37. Lilian
Chapter 37
Lilian
T he warehouse is quiet.
Not normal quiet.
Not nap-time quiet.
I’m talking serial killer just wiped down the crime scene quiet.
Wraith’s boots echo like he’s narrating his own gritty Netflix special. Real broody. Real mysterious. Probably thinks he looks cool.
Spoiler: he does.
He stalks toward the monitor like he’s gonna choke the data into confessing. Voss’s little blinking trace is still alive on-screen like a roach that won’t die.
Behind him?
That would be me.
In full black ops chic.
Boots, gloves, hoodie. All black. All bad decisions.
I look hot. I look dangerous. I look like I absolutely have a playlist for this .
Lily’s somewhere in our head, practically vibrating. She’s nervous. I get it.
But she’s not running.
Guess the sparkles come with steel after all.
“You sure about this?” Wraith asks without turning.
Lily answers first.
“Absolutely.”
Look at her go. Baby’s first murder mission. I’m so proud.
She giggles in the back of my head. “Stop it. You’re gonna make me blush.”
“You keep being this cute, and I might actually get sentimental—well, probably not.”
“I’m gonna pretend you meant that,” Lily says in her too sweet voice laughing like fucking fairy bells.
Wraith straps on his gear like he’s assembling trauma.
Then steps in close. Chin tilt. Classic brooding eye contact.
“Face paint?” he asks.
I’m about to hit him with something iconic like “You wish, trench daddy,”
but Lily drops in all soft and Disney-villain-core:
“No. We want him to see our face.”
“Okay, savage. Look at you dropping one-liners like a season finale.”
She laughs. “I don’t know where that came from.”
“Oh, honey. It came from me. You’re welcome.”
Wraith stares for a second longer, then pulls off his own mask like we’re in some dramatic reveal scene. Very final showdown of a CW show energy.
I smirk.
“That perfect plan we made?” I shrug. “Down the drain. ”
Pause. Grin.
“Guess we’ll have to go full chaos gremlin.”
I sigh. Loudly. Like I’ve been so burdened.
“Oh, darn.”
Wraith exhales a laugh. Like, a real one. Which is rare. Like spotting a hot cryptid.
He punches in the last coordinates.
“This ends now,” he says.
Lily breathes in—slow, shaky, bright-eyed.
“Do we… get to break something now?” she whispers, like she’s asking permission to unwrap a gift.
I flash her a grin.
“Oh yeah, sweet-cheeks. We’re gonna break everything.”
The building ahead is an actual villain lair.
Like, all it’s missing is a thunderstorm and a dramatic organ solo.
Wraith stares at it like he’s having a PTSD flashback or composing an emotional breakup letter to his trauma.
Honestly? Could be both.
“You okay, Batman?” I mutter. “Want to monologue before we breach?”
He doesn’t answer. Just scowls harder.
Classic.
The manor’s tucked behind ten-foot brick walls—ivy choking the corners, cameras blinking like judgmental little pervs, motion sensors purring like they know we’re coming.
There’s a gate. Fancy as hell. Wired tighter than a billionaire’ s prenup.
Wraith gives it one look and immediately climbs the damn wall.
No prep. No chat. Just: “I’m angsty and I climb things.”
Of course he does. Spider-Man complex, party of one.
He scales it in like five seconds flat—like this isn’t deeply illegal and slightly hot.
Swings a leg over. Drops down silent.
Me? I follow.
Boots grip. Hands lock in.
Easy.
I hit the ground behind him with a soft thud.
Lily’s trying not to freak out. She’s gripping the inside of my brain like we’re on a rollercoaster.
“That was… high.”
“You lived, didn’t you?”
“…Yeah. That was kind of fun.”
“Welcome to our villain era, sugarplum.”
No words. No wasted motion.
We move.
What's left of the snow barely crunches underfoot. The garden’s overgrown like nobody told it the house still exists.
Icy rosebushes claw at our ankles—like the garden’s got teeth.
To the left—greenhouse. Cracked glass. Dead plants. Vibes? Rotten.
“Cameras,” I murmur.
Wraith flashes a jammer from his belt—smooth, silent, definitely illegal.
“Short range. Won’t last,” he says low.
Cool. I love a little countdown chaos.
We dart through the dark like we belong in it .
I mean… we kinda do.
Hug the shadows. Fast. Quiet. Dangerous.
Exactly how we like it.
Boots on gravel.
Voices.
Flashlights sweeping wide.
Ugh. Goons.
Wraith grabs my arm and yanks me toward the nearest structure—some janky little shed that looks like a serial killer’s second home.
We duck inside just as the lights skim past.
It smells like rust and regret.
Shovels. Garden tools. A hose that probably hasn’t worked since 2004.
Lily makes a soft sound—delighted.
“Oh,” she says, voice bright, “I love it in here.”
“You’re such a freak.”
“You’re the one who likes weapon closets.”
“And you’re the one giggling while we break and enter, so maybe shut up and let me pick a murder shovel.”
I grab a heavy spade. Test the weight.
Solid. Sharp.
Adorable.
We wait.
Footsteps pass. Then—gone.
Wraith cracks the door open a sliver.
All clear.
We move low.
Past the decaying gazebo that definitely saw a murder or five.
Through overgrown hedges that grab at us like judgmental aunts.
Toward the back of the manor, where a window is cracked like it wants us to sneak in.
A light flickers inside—then dies.
Oh good. Creepy lighting. This is going great.
Wraith frowns.
I grin and grip the spade tighter.
Come on, Voss. I dare you to still be alive. Honestly, I’d be pissed if we went through all of this and he was already dead when we found him.
He slides the window open all the way.
I slip in behind him.
Soft landing. Steady breath.
Everything about this feels wrong.
We’re in a study. Desk mid-disaster. Cold tea. Papers everywhere.
Security logs still open—timestamp glowing like it’s daring us to take a peek.
Wraith checks it.
Ten minutes ago.
Yeah. No.
Too fresh.
Too clean.
Too oh no, we definitely triggered someone’s villain cam.
No guards.
No alarms.
No yelling through earpieces or boots thundering down the hall.
Just… nothing.
I don’t like it .
We exchange a look.
Yeah.
They’re here somewhere.
Smirking in the dark.
Waiting for us to say “this is easy.”
Waiting to ruin everything.
This isn’t luck.
This is bait.
Wrapped in silence.
Tied with a bow made of “fuck around and find out.”
Wraith grips his knife.
I tighten my grip on the spade.
Lily doesn’t say a word.
But I can feel it—she’s scared.
“This is bad.”
“No shit, babycakes.”
“We’re going anyway?”
“That’s how you win.”
We move.
Down the hallway—marble gleaming like even the floor got brainwashed.
Every door shut like it’s got something to hide.
Probably does.
And then?
A reinforced door. Glowing keypad. Of course.
“Basement access,” Wraith mutters.
I roll my eyes. “Let me guess. More files, more secrets, and a full-body mirror so he can admire his god complex.”
He pulls out some janky little device that probably cost more than my apartment, slaps it to the panel, and boom—click. Door unlocks.
Dark staircase spiraling down.
“After you,” he says.
I grin.
“Oh, you’re gonna regret that.”
We descend into the dark.
She’s scared.
But now? She’s scared with me.
And that?
Is a fucking problem—for him.
The stairs spit us into a hallway that smells like bleach and crime scene feng shui.
I almost made the bad decision to bleach my hair. Now that I know about Lily I’m kind of mad I didn’t. Could you imagine waking up to that?
“I can hear you, you know.” I just laugh.
The lights hum like they’ve seen too much.
The floor’s too clean. Like someone tried to bleach the guilt out of it.
“This looks like a hospital,” Lily murmurs.
“Yeah—if the hospital did illegal lobotomies and had a punch card for trauma.”
Lily lets out a soft laugh. “You’re terrible. But also very funny.”
“Don’t encourage her,” Wraith grumbles, drawing his pistol.
I stick my tongue out at him and adjust my grip on the gardening spade like it’s a love language.
First two guards come around the corner—blink, breathe, die.
One bullet to the dome.
One spade to the throat .
No scream. No warning. Just blood and gravity.
We keep moving.
“That was really quiet,” Lily whispers.
“Kinda the point, cupcake.”
“…Should I be proud or concerned?”
“Yes.”
More guards up ahead.
Shouts. Gunfire.
The first shot misses. The second doesn’t—burns a line across my bicep. Blood flares.
Ouch. Rude.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah. They missed the important part. My rage.”
Wraith growls—returns fire. One guard goes down hard, painting the wall in arterial apology.
The other raises his weapon.
I get there first.
Spade buries into his stomach.
Wrist—snap.
Boot to the chest—he slams into the doorframe like a bad plot twist.
Still twitching. Not my problem.
We keep going.
A door flies open—two more guards.
Armored. Armed.
Oh, we’re doing the boss battle now? Cute. Where’s Bowzer?
One fires.
Wraith yanks me behind a metal cabinet as bullets shred the air.
“Split right,” he mutters.
I don’t answer.
I’m already gone.
He rolls left, pops up firing—armor eats the shots, but it buys me a second.
I grab a length of pipe from a shelf and hurl myself into the first guy’s ribs like I’m auditioning for WWE presents Bloodbath Edition.
He doesn’t fall.
Turns. Grabs me by the throat.
Lily chokes, panicked: “Neri ? —”
“I got it.”
I jam my thumb under his faceplate and into his eye socket.
He screams. Lets go.
I grab his gun and blow a hole through his neck joint.
He gurgles. Folds.
Second guy rushes Wraith—slams him into the wall like he’s trying to knock the brooding out of him.
Good luck with that.
Wraith drops the pistol.
They go hand-to-hand.
He swings—gets clocked. Blood sprays.
“Oh my god—he’s bleeding ? —”
“He’ll live.”
“But—”
“He likes it a little rough.”
“It is rather attractive.”
“Agreed. Watch this.”
I launch myself at the second guy, grab his helmet, and slam his skull into the tile.
Once .
Twice.
Three times.
Helmet cracks.
He slumps.
Silence drops like a curtain.
I wipe a streak of blood from my cheek and look at Wraith.
He’s leaning against the wall, blood on his lip, breathing like he just finished round one of a ten-round fight.
He nods.
I grin.
Bodies everywhere. Blood soaking into the tile. The air smells like sweat, smoke, and every bad decision that brought us here.
And ahead?
The final door.
“Should we knock?” Lily asks.
“Babe. We’re the battering ram.”
I roll my neck, adjust my grip on the pipe, and stalk toward the door.
Time to meet the man who made the monster.
And maybe rip his spine out for fun.
The door hisses open like it’s proud of itself.
Of course it does. Because why wouldn’t the entrance to a trauma den have dramatic flair?
“Oooh, fancy. I bet it locks behind us too. So fun.”
“That’s not funny,” Lily mutters.
“It wasn’t a joke.”
The second we step inside, the air changes.
Cold.
But not brrr, there must be some Toros in the atmosphere cold.
More like lab fridge full of crimes against humanity cold.
The lights overhead flicker—like they’re not thrilled to be here either.
The hum’s too steady.
Like the lab thinks being expensive makes it innocent.
“It smells clean,” Lily whispers.
“Too clean. Serial killer clean. Like someone Windexed a crime scene and lit a candle after.”
Wraith moves ahead of us—shoulders tight, pistol drawn.
He’s scanning for exits, weapons, and anything that might fight back.
I follow. Pipe still in hand. Rage still simmering.
Always simmering.
The lab is glass and steel and don’t-touch-that.
Counters lined with equipment I don’t recognize—but instinctively want to smash.
Clipboards. Beakers. Monitors still blinking?—
like the horror’s on pause,
and we’re the ones pressing play.
One screen flickers with cognitive failure reports.
Another shows the time-lapse of cellular death.
Vials clink in a tray nearby—like he was already planning the next test.
“Cool. So we’re in the villain origin pit.”
“Are we going to burn this?” Lily asks.
“Eventually.”
“How eventually?”
“Depends on if the war crime in a lab coat goes down without a speech. ”
I walk past a row of locked drawers and swear I hear them whisper: Open me.
Or maybe that’s just my nerves tap dancing behind my ribs.
Either way, I grip the pipe tighter.
Everything in here feels like it’s holding its breath.
Wraith stops. I do too.
It’s not fear.
It’s tension.
Like the whole room’s waiting for an excuse to snap.
“This is where it happened. It looks different now,” Lily says.
“But this is the place.”
“Yeah.”
“Impressive,” a voice croaks behind us.
Oh fuck off. I hate this guy.
We turn.
Dr. Gideon Voss stands just a few feet away, leaning on a table like he’s been waiting to monologue at us since the womb.
He smiles.
That smug, superior, I-sent-you-to-therapy-in-a-folder smile.
“You made better time than?—”
Wraith moves.
Three steps. No warning.
His fist slams into Voss’s face so hard I hear something crack.
The bastard crumples in a mess of limbs and delusion—deadweight against the tile .
Out cold.
“Wraith! You took all the fun!” I yell, gesturing wildly at the sperm donor currently face-down in his own hubris.
Wraith smirks, grabs Voss by the collar, and drags him across the floor like a sack of ingredients for daddy issues.
“The fun’s just getting started.”
We drop him into some bolted-down metal horror chair that definitely wasn’t made for comfort.
Why it’s here?
Don’t ask. No one wants the answer.
Wrist cuffs. Ankle locks. A collar restraint I’m almost impressed by.
Wraith straps him in like he’s done this before.
Which—let’s be honest—isn’t even a little bit surprising.
“You think he’s dreaming?” Lily asks. “Hope it’s about us.”
“If he is, I hope it’s a goddamn nightmare,” I mutter, and kick his shin for the hell of it.
Once he’s secure, Wraith leans over him—checks for consciousness. Nothing.
Still out.
Still breathing.
Still bleeding.
“Alright,” I sigh, turning toward the rest of the room. “Let’s see what Daddy Dearest left lying around.”
The lab hums like it’s still proud of itself.
Fucking disgusting.
There’s a door at the far end—reinforced glass, faintly fogged from the inside.
And behind the glass?
Slush.
Rotting slush.
People .
Or what’s left of them.
The chamber is sealed floor-to-ceiling.
Glass and steel.
Walls streaked with blood.
Fluid pooled at the base.
“Oh my god,” Lily whispers.
Her voice is too soft for the silence.
“What the fuck is this?”
Clothing.
Bone.
Meat.
All collapsed into a pile of half-melted, half-digested nothing.
“Test chamber,” Wraith says.
“He put people in there,” Lily whispers. “He watched them die.”
“They didn’t fucking deserve this.”
My fists clench, thinking about the lives that human sack of disappointment ruined.
Wraith steps away. Silent. Expression carved in iron.
Lily’s crying. I can feel it.
I look away.
“This is how she died—where she died,” Lily says, voice shaking.
I don’t look at her. I don’t look at the glass either.
I look around the lab instead—at the clean floors, the humming machines, the neat little instruments lined up like this place doesn’t reek of ghosts.
“And this is where we were born.”