Chapter 9 Hadrian
HADRIAN
“Of course, it’s not us being locked down, you fucking fool,” Lucifer snarls, shooting me a glare sharp enough to peel skin.
I’d be concerned, but there’s no way TRAC allows for knives to be smuggled in, so at least I’m safe.
The overhead lights catch in my cousin’s eyes—too bright, too clinical, too calm for the chaos raging under both our skins.
Julian and I might be twins and share parts of the same soul, but Lucifer and I revel in the same darkness.
Both of us have creatures who thrive in chaos and gain power with the darkness.
An electric current races through me, and I snap my eyes from his.
Lucifer rolls his shoulders like he’s shaking off static, too, then turns to Kiaan. “Get her on the bed.”
“Why not you?” Kiaan asks, his voice stripped bare of teasing. For once, he actually sounds serious.
My cousin doesn’t miss a beat, his words sharper than any knife he carries.
“Because I’m not going to force a mate bond on my mate without her permission.”
He says it like it’s obvious, like the rest of us are idiots for not having realised it.
“Now lift her onto the bed, doing your absolute fucking best not to touch her more than necessary.”
“Oh, yes, the moving of a person without touching them. Easy fucking peasy,” he mutters, his brows drawing together.
The air hums with tension, thick as the disinfectant stings in my throat.
I look back to Julian—pale, hooked up, breathing too shallow.
“What the fuck is going on? I’ve never been here before, and, clearly, it’s something big.”
“You’re asking the wrong person, brother.” He leans back on his pillows, the motion lazy but tight at the edges.
His hand falls from my arm, and I bite back the grimace at the rush of feeling that returns.
The bruises he’s left will be healed in an hour.
Fucker.
“An inmate has gone missing,” Lucifer says, coming closer to Julian’s bed.
He’s all business now, no teasing, no craziness.
“Someone sharing your initials, Little Cuz. They’ve locked us in for our safety, apparently.
Though, I doubt the fucker has escaped just to come torment those dying in the medical ward. ”
His gaze slides to our uncle, a vicious look colouring his face. “Though I suppose that depends on who orchestrated it.”
Adrian’s phone call cuts off mid-sentence. He lowers it, eyes cold, the air around him static-heavy. “Don’t test me tonight, boy. Maeve is like a daughter to me. I’d never harm her—or let anyone else try.”
His voice is calm, but it’s the kind of calm that burns—the kind that always used to cause our parents to behave and to stop their abuse towards me.
I used to love visiting him for this reason—the peace, the protection… the love.
Shame, he’s now become even worse than them. Power truly does corrupt.
“I’ve spoken to the staff, and it’s not good. The inmate who’s missing… is Judge Garrison.”
The words drop like lead in my gut.
I jerk upright, getting off Julian’s bed. “A judge? A fucking judge was contained here?”
I glance towards Maeve, still unconscious, her breathing soft and shallow, and shake my head. “What the hell was that spray?”
My hands twitch before I can stop them—the pull to go to her, to smooth that wild strand of hair off her cheek, to touch her, just to prove she’s real and breathing. But I can’t.
I won’t. Not without permission.
Because, like Luc said, I can’t force our mate bond on her. I can’t do anything until she’s ready.
She’d hate me for real, and I wouldn’t blame her. Not the performative you’re-an-asshole-Hades kind of hate she’s currently utilising, but the kind that sticks to the ribs as her dagger lodges itself in my heart.
I’d be rejected and left for dead by her, and, honestly, I have no doubt Lucifer would bring me back just to murder me again and again for his own revenge.
“It was a scent-neutralising neutraliser agent. It’s specifically designed to cleanse shifters of any artificial biochemical markers they’re using,” Adrian says, shrugging when I narrow my eyes at him.
He’s so unbothered, so uncaring, and I want to break his fingers for it. Or his neck.
“Maeve’s fine—unharmed, even. She’s just an anxious girl who had a panic attack in a tense situation.”
He gestures around the room as if telling me it’s safe, look at all of you. Because, sure. The concrete walls and fluorescent blood-red lighting really prove that.
Fucking idiot.
Nothing that hurts my mate is ever safe.
Including him.
Lucifer tilts his head, looking over at Torin. The two of them have a silent conversation before my cousin addresses our uncle. “The Judge Garrison? Rowan—the mutt shifter who barely classifies as a mythical shifter?”
Adrian’s nod is quick and sharp. “That’s the one.”
The room stills. Even the hum of the lights feels quieter for a moment. Then my uncle’s phone buzzes again, slicing through the silence, proving we’re nothing more than an inconvenience to the Tribunal head.
He ignores us all as he starts typing, thumbs flying, expression unreadable.
Pathetic, weak man.
I glance at Julian, waiting for some flicker of recognition—anything. But his brow furrows, and he just shakes his head.
“What the hell would a judge be doing here?” my brother asks.
It better be the meds making him this stupid because am I fuck choosing to willing spend time with an idiot.
“Serving time,” Kiaan says, his tone low and dark—ominous. “Guess someone finally caught him for something.”
“He’s got two years for a minor issue,” Torin says dryly.
Lucifer barks out a humourless laugh. “That’s rich. Considering the filth he let walk free. The deals he buried. Honestly, people think I’m evil, but cunts like that get all of the power and do nothing good with it.”
He leans against the bed rail, eyes flicking to Maeve. His voice drops to a whisper meant only for me.
“You feel that, too, right?”
I don’t answer him. I don’t have to. My pegasus is pacing inside me, feathers ruffling, nostrils flaring.
Something’s off. Deeply, dangerously off.
And every instinct I have is screaming that whatever this is, it’s coming for her.
The sirens haven’t stopped, though they’ve shifted tone—lower now, pulsing through the floor, like a heartbeat under concrete.
The red lights smear over everything: over Julian’s pale face, over Maeve’s trembling, sleeping body, over my uncle’s self-righteous composure.
Julian shifts, wincing as his IV tugs. “How did they even notice he was missing?”
Adrian ignores him. He’s too busy scrolling through the monitor above the bed, fingers tapping like he’s signing someone’s death warrant.
Probably my brother’s, knowing him.
“Uncle.” I step closer, voice flat, pressing for the answers we deserve.
Finally, he answers—still not looking up. “He was scheduled for transfer to an isolation block. He’s been receiving threats.”
Lucifer and I scoff in identical tones, neither of us caring for the life of a pathetic judge.
“After an attempt was made on his life last night, they had no choice but to take it seriously. The board ordered immediate relocation.
“Unfortunately”—he exhales through his nose, clinical, detached—“the escort never made it to the gate. He’s now in the wind.”
A cold shiver crawls up my spine, slow and steady.
TRAC doesn’t lose people. It buries them, deep and quiet, and pretends like they never existed.
To lose a person? A fucking judge at that, on the same night we’re here… it’s too much to be a coincidence.
It’s not bad luck—it was planned.
As if she can sense the conclusion we’ve all come to, Maeve whimpers in her sleep. The sound is soft but broken. Every head turns her way.
Kiaan’s still crouched by her bedside, one hand hovering over her shoulder but not touching.
Thank fuck, or I’d snap his wrist, then his neck.
“Easy,” Lucifer murmurs, softer than I expect.
He’s trying not to spook her further, the shallow and rapid breathing concerning us all.
Her fingers twist the sheet like it’s the only thing keeping her tethered here, and I fucking hate it.
An awake Maeve could never do that, her anxiety and phobia holding her back, and I want to rage war on the world for the constant shit it’s putting her through.
I hate that she’s lying in a place like this, with lights that hum and shadows that crawl. She’s going to wake up furious—the sheets that are mauling her, the smell that drags her back to the memories she’s buried, and the lack of control over her life.
I know she’s going to be upset, but, fuck, I just need her to wake up.
I need proof she’s okay. Proof she’s coping.
I need to see this hasn’t broken her.
“She’s going to be fine,” Adrian says. His tone lands somewhere between bored and benevolent. I can’t tell if he’s trying to reassure us or just pretending to. “But if we don’t find him, things won’t be.”
I roll my eyes. “And that affects us how?”
“Because he’s the judge that signed off on her father being released,” Julian says gravely.
“And is the same judge that originally sentenced them all,” my uncle adds, and I catch the confusion in Torin’s expression. “His escape isn’t coincidence. Your mate is part of this—whether she knows it or not, boys”
“She would never—” Lucifer starts.
“Obviously fucking not, Nephew,” Adrian snaps, and I’m shocked to see his mask slipping just long enough for real anger to bleed through. “What I meant is that she’s in even greater danger considering her stalker somehow orchestrated a breakout from inside TRAC.”
The sound of a phone buzzing cuts through the static. My uncle’s, of course.
Torin is next, this one not making a sound. With a heavy sigh, he turns away, voice dropping to a murmur as he answers.
My uncle retreats into the bathroom for his own whisper-fest, as if privacy is even a concept in a place like this.
Lucifer snorts. “You not making any calls, Ki?”
Kiaan smirks without humour. “I don’t think anyone would answer them even if I did.”
I huff out a laugh I don’t feel. “Same.”