Page 105 of The Monster You Made
Lucian stands apart, blood drying black on his hands. His gaze is fixed on the horizon, that same place where no map reaches. When I approach, he doesn’t turn.
“They keep sending him,” he says. His voice is iron bent too far. “They keep breaking him. And I keep letting them.”
“You freed dozens tonight,” I remind him. “You broke their chains. That matters.”
His lips twitch, a ghost of something like a smile. But it fades fast. “Not enough.”
***
Back at the safehouse, the rescued sit in huddled groups, fed and warmed, their eyes still wide with disbelief. Marta’s journals lie open on the table. I read her words aloud as I move among them: “Truth endures. Chains break.” Each phrase steadies them, roots them in something larger than fear.
But Lucian doesn’t linger. He retreats to the shadows of the hall, where the console waits. I find him there hours later, the glow of the dead screen painting his face hollow. He doesn’t look at me when I enter.
“They’ll keep sending more,” I say softly.
“Yes.” His voice is flat.
“What will you do when the next comes?”
His hands tighten against the desk until his knuckles whiten. “Find him. Tear him free. Or kill whatever they’ve made him into.”
The words cut through me. I want to argue, to say we can save him, that Cassian is still in there somewhere. But the look in Lucian’s eyes stops me. He isn’t asking permission. He’s bracing for war.
***
The rescued fill every corner of the safehouse. Some sleep in piles of blankets, others whisper in small circles, as though afraid the freedom will vanish if they speak too loudly. The air smells of broth and smoke, of bodies pressed close together. For a moment, it feels almost like a village again, not a war camp.
I move through them, offering water, quiet words, scraps of Marta’s journals. Each phrase builds a fragile bridge back to hope. “Truth endures. Chains break.” I whisper it until their eyes soften, until their breaths ease. But even as I give them Marta’s faith, I feel mine fray with each heartbeat.
Because Lucian is nowhere among them.
I find him at the far end of the compound, standing alone beneath a broken floodlight. The snow drifts in thin sheets, hissing when it touches the barrel of his sword. He doesn’t look up when I approach.
“You haven’t eaten,” I say.
“Not hungry.” His voice is stone.
“Lucian….”
He turns then, eyes blazing. “They hollowed him out, Vera. They turned him into a mask. Every word he speaks is their script. Do you know what that means?”
I swallow. “It means they fear you enough to use him.”
“It means my brother is gone.” His voice breaks on the wordbrother. “All that’s left is their weapon. And every time I look at these maps, every time I give an order, I hear him telling me I failed him.”
He drags a hand across his face, weary, raw. “How do I fight an enemy that uses his face? His voice? How do I cut that down without cutting the last piece of him?”
I step closer, lay a hand over his. His fingers tremble under mine. “You don’t give up. You fight because of him. Because one day, we might pull him back from what they made him.”
His eyes search mine, desperate for something he doesn’t dare believe. “And if we can’t?”
“Then you fight for everyone else they’ve stolen. And you make sure no one else is turned into a weapon like him.”
He exhales, ragged, but some of the fire steadies in his gaze.
***
Later, as the rescued sleep, the council gathers in whispers. Elira spreads maps across the table. “The convoy was bait. They wanted us to see the prisoners, free them, burn our strength.”
