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TWENTY-THREE

LUCIEN

L ucien had infiltrated worse places.

But none of them had felt like this.

The air inside Crimson Hollow was thick with reverence, soaked in smoke and bone-flame. The rebels had gathered in mass—hooded, silent, faces painted in iron-dust, eyes locked on the ceremony happening in the high courtyard.

And at the center of it all, bathed in red firelight, her skin kissed by moonstone shimmer and the glow of her own damn legend—stood Evryn.

Lucien’s shadows curled tighter around his ankles, every step deliberate. The glamour woven into his coat let him blend, let him move through the perimeter like mist. But even cloaked in magic, even trained by silence itself, his chest still pounded too loud.

She looked changed. Not lost. Not broken.

Hardened.

And she still didn’t know.

He’d come in through the lower crypts, the part of Crimson Hollow even Thalia’s loyalists rarely visited. The tunnels smelled of wet iron and old spell residue. And deeper still—beneath the ceremonial sanctum where the rebels praised her name—Lucien had found him.

Eamon.

Cold. Still. Dead. Not recently. Not even close.

The man who raised Evryn had been left here like a secret, a relic buried in spell-silence and cloaked stasis. A charm over the chamber to keep his scent hidden, to keep the rot from spreading. A lie wrapped in sorcery.

Lucien had knelt beside him, shadows hissing in grief.

He looked peaceful. Like he’d gone protecting her.

And she didn’t even know.

She still believed he was alive, just waiting. Just somewhere.

That’s why she stayed with Thalia. That’s why she was letting her heart turn cold and her power run wild.

Because of hope.

Lucien left the crypt and didn’t look back.

He didn’t know what would break more—Evryn’s heart or her rage when she realized the truth. But she had to know. And he couldn’t let her find out from them.

He waited until the fire rites started. Until her hands were lifted high and the circle of blood-born rebels began to chant her name like prophecy.

Then he moved.

Shadows and blades. No sound. No pause.

Through the back of the temple platform, through the narrow servant corridor that twisted behind the altar. He found her there, momentarily alone, her breath visible in the sacred chill, eyes closed as if steadying herself before the final part of the ritual.

She didn’t see him coming.

Not until his hand was on her wrist.

Not until she turned and her shadows reared like beasts.

“Lucien?” Her voice cracked like frost. Then fire. “What the hell are you?—”

“We need to go,” he growled. “Now.”

She yanked back, summoning power. “You don’t get to show up ?—”

He caught her hand again, more force than finesse, and pinned her against the carved wall.

“You want to hit me? Do it later. Right now, I’m getting you out of here.”

“ Why?! ” she snapped, writhing, shoving. “So you can betray me again ?”

He leaned in close, voice a razor. “Because he’s gone.”

She froze.

Her whole body. Her breath.

“What?”

Lucien’s chest heaved. “Eamon. He’s dead.”

Evryn’s lips parted, but no sound came.

Lucien let her go. Stepped back. Let the truth hit like a blade.

“I found him,” he said. “In the crypts. Not hurt. Not tortured. Just… dead. And not recently. They kept him like some talisman , cloaked in stasis magic.”

She staggered against the wall. “No… no, she said…”

“She lied,” he said, softer now. “She’s been using you.”

Evryn shook her head like she could shake it off, but her hands were trembling. “No. He can’t—he wouldn’t just—Thalia said I wasn’t ready, that she was keeping me safe?—”

“Keeping you useful ,” Lucien bit. “As long as you believed he was alive, you’d keep playing her game.”

Tears gathered in her eyes, but she blinked them back, furious.

“I trusted her.”

“I know.”

Evryn looked at him, voice raw. “And I trusted you. ”

Lucien didn’t look away.

He let her see it—all the pain, the guilt, the rage. The part of him that had crawled through blood and ash to reach her. The part that hadn’t stopped wanting to protect her even after she’d walked away.

“You can be furious with me. You can hate me. But right now, you’ve got to choose— her , and a lie that keeps breaking you... or me. And the truth.”

She shook. From grief, from fury, from fear.

She nodded. Once. Barely more than a breath.

Lucien took her hand. And together, they vanished.