Chapter 30
“Hey, Cassie,” the fake Lucas says, wearing a smile I’ve seen a hundred times before. But the warmth the real Lucas carries fails to show up on his face.
I guess I should be grateful he’s made it obvious.
“Hey, Lucas,” I say back, the moonstone dagger glowing too bright and hot in my hand now. “I killed your fake best friend once. So, unless you want matching scars, I’d say back the hell off.”
“So aggressive.” He chuckles softly, then tilts his head. “I’ve always found that sexy.”
I blink. “What?”
“Oh, don’t pretend you didn’t know.” Lucas—or whatever he is—grins, eyes glittering with amusement. “He’s always had a soft spot for you. Some might even call it a crush.”
My stomach twists. I know he’s trying to mentally break me. It’s not the first time the Fae have pulled this kind of shit. They served me Fake Declan on a silver tray during the last trial.
But this time, I feel it in my gut.
And I believe him.
But so what?
It’s just a crush.
We all get stupid crushes on our friends sometimes, ones that burn quietly, fade quietly, and mean nothing in the end.
Lucas knows I’m with Kieran.
“Well, the feeling isn’t mutual,” I mutter. “Now, get the hell out of my way.”
But of course, he stalks closer instead.
“You know …” he says casually. “Sometimes he even wonders if coming here to bring Declan back was a mistake.”
My grips tighten around both daggers, but I don’t flinch. I keep my eyes locked on him.
For a second, I wonder if he’s telling the truth.
But no. I can’t let him get into my head.
“And?” I ask. “Everyone doubts themselves sometimes.”
“Not the way he does.”
It’s just a mind game. Just another trick. This is not the real Lucas. No way in hell he could read Lucas’s mind. This man is just trying to play with my head.
“You know what, maybe we should stop pretending this conversation is going anywhere. I’ll go that way.” I point to the direction behind him. “And you—you can go back to whatever hellhole you crawled out of.”
But he doesn’t stop. He keeps walking towards me.
His hand slips to the hilt of his dagger.
Guess we’re getting physical, then.
“Didn’t want to ruin my hair today,” I say, my voice low, taking a step back and lifting both blades. “But sure. Let’s dance.”
Without another word, he lunges.
I dodge left, barely missing the arc of his blade as it whistles past my cheek. Only now do I regret turning down Atticus’s offer to train with him. For the past month, Lucas has been training every single day—even on his days off. He’s packed tight muscle, fast and brutal.
And although he’s taught me some tricks, I doubt they’ll work on him.
Good thing I’ve got a dagger that drains his energy.
My moonstone blade meets his dagger with a clash of metal, and the impact rattles straight through my bones.
Gods, he’s fast.
But so am I.
I twist, driving my boot into his knee. He grunts, stumbles—but recovers quickly, slashing again before I could do anything. I duck and strike. My blade slices across his ribs—not deep, but enough to make him hiss.
Good news: I made him bleed.
Bad news: it’s with the wrong dagger.
But I’ll take that over nothing.
“Not bad,” he snarls. “And here I almost thought you fancied me too.”
“Well, I’ve told Lucas this before, but men shouldn’t just assume,” I spit, kicking off the wall to gain momentum. I strike again, my twilight dagger to his shoulder, but he grabs my wrist mid-air and twists so hard I scream.
Pain erupts through my arm, blinding and raw.
Then he punches me in the stomach—hard.
Air rips my lungs in a choked gasp. I stumble back, hit the ground hard, and before I can recover, he’s on me. One hand wraps around my throat, slamming me against the hard ground.
Fuck—
Stars explode behind my eyes.
“Stay still,” he growls
Then he drives his dagger through my left hand.
I cry out—pure, raw agony, like nothing I’ve ever felt before.
The blade pins me to the ground. It hurts so much I can barely move. And now his grip is tightening around my neck. I’m choking, legs kicking, desperate for air. The more I struggle, the wider his smile.
No—
This can’t be it.
I will not die here.
I will not—
I slam my knee between his legs. He doubles over with a gasp, and I break free, coughing, trying to remember how to pass the air back into my lungs. My vision swims.
My hand.
Fuck, my hand is pinned.
I need to get out of here.
Just fucking do it, Cassandra!
A scream rips from my throat again as I shove down the pain and rip out the dagger in one quick motion. Lucas turns, furious—but he’s a little too late.
I drive the blade into his chest.
He gasps, eyes wide—then drops like a stone.
And I collapse back to the ground, blood dripping from my hand, hot and thick.
Then, I hear footsteps—
“Cass?” the voice calls. “Oh Gods, Cassandra!”
Another Lucas.
Problem is, I don’t know if he’s the real one or not.
“Get away from me!” I shout, forcing myself upright. Pain sears through my hand, but I grit my teeth and grab both daggers, blood-slick and trembling.
“Woah, woah—it’s me!” he says quickly, stopping in his tracks with both hands raised.
His face is bruised, leathers torn at the arm, like he’s been through the same fucked-up fight I had.
I narrow my eyes. “Lucas?”
“Yeah, it’s me. Gods—don’t tell me that thing did that to you.” He glances at the lifeless version of himself—shapeshifter or whatever it was—then winces. “Sorry.”
He sounds like Lucas. Talks the same way, too.
But I’m not taking any chances.
“Tell me the safe word.”
Lucas frowns. “What about you? You could be an imposter, too.”
I suppose that’s right. I wipe a shaky hand over my forehead, blood sticky on my skin. Can’t really blame him for being paranoid. “Fine. On the count of three?”
“Deal.”
We both inhale at the same time. Eyes lock on each other.
“One,” I start.
“Two,” he says.
“Three,” we finish together.
Then in unison, we say, “Evermere Park.”
I suck in a breath. That’s it. The park where Declan introduced us when he invited me to meet his friends for the first time. It feels like a lifetime ago now.
Only the real Lucas would know.
My knees give out.
“Thank the stars,” I whisper, letting him catch me. His arms wrap around me, warm and steady—and for a second, I breathe and let myself believe it’s over.
“Gods, that prick got you good, huh?”
“Yep.” I wince. “But I got him better.”
Lucas lets out a low laugh. “Come on, let’s get out of here. It’s not over until we’re out.”
I nod, sheathing my moonstone dagger. My ruined hand is too damn slick with blood to hold anything now.
But before we can go anywhere—
Another set of footsteps.
Then, another Lucas stumbles around the corner, bruised, bleeding, wide-eyed.
“Cass?” he gasps. “Cass, it’s me!”
I’m going to lose my mind.
I tear out of the first Lucas’s arm so fast I nearly collapse.
“What the—”
My heart pounds like it’s trying to break out of my ribs. I look at the one I just hugged, who’s staring at the new one with the same wide-eyed confusion I’m wearing.
And then it gets worse.
Another me steps out behind us.
The colours drain from my face.
“Fuck,” she says, face filled with horror. “Which one of you is real?”
I’m going to throw up.
We’re never getting out of here.
“Safe word!” I shout. “Now!”
It’s the only way I can think of that can prove to me and Lucas which one of us is real.
Both of them—both me and Lucas—say it at the same time, “Evermere Park.”
My stomach drops.
The first Lucas curses under his breath, his fingers curling into a fist. His gaze darts from me to the fake version behind us. He looks like he’s about to be sick. “Gods, it’s not going to work, Cass. They heard us when we said it the first time.”
Shit.
My breath stutters. I stumble back a step, nearly slipping on blood—maybe mine, maybe his, maybe ours. I can’t fucking tell anymore.
My eyes flick between them—between me and me, him and him—and the maze spins harder.
This is merciless.
The Fae are truly vicious.
Think, Cassandra. Think.
How the hell are we going to get out of here?
Reflections—
Aurora said they’re reflections.
I grip the hilt of the twilight dagger and lash out, slashing the nearest mirror I can reach.
Crack.
Then another.
Shatter.
And another.
The other me lets out a sound that doesn’t belong to anything human—a shriek so piercing, like a siren’s scream.
I fucking got you, bitch.
“Get the mirrors,” I snap to the first Lucas. “They don’t exist without them.”
I see it click on his face.
“Fuck, yeah!” he breathes, already spinning toward the nearest panel.
Glass explodes beside us as Lucas drives his blade through the first mirror.
And that right there. That’s it.
The thing that tells me he’s the real one.
I don’t wait. I lunge for the next one, my hand screaming, my dagger cracking the surface again and again.
Another me screeches, flickering—gone.
“Over there!” Lucas yells, and we split.
Shards crunch beneath our boots. Illusions scream and vanish as fast as we can destroy them. The tide has turned, and suddenly Lucas and I are in hunting mode, pouring our rage into cracking every single glass.
Another fake Lucas lunges at me—but he’s slower now, glitching, one limp at a time. I stab the mirror beside him, and he drops to the ground, twitching.
We both tear through the maze like storm winds, smashing reflection after reflection. The more we shatter, the quieter it gets.
Until there’s only us.
Bloodied. Bruised. Broken.
Breathing hard, Lucas lowers his daggers, eyes still wide. “Gods, I hope that was the last of them.”
I stare at the shards glittering at our feet. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
He grabs my hand, and we both run. No hesitation. Our boots slam against glass-slick ground, blood trailing in our wake, the sound of our breath reminding me we’re still alive. And we are so close. Gods, we’re so close.
We don’t stop. The noises from outside start bleeding in.
Louder.
And louder.
We sprint towards it, through another stretch of mirrored hell, shattering glass as we go and cutting a path straight through the chaos.
And then, we burst out into the arena.
The roar of the crowd hits like thunder, deafening me for a beat.
I pant, adrenaline slowly wearing off, pain blooming in its place.
I nearly collapse onto the ground when I see them. Familiar faces, waiting just beyond the chaos.
Gideon, Daphne, Aurora, and—
“Kieran?”
Their expressions are tight, eyes wide and wild.
Without the blinding light in the maze, I can see Kieran clearly now.
My heart drops.
Bruises darken his neck. His clothes are torn. And his hand—his hand is bloody, split open in the same place the fake Lucas stabbed mine.
The same wound.
Like he felt every second of it.
Terror blooms on my face.
“I don’t know what the hell you two have done,” Daphne says first, her voice sharp, “but we seriously need to talk.”
No.
It can’t be.
I freeze, still as a rock. But Kieran steps forward, gently pushes Daphne aside, and pulls me into his arms.
And just like that, nothing else matters.
“Kieran,” I choke, my voice cracking, everything crashing into me all at once—the fear, the horror, the exhaustion. “I—”
I try to speak, but nothing comes out.
He holds me tighter, tucking me against his chest. “I know, my love. I know—I felt it all.”
Those words hit me harder than all the messed-up things the maze threw at me combined. The terror on my face slowly creeps down to sink its icy claws in my chest, one by one.
Gods, no—
How could it be?
“It seems,” he breathes, voice rough and ringing in my ears, “the River of Vows gave us something that night after all.”