Descent, page 25
“At least she’s not lying to me.” Her voice went cold. She meant it.
That hit deeper than I expected. Like she’d kicked open a door I thought I’d bolted shut.
“Lying?” I barked, my voice hoarse with disbelief. “You really think Seraph’s got your best interests at heart? She’s manipulating you, Everly. You’re standing on the edge of a goddamn pit, and she’s telling you to jump.”
Her chin lifted, defiant. “And what do you know about it? You think surviving this long makes you untouchable? Look where all your wisdom got you.”
The words punched right through me. Guilt surged like a wave, but I didn’t let it show. Couldn’t. If I let that in now, I’d crumble.
“She wants to use you,” I said, voice low and deadly. I stepped closer, shadows flickering across her face in the firelight. “This isn’t a storybook. You don’t get to run off and save the day. People die out here—for less than what you’re risking.”
“I’m not just going to sit around waiting for you to make decisions for me,” she fired back, her frustration burning through every word. “I want answers. I want Elise. And I’m not handing her over to Lucifer!”
Her voice caught at the end, like even she was surprised she’d said it so clearly.
That name—Lucifer—it sliced through the space between us, sharp and unforgiving.
She didn’t get it. She didn’t see what I saw every day—the bodies, the bargains, the weight of damnation pressing against your spine like a loaded gun.
“I won’t let you do this,” I said, my voice a quiet growl.
Her eyes met mine, blazing. “Then what are you going to do about it?”
The second she looked at me with that fire in her eyes—like she actually dared me to stop her—something inside me buckled. The tension between us snapped taut, electric, pulsing like a live wire. I couldn’t hold it in anymore.
“You think you’re saving Elise?” I snapped, my voice sharp as broken glass. “Maybe she doesn’t want to be saved. Maybe she’s like the rest of them—just doing whatever it takes to survive.”
I saw the flash of hurt in Everly’s face, but I didn’t stop. The words came too fast, too hot, all blade and no shield.
“You’re still that same naïve little bunker girl,” I went on, the frustration burning a hole straight through me. “You think the world plays fair? It doesn’t. It eats people like you alive. And I won’t be there next time to pull you out of the fire.”
She flinched. Not much, but enough for me to notice. I hated myself for it—and still, I didn’t stop.
“Maybe I don’t need you to save me,” she shot back, quiet but steady. There was a tremor in her voice, but her eyes? Steel.
Something cracked in me. She turned, just like that. Walked away. No yelling, no dramatic exit—just silence. She left me standing there, everything we’d built hanging in the air like smoke that refused to clear.
“Everly!” I called after her, my voice catching somewhere between a command and a plea. She didn’t stop. Didn’t even turn her head.
I watched her go. Watched the light of the fire stretch over her figure one last time before the darkness swallowed her whole.
And I stood there. Like a fool. Like a coward.
The room was too quiet, the flames too loud, licking at the edges of my guilt. Every breath I took felt like it scraped my lungs raw. She thought she could go out there and fix this—find Elise, make things right. Like the world gave a damn about her good intentions.
She didn’t understand what waited out there.
And still… I didn’t go after her.
I told myself it was better this way. That she needed to learn the hard way. That this would make her stronger.
But the more I said it, the heavier my chest got.
I stood in that room long after she vanished, wrestling with every mistake I’d ever made like they were ghosts clawing at my back. The fire cracked beside me, casting shadows across the floor—shadows of something warm we’d had for a moment. Just a moment.
And now it was gone.
Hope. I knew better than to believe in it. Out here in the Forsaken, hope was nothing more than a desert mirage—always close enough to see, never close enough to touch. It got you killed. And trusting Seraph? That wasn’t hope. That was a goddamn trap.
Everly didn’t see it. Not the way I did. She saw the glint of something kind in Seraph’s eyes, mistaking calculation for compassion. She didn’t understand the kind of woman Seraph was—the kind who could sweet-talk you into handing her the knife she’d use to gut you.
And yet… the thought of Everly walking away—of her choosing someone else’s path over mine—it carved something deep and raw in my chest. I slumped back against the wall, the edge of my pack pressing into my spine, anchoring me in a reality I didn’t want to face.
I could see it so clearly. Her following Seraph into the lion’s den. Her putting her faith in the wrong hands. Her getting hurt… or worse.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to silence the panic that coiled tighter and tighter in my chest. It was a choking kind of fear—the kind that made your heart race and your fists clench and your breath catch like you were drowning on dry land.
Maybe it was better this way. Distance. Detachment. I’d been telling myself that for years—hell, centuries. Carry the burden alone. Keep everyone at arm’s length. Don’t let anyone close enough to hurt you or to get hurt because of you.
But damn it… the ache wouldn’t go away.
No matter how many times I told myself she was better off without me, part of me still wished it could be different. That we could stand side by side. That we could weather the storm together instead of tearing ourselves apart before the first drop of rain even fell.
I wanted that. God help me, I wanted her. But wanting and having were never the same thing. Not for me. Not anymore.
Chapter 29
Everly
The silence pressed in around me, thick and stifling. Walton was gone, and the room felt emptier than it had any right to. I wrapped my arms tightly around myself, trying to summon some semblance of warmth, but nothing filled the hollow space he’d left behind. I had told myself I needed this—space, independence, clarity. But it didn’t feel like freedom.
It felt like abandonment.
Laughter filtered in from somewhere beyond the walls—soft, muffled, distant. Voices moving through hallways I wasn’t part of anymore. The brothel carried on, women working, men indulging, the world turning without pause. But I was stuck, frozen in this place that didn’t feel like mine. Not anymore.
My thoughts circled Walton like vultures. His voice, his fury, the way his eyes flared when he was angry—and how that same fire flickered when he looked at me. I used to believe that meant something. That I meant something. But what if I didn’t? What if I had been just another step on his path to freedom? A means to an end?
I sat on the edge of the bed and pressed my hands together, not sure if I was praying or begging. God, I know I’m supposed to be strong; I whispered in my head. But I feel so lost. A lump formed in my throat. Is it weakness to need him? Or foolishness to still hope?
No answer came. Not from God. Just silence. It wrapped around me like a shroud, tighter with every breath.
A floorboard creaked somewhere down the hall. The sound barely registered, just another reminder that life continued for everyone else. But I was stuck here—alone, confused, and unraveling.
I dropped my head into my hands, choking on a breath that felt too heavy to hold. How did we get here? I’d trusted him. I’d let myself believe there was something real beneath the sharpness and shadows.
But I couldn’t stay in that room any longer.
The silence was suffocating.
I stood abruptly, forcing my legs to carry me out. Down the stairs. Toward the back door. I needed air, stars, space—anything but these four walls closing in on me. The door creaked open, and the night air kissed my skin like a balm. Moonlight painted the ruins silver, turning broken boards and rusted metal into ghosts of what once was.
Then, by a pile of rubble near the alley, I saw movement.
A familiar silhouette.
My heart leapt. Silence.
She sat there, still and watchful, her eyes glowing faintly in the dark.
My brow furrowed. He didn’t take her?
Anger surged, sharp and sudden. How could he leave her behind like that? Didn’t he know what she meant—not just to him, but to me? She wasn’t just a creature or a weapon. She was his shadow, his soul in some strange way. And now, maybe mine too.
“Stupid,” I muttered, the word aimed at him, at me, at everything.
Because somehow, even after everything, I still wanted him to come back.
“Hey there, girl,” I said gently, crouching beside Silence until her glowing red eyes met mine. They shimmered in the darkness like embers, flickering with something I couldn’t name—an eerie kind of warmth that settled in my bones. I reached out slowly and scratched behind her ears. Her fur was coarse and wild beneath my fingers, but it grounded me in a way nothing else could.
“I promise I won’t leave you,” I whispered.
She let out a low, rumbling growl that vibrated in her chest, then leaned forward and licked my face. The roughness of her tongue startled me—it wasn’t soft or comforting. It was raw. Real. Like everything else had been an illusion.
For a moment, all the doubts swirling in my head—the ache Walton left behind, the truth Seraph had wrapped in silken words—fell away under Silence’s unwavering presence. She didn’t ask for anything. She just stayed.
“You’re still here with me,” I murmured, brushing my hand down her neck. And when she licked my cheek again, I smiled. It wasn’t joy, exactly. It was relief. Reassurance that something in this shattered world was still loyal.
She stayed pressed close as I stood up, the cold air curling around us. I walked back toward the stoop and sat on the cracked stone step. Silence curled at my feet like a shadow. I breathed deep, filling my lungs with crisp morning air—trying to find my purpose again inside the quiet.
Then, the back door creaked open behind me.
“There you are,” came the soft voice.
Seraph.
She stepped into the moonlight, silver hair gleaming like silk as she moved toward me with the grace of a queen. She didn’t speak right away. She just sat beside me, the heat of her presence brushing my skin like candlelight.
Silence growled low and warning, ears pinned back, eyes narrowed on Seraph. I placed a hand gently on her back, unsure why the Hellhound bristled. Seraph had always been kind—gentle, even maternal.
“Men like that…” Seraph said at last, voice quiet but full of something deeper, something knowing. “They burn so bright, don’t they? But they always leave us cold in the end.”
Her words struck a chord I wasn’t ready to hear. I stayed silent, every muscle in my body taut. She saw straight through me—through my fear, my doubt, my heartbreak.
“I’ve seen it before,” she went on, brushing her hand against my knee in a gesture that was both comforting and commanding. “Strong men. Broken men. They make promises in the dark. But when dawn comes, they always choose themselves.”
“He’s not…” I tried, but the words wavered. “He’s not like that. He saved me.”
Seraph turned her head slowly, those violet eyes boring into mine with impossible clarity. “Saved you,” she repeated, her tone gentle. “Or kept you?”
I swallowed hard, Seraph’s question still ringing in my ears like an accusation I wasn’t ready to face. Saved me… or kept me? It wrapped around my throat like a noose, tightening every time I tried to breathe. Had Walton really rescued me—or had he just pulled me close to serve his own ends? Was I free, or had I just become useful?
Silence nudged against my leg, grounding me with her quiet strength. I placed my hand on her head without thinking, seeking comfort in her presence. But even the Hellhound’s steadiness couldn’t untangle the storm inside my chest. I liked being with Walton. I’d felt safe with him—wanted, even. But now? That safety felt like a mirage.
The sunlight filtered through the crumbling rafters above us, casting golden shadows across the ground. Everything looked so warm. It didn’t match the chill pressing in on my heart.
I turned toward Seraph. She hadn’t moved, her silver hair glowing faintly in the light. Her presence filled the space like smoke—soft, fragrant, impossible to ignore.
“You don’t need men like that, Everly,” she said quietly, but with the weight of someone who knew. “You need women like us. Women who know what it means to survive without losing themselves.”
My chest tightened. Was she right? Had I clung to Walton because I thought I needed his strength to survive? Had I convinced myself he was something more than a means to an end?
Seraph’s eyes softened. “I know why you’re really here. Your sister.”
The sound of Elise’s name was like a lightning strike. It cracked open everything inside me—my grief, my guilt, my desperation. Elise. My anchor, my heart. The reason I hadn’t crumbled completely.
“Girls like Elise… girls like you…” Seraph continued, her voice wrapping around me like velvet. “You don’t survive out there unless someone pulls you back. Someone brave enough to reach into the dark.”
The way she said it—like she believed in me—made my heart pound harder. Something fierce flickered to life beneath my skin.
“Women like us,” she said, her gaze unwavering, “we’re the ones who save each other. Not men with guns. Not angels with swords.”
I inhaled sharply, her words striking something deep. Was she offering me a new path? One I hadn’t dared imagine until now?
“I can help you find her,” she said finally. The promise hung there, suspended between us like a thread waiting to be grasped.
My thoughts tangled, Walton’s face flashing in my mind—his fury, his protectiveness, the sorrow in his eyes when he thought I wasn’t looking. Part of me still ached for him, even as I questioned everything he’d done.
But then I thought of Elise. Of the way she used to sing to me in the dark. Of her laughter. Of how I promised I’d never leave her behind.
“I know it feels impossible,” Seraph whispered, reaching out like she could see every flicker of doubt inside me. “But we’re stronger together. Elise needs you. Just like I know you need her.”
And for the first time in a long while, I let myself believe that maybe—just maybe—I could still be the one to save her.
Seraph leaned in, her breath brushing my ear like silk. “There’s an auction coming,” she whispered, each word precise and heavy with unspoken meaning. “Big. Important. The kind of place where men who deal in Purifier stock gather.”
A chill traced the length of my spine. My breath caught, the implication crashing over me like cold water. I looked at her, wide-eyed, but she was already watching me—gauging the storm building in my chest.
“I can get you in,” she said. “Not as a buyer, of course.” Her lips curled faintly, almost apologetically. “As one of the girls.”
My heart slammed against my ribs. My mouth opened, but the words felt too small. “I’m not… I couldn’t…”
Seraph raised her hand, calm and slow, stilling my spiraling thoughts before they unraveled into full-blown panic. “I wouldn’t let anything happen to you,” she said, her voice steady like iron wrapped in velvet.
I wanted to believe her. Needed to.
“But… what if something goes wrong?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
“There’s always a way out,” she replied, and there was something in her voice that made me believe it wasn’t just a reassurance. It was a plan.
Still, doubt coiled in my gut. “You want me to put myself in danger.”
She didn’t flinch. “Danger,” she echoed, her tone softer now. “Or opportunity?” Her violet eyes gleamed, not with cruelty, but with something deeper—conviction. “You’d be close enough to see the names. The faces. You could find her.”
Her words slid under my skin, sharp and purposeful. Elise. My sister. The only person who ever felt like home. If she was in that place—if she needed me—I had to try.
“You wouldn’t just be saving Elise,” Seraph added, her voice now almost reverent. “You’d be saving all of them.”
A wave of memories hit me—Skull’s camp. The other girls. The ones I couldn’t help. The ones I had to leave behind. Their eyes haunted me, and the idea of giving them a chance… it tore through me with both hope and guilt.
“Do you believe?” Seraph asked, her voice soft but certain. “I see it in you. Maybe this is your calling.”
I looked away, blinking fast as something raw swelled inside me—this pressure, this need to do something more than just survive. Her words pressed on an old ache in my heart, the ache of knowing Elise was still out there, somewhere, possibly suffering.
“Maybe God brought you here,” she murmured, “to be the light in the dark for those girls.”
A shiver ran through me—not from fear, but from something that felt close to faith.
The thought of being sold, of being paraded before monsters pretending to be men, sent dread crawling through my veins. But beneath that fear… was something fiercer. Brighter. A hope I hadn’t felt in a long time. I could do this. I had to.
To save Elise.
To prove I was enough.
To show Walton that I could stand without him.
But even thinking his name made my chest tighten. The ache hadn’t left. Part of me still longed for his steadiness, his fire. The part of me that had leaned on him—trusted him.
And hated that I had.
I clenched my fists. I had to be stronger. I had to prove it—to Walton, to Seraph, to God, to myself. This world didn’t give anything without a price. Maybe this was mine.
Maybe this was my chance to fight back.
What if Seraph’s words were more than mere comfort? What if this truly was part of a greater plan?
