Chapter 25
TWENTY-FIVE
EMMA
So that’s where she’d been. When Enya left so unexpectedly from Cyclos, she’d been pulled back by Caden to go undercover with the Radicals. At least it explained her radio silence through the Nexus these past few months.
My eyes darted to Caden. The man in charge.
As he laid out the details of the operation—a plan I had to admit was impressively strategic—I tried to focus on his words.
But despite my efforts, my mind kept drifting back to Coastal: the surgical tray, the sterile room, Rex and his violent tendencies, Caden’s stoic face when he killed him in cold blood for punching me.
What the hell was I doing here?
Keep it together, Emma. Don’t you dare show any weakness.
I snapped back. I had to focus on the present—on the mission.
As Caden wrapped up the details of the plan, he turned, locking his full attention on me. “Emma, you’ll be in charge of all translation when we move out of the Metasphere. Once we’re certain Camp B is abandoned, we’ll portal out to Dublin.”
I nodded, reminding myself how fighting Radicals was something I’d choose over anything else, any day.
Especially after remembering what they did to the children of the Scola.
Jack. The image of his face—innocent, terrified—flashed in my mind.
Rage simmered beneath my skin, and I tightened my grip on the table’s edge.
I’d never forget it. I’d never stop fighting because of it, because of them.
“Got it,” I said, my voice calm, though the fire inside me burned hotter. “What’s our timeline?”
“We move out at midnight,” Caden replied. “I don’t want to lose too much time. You’ll need to be prepared to go in as soon as we reach our target. I trust you’ll be ready.”
“Of course,” I said, squaring my shoulders, while ignoring the insecurity lingering in the back of my mind.
Caden ushered us out of the briefing room and down a series of narrow, shadowy corridors, while the sound of our footsteps echoed way too loud, drowning out the horribly uncomfortable and awkward silence between the three of us.
We stopped in front of a massive, reinforced door stamped with the Collective’s insignia—a stylized spiral of blades encircling a single, unblinking eye—because subtlety was clearly overrated here.
Caden placed his hand on it, and with a dramatic hiss that practically screamed “Welcome to Caden’s lair,” the door slid open, revealing a kitchen.
A massive, over-the-top kitchen. My jaw hit the floor.
The walls were lined with floating shelves made from some kind of magic wood that couldn’t decide what color it wanted to be—mood lighting for the chronically indecisive, I guessed.
Pots and pans hovered above the shelves like they were auditioning for Kitchenware: The Musical, ready to leap into action at any moment.
Self-serving plates drifted across the room, carrying food and ingredients as if some invisible butler had finally snapped and quit caring about being discreet. The whole setup was equal parts fascinating and completely ridiculous.
At least twenty ovens—sleek, borderline sentient, and probably smarter than the average male in this place—hummed with magical precision.
Their doors opened and closed on their own, trays of food levitating in and out with an insane level of efficiency.
The flames inside burned a mesmerizing blue, flickering with a smugness which suggested they knew how perfect they were.
Even the floors were enchanted, the tiles swallowing spills like they’d taken an oath against messiness. In the corner, a sink filled and emptied itself with a casual wave, spouting streams of liquid light that obliterated grime as if dirt had personally insulted it.
Honestly, the entire kitchen had the vibe of a show-off magician who also moonlighted as a cleaning fanatic—Harry Potter’s house-elves meet Monica Geller in an "Extreme Makeover: Magi Edition" episode.
"Now this is more like it," I mumbled, thinking back to my first time arriving in Cyclos and finding myself comparing the two.
“Ye like it?” Sean asked, flashing me a grin.
“Very ‘if Merlin had Pinterest board’,” I replied, giving the place a mental nod of approval for its over-the-top magical flex.
Sean chuckled. “We might’ve taken some creative liberties with translation. Got to keep up with the wizarding world, yeah?”
I tried not to snort, half-expecting a flying gnome to pop out and offer me tea. “I’m sure a fantasy interior designer somewhere is weeping with joy.”
The room beyond was a bustling hub of activity.
People were rushing around, laughing and chatting, the air filled with energy.
Unlike the Offensives of Cyclos, who were standoffish and elitist, this team had the warmth and camaraderie of a close-knit family.
As Caden moved among them, he engaged in conversation with almost everyone, his sudden charm and ease effortlessly drawing people in.
Guess even the devil has a charming side.
“I don’t get it, they’re all Offensives? Are there no other functions at Crown?” I asked Sean quietly.
He shook his head. “Crown’s way bigger than only Caerleon Manor. As a Collective, we’ve got most of the usual functions, like any other Collective. But yeah, here at Caerleon, it’s mostly Offensives, with a few exceptions.”
He pointed to a large man in the center of the room, who was clearly in the middle of an animated story, surrounded by an eager audience. “That’s Max, our tree worker. We’ve got a lot of grounds and nature around here, and he’s responsible for every inch of it.”
Sean nodded toward a blond guy with striking blue eyes. “There’s Tintin, our resident author. He’s a Historian, like your Leader, Maria.”
Finally, he gestured to a woman with almost white hair, who I’d recognized from our meeting. “And that’s Margaux, our Healer, like Maurice was. Most of the Healers are tucked away in Manors up north, but she prefers our company and stays here most of the year.”
Sean then led us further inside, and the room fell momentarily silent as everyone turned to see who had arrived. They were staring at me as if I were their enemy. Seriously though, what had I ever done to them?
I was about to step back out when a strikingly beautiful woman entered the room, her presence immediately commanding attention.
Her long, red, curly hair and confident stride drew the attention of everyone in the room, but she seemed most captivated with Caden.
She walked straight to him, and they exchanged a few words that were quickly absorbed into the din of kitchen.
The woman paused for a moment, her laughter like a soft melody.
Then, with a final, lingering glance at Caden, she turned and walked out, her figure disappearing through the door.
I noticed Sean hovering nearby, his attention pinned to the door the woman had just exited. My curiosity got the better of me.
“Who is she?” I asked, as I nodded subtly toward the gorgeous woman who had departed.
Sean’s tone was casual. “That was Saoirse. She’s an Offensive as well, second cycler like Enya but lethal with knives. Does a lot of solo-operations when she’s not out with Caden.”
I cocked my head slightly, and crossed my arms in response. I hated to admit it, but I was a little intrigued. “Is she his girlfriend?”
Sean let out a low chuckle, brushing a hand through his hair like the idea genuinely amused him. “Gods, no. Caden doesn’t do girlfriends.”
I rolled my eyes, not even a little surprised by this revelation. “So, who is she then?”
Sean exhaled slowly and turned toward me, hands slipping into his pockets. “He doesn’t really like what we call them, but we refer to her as one of his regulars.”
“If he doesn’t like it, what does he call them?” I pressed, unable to keep the curiosity from my voice.
Before Sean could answer, Caden appeared out of nowhere, his face set in a stern expression. “Women,” he said curtly. “I call them women.”
He quickly scanned my outfit, and his mouth tightened. “Didn’t I tell you to go get ready?”
I met his stare, the directness of his reprimand making me flinch slightly. “And where would I do this?”
Caden’s authority faltered for a moment, a brief look of realization crossing his face. He glanced around, his expression momentarily softening as he took in the surroundings.
“Right,” he said, his tone begrudgingly accommodating. “Enya will show you to your quarters.”
“Aren’t we going to eat?” I asked, glancing around.
“They are,” Sean said. “They’ll prepare something for us when we get back.”
I frowned. “We don’t get dinner before an assignment?”
Sean hesitated, the pause a bit too long. “Actually, the dinner table here is one large communal table where everyone eats together. Since yer new, Caden and I thought it might be better to ease you into it.”
So I’m not welcome at the dinner table. Great. Just great.
I nodded, ignoring the pang of hurt at being on the outside again.
Enya appeared at my side, ready to lead me to my quarters, as she had done once in the past.
I exited the kitchen with Enya, yet another former friend who had left me behind without so much as a goodbye and who might have played a part in one of the worst experiences of my life.
As she and I walked in silence down the winding corridors of Manor, I could sense how she was struggling for something to say, her usual calm demeanor slightly frazzled by the unexpected dynamics of the evening. Couldn’t exactly blame her considering I was blaming her for enough already.
We turned a corner, and the grandeur of the building became even more pronounced. The walls were lined with intricate designs and smooth, polished stone, while the soft flicker of sconces bathed the room in a warm, welcoming light.
“Here we are,” Enya finally said. She stopped in front of yet another heavy, intricately carved wooden door. It looked like something out of a medieval fantasy, with elaborate scrollwork and a brass handle which gleamed in the dim light.
She turned to face me, her expression a mix of awkwardness and sympathy. “I know this isn’t the best time to talk. I’ll let you get some rest. You’ve got a big night ahead.”
I managed a small smile.
Enya hesitated, her hand drifting to my arm, a crease forming between her brows. “You’re not alone in this. We’re all on the same side, no matter how rough things get.”
I wanted to shout at her, to demand answers about why she had lied about her identity and her allegiances. I needed to know if she had any part in my abduction to Coastal. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
To confront her would mean showing enough emotion to crack my own facade, and I wasn’t ready. So instead, I nodded once, my response tight and controlled. “Thanks for walking me here, Enya.”
Just focus on the objective. Protecting Alek’s future. Nothing else.
Enya gave a small, reassuring smile before turning to head back toward the command center, leaving me alone in front of the door.
I forced my breath to steady and reached for the handle. The door creaked open to reveal my quarters.
My jaw dropped.
The room was nothing short of majestic. Vaulted ceilings with exposed wooden beams screamed “rustic luxury,” while the heavy burgundy and navy drapes looked like they’d been stolen from a Renaissance festival’s VIP tent.
Tall windows lined one side, but since it was pitch-black outside, they mostly reflected me standing there, looking like I’d accidentally wandered into an episode of Downton Abbey.
A massive four-poster bed dominated the space, draped in fabrics so rich they probably had trust funds.
And across the room, a fireplace blazed dramatically, casting a cozy glow that made the deep red and cream rugs look even more extravagant.
A sturdy oak writing desk and an armchair by the fire completed the room, additions that made the space feel both grand and lived-in.
I stepped further into the room, my footsteps muffled by rugs. It was opulent, serene, and had the distinct vibe of a place wanting you to know how fancy it was.
Okay, enough with the sarcastic criticism, Thompson.
My inner voice was scolding me and she was right. I hated to admit, the room I was brought to was gorgeous, and at least ten times my dorm at the Universitas. And it wasn’t just the room. To be completely honest with myself, the whole Manor was…enchanting. And I hated it.
The suitcase beside my bed caught my eye, and when I opened it, I was surprised to find my personal belongings from Cyclos neatly packed inside.
As I sifted through the contents, it became clear not everything had made it through—but I didn’t care.
As long as I had my Nexus, I could summon whatever else I needed, and that small comfort made the unfamiliar feel just a little more manageable.
Still, someone had clearly gone to the trouble of sending the suitcase through a portal, though I had no idea who would’ve taken the time to do it.
Maybe it was James.
Nope. Not thinking about him.
He could jump up his own ass and wither, for all I cared.
I sucked in a slow, deliberate breath and collapsed onto the bed, which was the softest I had ever felt. Despite the chaos and pressure of the mission ahead, this moment of quiet was a brief but welcome reprieve.
Closing my lids, I tried to shove aside the hurt and pain lingering right beneath the surface, all of it creeping in now I was alone with my thoughts. Squeezing them shut even tighter, I willed myself to sleep, even if only for a short while. Which by some miracle, I did.
When I finally stirred from the restless nap, my body moved on autopilot. I checked my gear with practiced efficiency, hands going through the motions while my mind wandered elsewhere.
An abrupt knock at the door jolted me back to the present.
“Yes?” I called as Sean pushed the door open, looking like he’d stepped off the cover of Offensive Weekly. He was decked out in more weapons than any sane person would consider necessary—or practical.
I raised an eyebrow and pointed at the walking armory he’d turned himself into. “You do realize you can summon all that with your Nexus, right? Even during battle?”
Sean glanced down at himself, as if seeing the arsenal for the first time, then flashed me a grin so wide it should have its own zip code. “But then I wouldn’t look so badass.”
I snorted, shaking my head as I finished stowing my last knife in one of the hidden pockets of my clothes.
Sean’s grin stayed firmly in place as his eyes flicked to my gear. “Ready to go?” he asked, his tone a mix of genuine excitement and solid reassurance.
I nodded, then gave my outfit a final adjustment. The snug fit of the fabric and the familiar weight of the knives were oddly comforting—a reminder that even if the rest of my life was chaos, I still had this.
“Lead the way, oh badass one,” I replied, gesturing for him to go first.