Chapter Twenty-Six
CASSIA
Thirty-seven cracks mar the ceiling of my room—I’ve counted them seventeen times now.
I trace the bruises along my neck, memorizing each tender spot where Arayik’s fingers dug into my flesh. The marks have darkened overnight, a collar of purple and blue that brands me as a traitor. My throat burns when I swallow, a constant reminder of how close I came to death.
How close I still am.
Anything to keep my mind occupied.
Footsteps echo in the hallway beyond my door—heavy boots thudding in a measured cadence I’ve learned by heart.
Two Enforcers pass every hour, their timing so precise I could set a clock by it.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d think they were protecting me.
But from what? They’re the same men I need protection from.
Life moves on around me as if nothing has changed, and the entire foundation of the world hasn’t shifted.
But it has. They know what I am now, even if they don’t know what to do about it.
Laughter drifts from somewhere outside, the sound depressing and alien after the post-almost-death silence. The training yard must be active today. I wonder if they’ve replaced me yet…if some other recruit is struggling through Arayik’s brutal conditioning while I rot in this concrete box.
They probably miss having someone to beat up.
Scrunching my eyes closed, I press a thin pillow on my face and try to remember what my mother’s voice sounds like.
It’s been so long since I left home, but already the memory feels distant, like trying to recall a dream after waking.
Does she know what happened to me yet? Does she lie awake at night wondering if I’m alive or dead?
Does she regret not stopping me?
The lock mechanism in my door clicks, and I don’t bother sitting up. It’s probably just Arayik coming to try again.
“Hungry?”
Elias’ voice chases away my brooding, and I drop the pillow to focus on him. He stands in the doorway holding a tray awkwardly, his mask absent for once. Without it, he’s younger somehow. More human. The sharp angles of his face are softened by the dim light filtering behind him.
“Depends if you’ll also grace me with a trip to the bathroom,” I drawl, pushing to sit against the wall. My voice comes out very rough and scratchy, still raw from Arayik’s grip.
He steps in to shut the door, eyes widening considerably. Is he serious right now?
“You do know that women don’t have dicks, right?” My head tilts toward the sink. “I can’t just go wherever I please.” I won’t admit I did, in fact, pee in the sink rather than bang on the door and beg for an escort.
A girl can’t hold her bladder forever, gross as it was to squat over the gritty thing. Thank the stars for soap.
The man blinks. “You’re right, I’m sorry, I—” A long swallow before he speaks again. “I did not consider that. Of course you can use the bathroom.”
“It’s fine!” I exclaim when he reaches for the door. “I can wait.”
That earns me a nod before he sets the tray on the small table beside my bed. Steam rises from what smells like actual food—not the dried-up shit that’s only edible with heaps of water. “Thought you might be hungry.”
I eye the plate suspiciously. “What’s the catch?”
“No catch.” He pulls the single chair away from the table and lowers himself, leaving space between us. “Just figured you could use a decent meal.”
The smell overpowers me then—roasted meat, vegetables, something that might actually have flavor.
My stomach clenches with the hunger I’ve been fighting to ignore.
When was the last time I ate food that wasn’t designed purely for nutritional efficiency?
If I never saw a stick of jerky again, it would be too soon.
“You’re being awfully kind for someone who’s supposed to be my captor,” I observe, but reach for the tray anyway. Pride won’t fill my stomach.
“Am I your captor?” he asks. “Or are you mine?”
I pause with a forkful of food halfway to my mouth. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Seems like you’re the one with all the power here.”
I laugh at that, but there’s no humor in it. “I’m quite literally locked in a room, completely at your mercy. If that’s power, I’d hate to see what powerlessness looks like.”
“You made Arayik—the strongest Anchor I’ve ever known—release his grip on you.” Elias leans forward, his speckled eyes intense. “I’d say that’s power.”
Ah, yes, the question I knew would be on all their minds: how does a woman have such abilities?
I bite into the meat, chewing slowly while my mind considers his words. The food is good—better than good. It tastes like something my mother might have made.
“Is that why you didn’t say anything after watching me free the prisoners?”
Both brows raise. “My point is that maybe we’re not as different as we thought.” Of course he won’t answer.
“We’re nothing alike.” The words are harsh and sharp, aided by my unavoidable rasp. “You chose this life. You hunt women and drag them to facilities where they’ll be raped and used like breeding stock. That will never be me.”
“Hm.” His voice is quiet, thoughtful.
He watches me eat, fingers drumming against his knee in an odd rhythm. When he finally speaks, his voice is careful and measured.
“Kellen and I would like to speak with you.”
“And our dear Commander?”
“Arayik wants you dead, but he’s outvoted for now.”
“How democratic of you.” I chew another bite, savoring the flavors. “What kind of talk are we having? The kind where you torture me to extract information, or the kind where you pretend to care about my motivations so I tell you what you want to know?”
“The kind where we try to understand what the hell we’re supposed to do now.”
Strange. He sounds almost torn, as if this is just as difficult for him as it is for me.
“You could always just kill me,” I suggest. “Solve all your problems at once.” Shut up, Cas.
His head tilts. “I’m starting to think killing you might create more problems than it solves.”
I finish the last of the vegetables and push the tray away. My stomach feels uncomfortably full after days of minimal food, but the warmth spreading through me is worth the discomfort.
“When?” I ask.
“Now, if you’re up for it.”
I stand and stretch, working out the kinks from too many hours lying on an uncomfortable bed. My muscles protest, still sore from the mission and its aftermath. “Lead the way.”
Elias rises and moves toward the door, then pauses. “We’re not your enemies, you know.”
I bark out a laugh, hurting my throat as I clutch my now cramping stomach and grab my mask. “Spare me. I don’t need to be a Revealer to know that’s bullshit.” He doesn’t answer; why would he? There’s nothing he could say to counter it.
The corridor outside my room is empty, but my skin burns as if every eye in the world is tracking our movement, recording everything for posterity or evidence.
Elias leads me down a hall I haven’t seen before, past doors lacking names or markings. I follow like the good soldier I am, breathing steady as we stop before a random door. His finger against a scanner unlocks it, and he pulls on the handle, gesturing for me to enter first.
The room beyond is small and windowless, dominated by a metal table and three chairs. Kellen is seated at the far end, his mask resting on the shiny surface.
The hair along my arms raises, taking with it the last of my confidence.
“Ashford,” he says by way of greeting. “Sit.” Do they know I’m an Ashford or are they just not sure what else to call me?
I choose the chair closest to the door—old habits die hard—and settle in. I have no weapons and am not in any shape to fight, so I’m certain my foot closer to the hallway would mean nothing if they attacked, but it’s the little things.
“Is it just us?” I ask, clearing my throat, hands shaking as they remove the mask, willingly presenting my face for the first time since I left home.
Kellen confirms, then adds, “This is simply a conversation.” I scoff and he almost smiles at that. “We’re just three people trying to understand a very complicated situation.”
I lean back in my chair, adopting the casual male posture I’ve perfected over weeks of pretending to be someone else. “Ask your questions, then.”
Kellen and Elias exchange a look, some silent communication passing between them. Finally, the former speaks.
“What’s your name?”
“Cassia.” That much I can give them; they won’t find it on any records.
“And who are you, Cassia?”
“You know who I am.”
“We know your name. We know you’re female. We know you’ve been impersonating Lachlan Ashford. But we don’t know who you really are.”
I consider the question, swallowing as it pillages in my mind like thoughts do when I’m determining how many moves I can beat my father in during chess.
Who am I? The daughter who disappointed her parents by leaving? The sister who stole her brother’s identity? The woman who weaseled her way into this team of Enforcers?
“I’m someone who got tired of hiding,” I answer after a few moments.
“From what?”
“From a world that pretends I don’t exist, and a system that treats women like usable property.”
Elias leans forward, hands clasping on the table. I meet his gaze. “So you decided to do something about it.”
A shrug. “Someone had to.”
“Had to what?” he presses.
I stare into his curious eyes and say nothing. Some truths are too dangerous to speak aloud, even here.
Kellen tries a different approach. “How long have you been planning this?”
“Planning what, joining your team? About five minutes before I walked out my front door.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only answer you’re getting.” His mouth tightens as the other man chuckles under his breath.
The silence stretches between us as they try to read me. To understand the motivations that drove me to such extreme risk and deception.
“Who is Lachlan Ashford to you?” Elias questions, the words genuine. So they don’t know…