots, the faint jingle of chains scavenged from broken prisons. The weight of Cadmus presses ahead of us, invisible but undeniable, pulling us closer with every step.

Lucian walks at the front. His shoulders are straight, his stride unyielding, but I see the war beneath his skin. He carries not just his sword, but the memory of Cassian's voice, sharpened into a weapon. The rebels follow him because they must. I follow him because I cannot do otherwise.

***

By midday, we reach the outer perimeter. Towers rise between the trees, metal bristling with barbed wire, searchlights sweeping the snow. Cadmus is no myth, no whisper. It stands here, brutal and unashamed, its walls humming with power. This is not a prison. This is a forge.

Elira bares her teeth. “Finally.”

Lucian raises a hand. We scatter into cover, hearts pounding. The plan unfurls in silence: strike fast, break their lines, breach the walls. But plans are only words. What waits inside cannot be mapped.

***

The first arrows fly at dusk. Shadows streak across the snow, followed by the crack of rifles. The towers burn in moments, fire climbing fast against the steel. Rebels surge forward, voices raised in raw fury. Chains rattle as weapons, as banners. We are no longer hidden. We are a storm.

I cut through the wire, sparks hissing as my blade bites metal. Prisoners’ faces press against the inner fences, hollow eyes widening as the flames rise. “Hold on!” I shout. “We’re coming!”

Lucian carves a path through the first gate, his sword a thunderclap in the night. For every soldier who falls, another rises. But nothing slows him. Not bullets, not blades. The rebels chant his name, but I hear only silence in his breath. His fury is not for them. It is for what waits inside.

***

The inner yard is chaos. Smoke, fire, blood. Prisoners pour out through shattered doors, stumbling into the snow. Some we drag. Some we carry. Some fight alongside us with chains turned to whips. Every shout, every cry, every clash of steel reverberates off the walls of Cadmus.

And then the horn sounds. Deep, low, rolling through stone like thunder. The ground trembles beneath my boots.

Lucian freezes. I see it in his eyes, the recognition. The sound is not just a signal. It is a summons.

He whispers one word: “Cassian.”

***

The gates of the inner keep split open. From the smoke, he emerges. Taller. Broader. Scarred and remade. His face is Declan’s, but sharper, colder, twisted by the Crown’s hand. His eyes burn with something not his own. Armor clings to him like a second skin, dark as obsidian. A mask without needing a mask.

The rebels falter. Whispers ripple.Cadmus.

Lucian steps forward. His sword lowers, not in surrender, but in disbelief. “Brother.”