12. Chapter 12
Atticus
The sound of boots on stone reaches me before I see her.
I’ve learned to track it—the number of sets, the pace, whether they’re dragging weight.
My hands are already on the bars. I don’t know if I want them coming or not.
I’m desperate to see her, but can’t stand the condition they always return her in.
The two guards drag her between them like she weighs nothing at all. For a moment, my mind refuses to process what I’m looking at. It never gets easier.
Burns. Fresh ones. Angry, and raised her arms. Cuts layered over cuts that haven’t had time to fully heal. And just below her shoulder… the unmistakable mark of a crest, carved clean and deliberate into her skin. The Blaise Crest.
Something inside me fractures.
“What have you done to her?” The words tear out, edged with fury. “Are you so utterly incompetent that this is the only method you’re capable of?”
One guard scoffs, shoving her forward with unnecessary force. “Still breathing, isn’t she? Do your thing. You’ll heal her in no time.”
My grip tightens until my knuckles turn pale. I’m normally against using my ability on others, but it would take so little at this point—one well-placed command, one push of power… but the metallic cuffs leave me with nothing to draw from.
They unlock her cell and toss her inside. She stumbles, catching herself just barely before hitting the ground, and the door slams shut behind her with a final, echoing clang.
The guards linger for a second, as if expecting more of a reaction. I give them nothing but a cold, unblinking stare.
Only once they leave, I move towards her.
“Arwen—” My voice drops, shaking and urgent. I reach my arms through the bars of the cell, needing to touch her. “Are you alright? Come here—just—”
My thoughts blur together with my words.
It’s inefficient. I know that. Panic never serves a purpose.
But this situation… this girl. It’s completely upended my control.
“Please.” My voice cracks.
She breathes deeply and looks up at me, red hair tangling around her face; she’s unsteady but upright. She’s in pain, but she’s trying to hide it.
For my benefit…
I’ve never felt so useless.
“I’m okay,” she murmurs. She crosses the small distance between us and presses her hands into mine, her grip weaker than it should be but still deliberate.
“You are clearly not,” I reply, quieter now, forcing some semblance of composure back into my voice. My thumb shifts against her wrist, careful of the burns. “They’re escalating. That mark alone…”
“Atticus.” She interrupts my spiral. There’s a softness to it, but also a warning. “We’re getting out of here. They will not break us.”
The certainty in her tone is… irrational. And yet, I believe her.
Maybe it was watching everything she overcame this past year.
I study her for a moment longer before nodding once. “Your stone,” I say, voice low and controlled again. “Go. They’ve been gone a while.”
She hesitates for half a second and slips away toward the partitioned bathroom area.
The moment she disappears from view, the silence closes in again as I try to think of any pattern they are showing or a weakness in routine. Something we can exploit.
I’m halfway through retracing the last few days in my mind when the sound of the prison door echoes through the dank chamber.
My stomach tightens before I even see him, my rage crossing a boundary it hasn’t before.
By the time he steps into the dim light of the corridor, I’m already moving, already at the bars again, braced for impact as I slam my body into the iron.
Ryker Blaise.
He looks the same as when I last saw him at the academy. As if this place is just another extension of his world instead of the rot at its core.
I catch the flicker of surprise he tries to hide. “What the fuck are you doing here, Blaise?”
“Willshire?”
Ryker’s voice carries with amusement through the corridor, smooth with surprise. He slows as he steps into the light, taking me in like this is some unexpected inconvenience rather than a prison.
“Well, well,” he continues, a lazy smirk pulling at his mouth. “I suppose that explains your sudden disappearance. You always had a flair for dramatic exits.”
His gaze flicks to the bars, then back to me, assessing.
“They give you the penthouse of cells?” he adds. “I’d hate for you to be uncomfortable.”
“You piece of shit,” I spit, the words cutting through the space between us. “My father will flay you and your entire family alive when he finds out about this.”
My voice lowers, but it doesn’t soften. “How could you do this to her?” I demand with fury.
Ryker doesn’t answer.
He just watches me for a moment, that same infuriating calm settling over his features, before his attention drifts past me entirely—toward the empty cell next to mine.
“Where is she?” he asks casually, glancing around. “I’m on a timeline. "
The audacity of it almost blacks out my vision.
“You think you deserve to speak to her?” I grit out, voice dropping into something far colder. “After everything you’ve done, you don’t get to look at her. You don’t get to breathe the same air.”
Light footsteps echo before he can respond.
Arwen steps out from the bathroom alcove, still pale, still marked, but standing. The worst of the blood was cleaned away, though the damage remains—angry red lines across her skin, the fresh brand stark and unforgiving against her arm.
“I told you to stay the fuck away, Ryker,” she says. There’s no uncertainty in her voice. She’s just as pissed as I am.
“I’m not buying whatever game you’re playing,” She continues.
I can’t help it… I smile. It was torture watching them date. But now, we’re on the same page.
The smirk on Ryker’s face falters, then vanishes. His eyes lose their lazy amusement, sharpening as they fix on her. He takes a step forward, the polished toe of his boot scuffing against the stone floor as he closes the distance to her cell bars.
“Arwen,” he says, lower now, voice shaking. “I swear, I didn’t know—”
“Cut the bullshit.” I yell, sharp enough to slice clean through whatever lie he’s about to spin. “Don’t you dare try to play the victim, Ryker.”
Ryker’s head turns toward me, something dark and edged with warning flashing in his expression.
“If you’re here to chat,” Arwen cuts in before he can respond, “you’re wasting your time.”
She folds her arms, despite the way it pulls at healing skin; her chin lifts just slightly.
“I’d rather lick this floor clean than continue speaking with you. You can leave.”
“I didn’t come to talk,” he says. “I came to get you out,” he exhales, frustration slipping through.
Arwen frowns, not buying it. “What are you talking about?”
Instead of answering, he reaches into his pocket, pulls out a set of keys, and moves to her cell door.
The metal teeth slide into the lock with a precise click that echoes in the small space.
He pushes the door open just wide enough, then takes a deliberate step back, creating a careful distance between them.
“This isn’t a game,” he says, face serious. “I saw what they were doing to you in that lab. If you stay here, you’re going to die.”
A humorless laugh escapes me. “That’s a convenient shift in priorities. Planning to claim the moral high ground now?”
He ignores me, his focus locked on Arwen, who looks unsure.
“If you want her to trust you,” I continue, my tone colder, “you’ll explain what you’re getting out of this. You don’t do things out of the kindness of your heart, you sick bastard.”
That finally pulls his attention my way.
He glances toward the door nervously, then back at us with a frustrated sigh.
“There’s not much time. Listen, my father went directly against the rest of the Council’s vote for his own gain,” he says. “When this surfaces—and it will—it’s going to take him down.”
I say nothing, happy to let him continue to dig his own grave. Prick.
“If I get ahead of it,” he adds, “if I make it clear I had no part in this and fix the problem before it blows up, the Council has a reason to back me for the position instead of handing everything to my brothers.”
“So this is strategy,” I say. “Not remorse.”
His jaw tightens. “Call it whatever you want. It doesn’t change the fact that I’m your way out and we have to go now.”
Arwen’s eyes narrow. “You mean our way out.”
A second of hesitation passes before he sighs and says, “No, just yours.”
I swear her pale blue eyes turn red as rage seeps out of her.
“You’re out of your mind if you think I’m leaving without him. I don’t trust you.”
Something in my chest shifts at her protectiveness, but this is her way out, and there’s no way Ryker is going against his own faction by freeing me.
“You need to go,” I tell her, forcing the words out. “This isn’t a situation where you can afford to be stubborn. Get out, go where I told you. That’s the priority.”
She knows I mean Maddox, and my stomach sinks even further at the thought.
“I’m not leaving you here,” she shoots back, her voice rising despite herself. “They will kill you. It’s not happening.”
Then she turns back to Ryker, expression hardening.
“You take both of us, or I scream. Loud enough that every guard hears it before we even make it out of this floor. Then I’ll spill your entire ‘takeover’ plan to your father. We’ll see how that plays in your favor when it comes to power.”
Silence stretches between them as he looks at me, irritated. Then swears under his breath and pulls out another key.
“Fine,” he mutters. “You’re a pain in my ass, Princess.”
My cell unlocks a second later.
“Move,” he adds, already turning toward the door. “We don’t have time to argue about it.”
The hallway outside is as she described. It’s empty, sterile and quiet. No guards in sight this time, though.
I stay close to her without thinking, my hand finding hers and holding on, grounding myself just as much as her. She doesn’t pull away, which gives me hope that maybe I’m earning her trust.
The elevator doors seal with a soft hiss. No one speaks. Ryker’s keycard chirps against the reader before he presses the button for the top floor. His jaw set, eyes fixed on the polished metal doors.
“You always carry dungeon keys with you?” Arwen asks after a moment, her tone dry despite everything.
I let out a quick breath, “I’m guessing he has some lame power that lets him duplicate objects or someone did it for him.”
“Spare me your attempts at guessing my power,” he mutters drily. Clearly upset with how events have unfolded. He’s not playing the fake white knight on my watch.
The doors open to a rush of wind and noise.
The helicopter blades are already spinning, loud enough to drown out thought as the skyline stretches endlessly around us—tower after tower of glass and light, the full excess of Greed laid bare from above.
Arwen slows, taking it in, her breathing hitching. She turns in a slow 360, mouth gaping as the neon lights of a nearby 3D advertisement reflect off her face.
I tighten my grip on her hand. It’s not that impressive.
Ryker turns back to us, raising his voice over the noise. “I need to know where you’re going.”
“That’s not happening,” I respond.
He exhales, pushing the hair back from his face.
“I’m getting you out of here, aren’t I? That pilot answers to me, not you—and he’s already risking his ass for me. So unless you want him to leave without you, tell me where. Right now.”
I glance at Arwen. She’s still staring out at the skyline, overwhelmed for just a second before she steadies herself again.
“Gluttony,” I say.
Ryker stills, nodding his head, something unreadable crossing his expression. “…So it’s true.”
I don’t respond.
He turns away, looking resigned, and heads toward the pilot to relay instructions. I follow, pulling Arwen with me, making sure I hear every word.
Trust isn’t an option here.
We reach the helicopter, and I move to help her inside—
but Ryker’s hand catches her wrist.
“Let go,” I say, my voice low but edged.
He ignores me, leaning in toward her, speaking quickly, too low for me to hear over the blades.
I don’t like any part of this.
Arwen’s expression hardens as she listens; whatever he says is clearly not landing the way he wants it to.
“You will always be a selfish person, Ryker,” she yells over the noise, her voice steady despite everything. “And I will always hold you partially responsible for what happened here.”
There’s no hesitation when she adds, “If you’re looking for forgiveness, you won’t find it with me.”
She pulls free from his grip and climbs into the helicopter without another glance.
I follow, not missing the brief flicker of worry on his face before it disappears.
As the doors shut and the helicopter lifts, I look at her, finally with no bars between us. And I feel something settle deep that I don’t quite understand yet.