Chapter 50
Seraphina
The room was quiet except for the sound of fingers tapping against keys.
Emerson hunched over the terminal, eyes sharp, mouth a thin, focused line.
The others had drifted in and out throughout the day, leaving behind cold mugs of coffee and crumpled wrappers, but none of it registered.
We were past the phase of waiting for answers—we were dragging them into the light, one line of code at a time.
Callum stood near the window, arms crossed, tension bleeding from his posture like smoke from a fire not quite out. He hadn't said much since I'd come back. Since I ghosted him.
I deserved the space. But it still stung.
"Got something," Emerson muttered, breaking the silence. "Halbrook’s archive is layered. Like... physically. Half the files are air-gapped. But he left breadcrumbs for himself—entry keys."
I moved behind him, heart tightening as lines of decrypted code unfolded on-screen. Each line exposed another piece of the truth.
Patient IDs. Experiment stages. Transit logs.
And then—Langston .
Emerson zoomed in on a particular set of records. "This isn’t just logistical oversight. He was present . Look—here. Review sessions, performance assessments."
Callum came up beside me, his voice low and harsh. "He was sittin’ in on the evaluations? Of children?"
I nodded, numb. "And look at this. Phase Two selection. Langston helped choose who moved on."
Emerson’s fingers flew faster now, voice rising with urgency. "He wasn’t just the courier. He was complicit in every phase."
I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. It wasn’t just betrayal. It was legacy, drenched in blood.
Halbrook had files on my mother. And Langston had helped design what happened to her. To all of them.
Emerson hit a final keystroke, and the screen flickered. Something unlocked. A secure subfolder emerged, tagged with a coded string. It opened slowly, file by file unraveling like a living thing.
“Coordinates,” Emerson whispered.
Latitude. Longitude. A string of numbers.
Then a single word appeared beneath them:
Facility E
Callum exhaled a dark breath. “Time to burn it to the ground.”
The others filtered off to sleep or to prep for what came next. I couldn’t move. The glow of the screen felt like firelight, too sacred to abandon yet. The silence didn’t press anymore—it held me.
Callum didn’t leave either.
He sat down beside me, quiet. Not demanding, not accusing. Just there.
I didn’t look at him right away. My chest still ached from the weight of everything. From what I’d done. From what I’d learned.
“We’re almost there,” I whispered.
He looked at me then, eyes soft, voice low. “You were never alone in this.”
I turned toward him slowly. “You didn’t feel that way a few days ago.”
“I felt like shite,” he admitted. “Still do. But not ‘cause I was angry. Because I care more than I should.” He paused, jaw tight, then added, “You disappearin’... it gutted me.”
I reached for his hand without thinking. He didn’t pull away. Our fingers laced like we’d done it a hundred times before.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
His thumb brushed my knuckles. “Just... stay. Next time.”
We didn’t move for a long time. But something had shifted between us—broken tension gone slack, replacing urgency with something deeper, quieter.
Callum didn’t move. Not until I did.
I found myself standing in the open common room, arms crossed around my chest, staring at nothing.
Callum walked in like a shadow. No sound, just heat and presence.
His eyes locked on me, dark and searching.
We didn’t speak.
He just walked over slowly, like he wasn’t sure I’d let him.
But I did.
I always would.
He stopped just inches away, hands reaching for my face so gently I thought I might fall apart. His palms cradled my jaw like I was something breakable—but the kind of thing he didn’t want fixed if it cracked.
I leaned into him, chest to chest, our bodies slotting together like puzzle pieces worn in time. I tilted my head and gave him a slow, deliberate nip to his bottom lip.
We both froze—breathing each other in. Heavy. Shaky.
He was staring at me like I was the only thing left in the world worth holding onto.
“Callum,” I whispered, voice barely working. “I…”
I swallowed hard, heart hammering.
“I love you. And I’m sorry that I left. I’m sorry I didn’t trust that you’d let me pursue something that felt important to me. I’m sorry I left without a letter. Without anything.”
Shame pulled my eyes down, but his grip on my face tightened just a little—just enough to hold me steady.
His voice cracked.
“You love me?”
I nodded and lifted my gaze to his.
“I love you, Callum.”
We stood there, unmoving, letting the words echo in the space between us like they belonged there.
“I didn’t think I’d ever love anyone,” I said, voice shaking. “Dominic spent years trying to sell me off like some nobleman’s pawn. Promising me to men like I was property. I didn’t want to be saved—and that’s all men ever tried to do. Or they used me. Controlled me.”
Callum didn’t interrupt. He didn’t flinch. He just listened, like he always did, taking every word like it was a vow.
His mouth came back to mine slow and intentional, and when he kissed me, it wasn’t rushed. It was full of grief, and rage, and hunger—and something softer. Something I didn’t have words for.
“Say it again,” he breathed against my lips.
“I love you, Callum.”
“Again.”
“I love you. ”
He lifted me into his arms before I could say anything else, carrying me down the hall like I weighed nothing. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, holding onto the tension in him like it was the only thing keeping me grounded.
He kicked a door shut behind us, flicking the lock with the side of his hand, then lowered me gently onto the bed like he was setting down glass.
But the kiss that followed wasn’t gentle.
It was fire.
He trailed his lips from my mouth down my jaw, kissing along my neck, then to the delicate spot beneath my ear that made me shiver. One hand cupped my breast, thumb brushing over the fabric of my shirt, then under, skin to skin.
“Again,” he said, rough and quiet.
“Callum—” I started.
“AGAIN, mo fhíorghra.”
The bark in his voice sent a jolt straight to my core. I whimpered as his mouth wrapped around one of my nipples, sucking, nipping just enough to make me gasp.
“Ahh—Callum. Yes. I love you!”
He groaned against my skin, lifting me to the bed.
“Feeeckkk, Sera. I need you. Now.”
His hands stripped away what was left of my clothes in practiced movements, like he already had my body memorized. He shoved his pants down just enough, then pulled me closer with both arms, spreading me beneath him like worship.
He was hard and thick when he pressed into me—slow, deliberate, every inch a claim. His mouth found mine again, his weight supported by his elbows as he hovered above me, lips brushing mine with every gentle thrust.
I wrapped my legs around his hips, holding him tighter, feeling every inch of him stretch and fill me.
My hands tangled in his hair, my breath catching with every slow stroke, every whisper of skin on skin. He wasn’t fucking me. He was loving me.
There was no rush. No frenzy.
Just us.
Just this.
“Callum,” I moaned softly into his mouth, nails dragging down his back.
He was swelling inside me, rhythm stuttering, his breath ragged and trembling.
“I love you, Sera,” he groaned, voice cracking as he came.
And hearing it—hearing those words as he spilled inside me—was enough to tip me over the edge.
My body clenched around him, heat rushing up my spine like a wave breaking against rock. I cried out his name, and he held me through it, forehead pressed to mine, never once looking away.