Chapter 66
SIXTY-SIX
CADEN
As expected, Emma didn’t react with so much as a flicker of emotion.
The ice queen was back. Which could only mean one thing: whatever she’d seen inside Maurice’s mind had stirred far too much, dredged up too many feelings, so she’d shut them all down completely rather than risk losing control.
“He’s been in bed with the Radicals since Sean abducted me to Coastal,” she said at last, her statement flat and precise, stripped of inflection.
“Well, that’s just great,” James spat. “Can’t imagine what Maria has to say about that.”
Maurice merely shrugged, his indifference almost obscene. “She knew. Why do you think she stepped down after I vanished? She didn’t want to risk anyone uncovering the truth while she was still in power.”
It might have been slightly interesting under different circumstances, layers of betrayal, quiet conspiracies, political rot at the core of Cyclos.
Right now, I couldn’t have cared less.
“Can we get on with the program?” I cut in, my patience already hanging by a thread.
James echoed the sentiment with every ounce of fury he possessed. “Yes, because this is all very fascinating, but where are those United Chiefs who killed Crown’s Offensive and threatened mine?”
Cara met his glare without flinching, her expression steady, almost bored. “We’re not working with them, if that’s what you’re worried about. We used them. Gordon locked them in the cave directly beneath yours.”
That made Emma look up.
“Funny,” she said quietly. “You call him Gordon.”
Maurice’s mouth twitched, a flicker of dark satisfaction edged with intent. “At Cyclos, I was Maurice,” he replied evenly. “Anywhere else—when I wasn’t acting in any official capacity—I was Gordon.”
“So you simply switch whenever it suits you?” Emma asked, her tone cool enough to freeze over a desert.
His gaze stayed locked on hers. “You can do the same, Emma,” he said evenly. “My power runs through you. If you ever feel the need to be someone else, you can.”
She dragged a hand down her face, like she was trying to wipe something away that refused to leave. When her eyes lifted again, they found mine.
And whatever composure she’d been clinging to finally cracked.
There was pure despair in those beautiful blue eyes of hers, and I knew exactly what she was thinking of.
With a flick of her free hand, the restraints around Stephen and Maurice shattered.
Chains snapped back into the walls with a violent clatter, and both men grunted as they stumbled forward, catching themselves at the last second.
They rubbed at their wrists, disbelief written all over their faces, as if they couldn’t quite comprehend that Emma had let them go.
“About that whole Caden-dying-in-the-future-crap,” she said quietly, “How certain is all of it?”
Maurice opened his mouth to answer, but Stephen cut across him. “The start of the ripple effect hasn’t taken place yet.”
“It has,” Maurice snarled. “The moment she chose Caden over James, this future locked into place.”
“That’s not true,” Stephen shot back. “There’s still time, Emma. You are the linchpin. Not what you’ve already done, but what you choose next. If you don’t let yourself love him, he still has a chance. Please.”
My jaw clenched so hard it hurt. “Pleading with her to ruin my life in order to save it? Who the fuck asked you to intervene?”
Emma inhaled, shakily. When she spoke, her voice was soft, raw—too raw—but she wouldn’t look at me. “I’m so sorry, Caden. I’m so sorry you had to see that. I can’t even imagine…”
“A memory isn’t truth,” I said, harsher than I intended because panic claws out sharp. “It’s just a perspective. Someone’s interpretation of the facts, not the fact itself.”
Fucking hell.
If Emma even thought for a second, she could choose differently…
If she decided to love me less, or pretend she didn’t love me already, to try and save my life…
Not fucking happening.
“If the price for your life is mine,” she breathed, steady only by force of will, “I will pay it. Every single time.”
Something in me snapped.
I caught her arm—not gently—and yanked her closer until her breath hit my mouth. The pulse under my thumb thrashed. Her eyes were wide, shining, stubborn.
“Don’t,” I growled, low and violent, “fucking quote my own words back at me.”
Her throat bobbed, but she didn’t look away.
Didn’t flinch.
Didn’t soften.
And then—gods—she smiled.
A small, quiet thing, carved out of grief and something so sad it hollowed me out from the inside. A smile that wasn’t victory or defiance, no, it was love. Twisted into something that hurt to look at.
Something that said she’d already made her choice.
Maurice exhaled—long, irritated, resigned—as he took in his daughter’s expression. “Look, I know you’re about to try and reverse what can’t be undone, but there might be another way—”
He didn’t finish.
Because in the next heartbeat, a blade erupted through his chest.
Not slid.
Not pierced.
Exploded.
Metal burst out the front of him in a wet, violent bloom, blood splattering across the floor in a fine, red mist.
Maurice gasped, almost more surprise than pain.
And for one second, time didn’t just slow.
It stopped. Like the world hit play a second too late.
The horrid sound came after: metal carving through flesh, wet and vicious. Maurice’s body jerked forward, the air catching in his throat in a broken, glitching choke.
I froze.
Everyone did.
The sword jutting through his chest gleamed crimson—fresh, bright—still wedged clean between his ribs. Maurice swayed, eyes wide, mouth opening like he still meant to finish the sentence.
Like he didn’t understand he was already dead.
Then his knees buckled.
And he collapsed.
No scream. No cry.
Just dead weight hitting the floor.
And then, the world shattered.
There was no warning, no buildup, only an instant release.
I felt it. All of us felt it.
The air shuddered with a low, violent thrum, the kind that crawled into your bones before your brain could catch up. It hit like a pressure wave tearing through the room, and then everything changed.
The bubble was gone.
Not cracked. Not fraying.
Gone.
My haze surged up so fast it nearly knocked me off balance, screaming through my veins like it had been starving. I could feel every ounce of it, untethered and ready to burn through anything in its path. And for the first time since we were dragged into this place, I didn’t have to hold back.
But neither did they.
The United Chiefs didn’t hesitate. They didn’t flinch at the shift. They moved the second the bubble dropped—fluid, precise, completely unfazed—like they’d been waiting for this exact moment to strike. No confusion. No adjustment period.
They came at us like wolves finally let off the leash.
Six of them poured in through the side corridor, their cuffs long gone, expressions hungry. I didn’t know how they’d broken out, but clearly, someone had underestimated just how ready they were.
My haze was still burning hot in my veins, but I kept it banked, controlled. The only thing worse than panic was wasted energy. My fingers flexed, already calculating distances, who’d be the first to attack, and who I’d have to take out to even the field.
“Where the fuck did they—” James started.
The first haze shot split the air like lightning.
A blinding flash ripped through the space, illuminating jagged stone and fractured pillars in stark, violent bursts. James ducked with a curse, the blast tearing past him close enough to scorch the wall.
I turned—pure instinct—to track the source, locking onto the shadowed edge where it had come from, senses narrowing, honing.
And that was my mistake.
Because I didn’t see the second one coming. The one headed for me.
Emma hit me out of nowhere.
She slammed into me hard enough to knock me off my feet, the impact driving the air from my lungs right as the haze tore through the space where I’d been standing. It struck the wall behind us… And everything exploded.
Stone shattered outward in a violent spray. The ground shook beneath us as the shockwave ripped through the ruins, dust and debris everywhere. We crashed hard, her body colliding with mine, the force rattling through bone and muscle.
For a second, there was nothing but ringing.
Then instinct kicked back in. Before my mind could catch up, I rolled us both, dragging her beneath me, shielding her now, my body covering hers.
“Stay down!” I barked.
Of course she didn’t listen.
She never fucking listened.
Instead, she shoved me off her like I weighed nothing, then rolled to her feet in one fluid, dangerous motion, as if fear for her own life didn’t apply to her anymore.
Her hands were already glowing, that unmistakable red haze sparking to life, hotter and brighter than I’d ever seen it.
And her eyes…
Her eyes had gone dead-flat. Not blank. Not panicked. Precise.
Like she'd stopped being a person and became a weapon instead.
“Aiming for Caden Colt was your last mistake.” She said it soft and sure, like it wasn’t a threat, but a fact.
Before I could understand what those words did to me, one of the Chiefs rushed to her from the left—faster than I could get in between—but she didn’t even flinch.
Her hand snapped toward him, while the scarlet translation launched from her fingers like a whip, and sliced through the air with a screeching hiss.
It hit him dead center in the chest.
He didn’t fall. He erupted.
His skin blistered open mid-scream, angry welts rising before rupturing like overripe fruit. Flesh boiled from the inside out, sloughing off in wet, red sheets as steam hissed from his throat. His scream gurgled, then choked off entirely as his tongue blackened and split.
His eyes bulged grotesquely—blood vessels spiderwebbing, irises vanishing beneath the swelling—before they burst with a sickening pop, jets of crimson fluid streaking down his cheeks. His skull cracked audibly, the pressure inside his body building until it could no longer hold.
Then he was gone.