31. Chapter 31
Wren
I'm floating somewhere between consciousness and darkness. Voices drift in and out—unfamiliar, clinical. Something beeps rhythmically nearby. My head throbs with a dull, persistent ache. I try to open my eyes, but my lids are too heavy, weighted with sedation.
Sleep pulls me under again, but this time it's different. I'm not just sleeping; I'm sinking into memory. Not the fragmented flashes I've experienced before, but something complete. Something whole.
I know I'm dreaming, yet it feels more real than any nightmare I've had before. The colors are too vivid, the sounds too clear. It's like I'm watching myself from just behind my own eyes, powerless to change what happens but fully present to experience it.
I'm pushing through a crowd of reporters outside my family's home. Their questions hit me like physical blows.
"Is it true your brother is the Reaper?"
"When did you last see Lucien Cain?"
"Did you know what your brother was doing?"
Their microphones thrust toward my face, cameras flashing. I duck my head, shoving past them to reach the front door. My hands shake as I fumble with the key, relief washing over me when I finally stumble inside and slam the door behind me.
The sudden silence is jarring after the chaos outside.
Our house feels different—too quiet, too still.
Sunlight streams through the tall windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air.
Everything looks exactly as it always has—the expensive furniture, the tasteful artwork, the family photos arranged just so—yet something feels fundamentally wrong.
"Mom? Dad?" I call out, my voice echoing through the empty foyer. My actual voice—strong, clear, unbroken. The sound of it sends a strange jolt through me, a reminder of what I've lost.
I drop my bag and keys on the marble-topped table by the door. The clatter seems too loud in the silence. I shrug off my jacket, draping it over the banister of the sweeping staircase.
"Hello? Anyone home?"
Nothing. Just the tick of the grandfather clock in the hall, marking seconds that feel strangely elongated.
I move deeper into the house, away from the windows where I can still see reporters lingering on the lawn. My footsteps echo on the hardwood floors as I head toward the back living room.
In my dream-state, I want to scream at myself to turn around, to run. I know what's coming, can feel the dread building with each step I take, but I'm powerless to change the course of this memory.
When I reach the living room doorway, I freeze. Levi is sitting on our couch, his posture tense, his eyes fixed on something I can't see. My brother's best friend. The boy who practically grew up in our house, who I've known since I was twelve.
"Levi?" I say, confusion evident in my voice. "What are you doing here? Have you seen Lucien? The police are looking for him."
He looks up, and something in his expression makes my skin crawl. His eyes are too bright, his smile too wide. His usually neat hair is disheveled, like he's been running his hands through it repeatedly.
"Lilliana," he says, rising from the couch, he reaches up and pushes his hair out of his eyes in a familiar gesture. "I was waiting for you."
I step into the room, maintaining distance between us. Something feels wrong. Dangerous. "Where is everyone? Where's Lucien?"
"Gone," Levi says, his smile never faltering. "Lucien ran. Of course he ran. He had to."
"What are you talking about?" I ask, my confusion growing. "Why would he run?"
Levi begins to pace, his movements jerky and uncoordinated. "Because they know now. I made sure they know. About what he is. What he's done."
A chill runs down my spine. "Levi, you're not making sense. What's going on?"
He stops abruptly, turning to face me with an intensity that makes me take an involuntary step backward. "You don't understand, do you? You need to understand. I did it for you."
"Did what?" My voice rises slightly, fear beginning to creep in.
"Those people," Levi says, as if it should be obvious. "The ones who deserved it. We needed to... express ourselves. To satisfy the urges." His eyes take on a faraway look. "Lucien understood at first. He felt it too. We started together, him and me. Hunting the ones who'd escaped justice."
Horror dawns slowly as I process his words. "Are you saying... Lucien is the Reaper? That's insane. He wouldn't—"
"He was. Until he wasn't." Levi's voice becomes animated, excited. "We started together. Those first few—the rapist, that corrupt cop—we did those together. Justice mattered. But I needed something... different."
The room seems to tilt beneath my feet.
"Those girls, the ones that looked like you… I couldn't let him know how I felt so I killed them," Levi admits, almost sheepishly. "I made them look like his kills. But they were mine. All mine. So you'd know I'd never look at anyone else the way I look at you—even if they have your face."
I back toward the door, my heart pounding against my ribs. "I don't believe you. Lucien wouldn't—"
"He’s more dangerous than me… sicker… you should see what he does to his playthings… He would destroy us if he knew," Levi continues as if I hadn't spoken. "If he knew how I felt about you. What I wanted from you."
My back hits the doorframe. "What are you talking about?"
His eyes focus on me with frightening intensity. "You belong to me, Lilliana. You always have. I've watched you for years, waiting for the right time. Lucien would never have allowed it. He was too protective of you. That's why I had to get rid of him."
Understanding crashes over me. "You turned him in. You told the police Lucien was the Reaper."
Levi's smile widens. "For us. So we could be together. Don't you see? It's perfect now. He's gone. Your parents are at the police station. It's just us."
I shake my head, fear closing my throat. "No. There is no 'us,' Levi. I'm leaving. I can't stay here."
His expression darkens. "Leaving?"
"I already told my work I need time off," I say, inching toward the hallway. "I'm getting out of town until this blows over, maybe longer. I just came home to pack some clothes."
Something shifts in his eyes—a coldness replacing the manic energy. "You aren't going anywhere."
I turn to run, but he's faster. His hand catches my wrist, yanking me back with enough force that I stumble against him. His other arm wraps around my waist, pinning me against his chest.
"Let me go!" I struggle against his hold, panic rising.
"You aren't going to leave me, Lilliana," he whispers, his lips so close to my ear I can feel his breath on my skin. "You belong to me. You've always belonged to me."
His hand releases my wrist, but before I can pull away, it's at my throat. His fingers press against my windpipe, not yet squeezing but threatening.
"Levi, please," I gasp, tears springing to my eyes. "You're hurting me."
"I don't want to hurt you," he says, his voice eerily calm now. "I love you. I've always loved you. But I can't let you leave."
His fingers tighten, cutting off my air. I claw at his hand, my nails digging into his skin, but he doesn't seem to feel it. Black spots dance across my vision as I struggle to breathe.
"Mine," he whispers as I begin to lose consciousness. "You're mine."
Darkness closes in, and with my last conscious thought, I'm certain I'm dying.
"Wren? Can you hear me?"
A different voice pulls me from the nightmare—gentle, familiar. I struggle toward it, fighting against the weight of sedation and memory.
"She's starting to wake up," someone says. "Her eyelids are fluttering."
I force my eyes open, blinking against the harsh hospital lights. A face comes into focus above me—Jace, his features tight with worry, his eyes red-rimmed like he's been crying.
"Hey," he says softly, his hand finding mine. "You're okay. You're safe."
I try to sit up, but pain explodes in my head, forcing me back down with a gasp.
"Easy," Jace cautions, his hand gentle on my shoulder. "You hit your head pretty hard when you fell. Try not to move too much."
I blink, trying to clear the fog from my brain. Hospital. I'm in a hospital. The memory of what happened comes back in disjointed pieces—leaving the apartment, the fight with Jace and Theo, Marcus at the café, running out, bumping into someone...
Someone who called me Lilliana.
Terror surges through me, making the monitors beside my bed beep frantically. I clutch at Jace's hand, trying to convey my panic without words.
"It's okay," he soothes, misunderstanding my fear. "You're safe here. The doctor says you're going to be fine. You hit your head, but you're going to be okay."
I shake my head, wincing at the pain the movement causes. I need to tell him. Need to warn him. I glance around for something to write with, but there's nothing within reach.
"What is it?" Jace asks, concern deepening the lines around his eyes. "Are you in pain?"
I close my eyes, focusing on the memory of my voice. The word forms in my mind—clear, urgent, necessary.
My lips part, the first syllable catching in my throat like a hook. "Le—"
The room tilts suddenly. Ceiling lights stretch into white streaks. Jace's face blurs above me as darkness creeps in from the edges of my vision. The monitors shriek somewhere far away.
His fingers tighten around mine as I slip under again.