CHAPTER 24 - Madeline
The first day of silence was like a drawn bowstring. The second was like a punch to the gut. By the fifth day, I had forgotten what my own voice sounded like, because the only sounds in my apartment were the hum of the refrigerator and the occasional click in the ventilation system.
Deimos hadn't abandoned me. He had just relegated me to the void. Every night, I sat on the floor in the living room, back against the wall, staring intently at the lens of the camera hidden above the cabinet.
In my work, I couldn’t focus. I felt his gaze on my skin like a physical touch. Sometimes, in a fit of absolute despair, I spoke to the lens.
"Please," I whispered into the empty room.
"Deimos, she has nothing to do with this. She's innocent. My only friend. Don't hurt her because of what your father did."
My only answer was the kitchen light clicking off. A remote-controlled message. I’m watching you. I control you. Be silent.
It’s the sixth day and I can't take it anymore. I need to see Lucy. Make sure she's safe.
We agreed on meeting in a cafe on the outskirts of the city, our usual spot. There are enough people for us to get lost, but few enough that I can see anyone who might be tailing us.
Lucy looks terrible. She has dark circles under her eyes, and her hands shake as she grips her coffee mug. But there is no fear in her eyes. There is fanaticism.
"Madeline, I know almost everything now," she blurts out before I can utter a single word of warning.
"I’ve been searching archives no one else looks at. Charles... he isn't just some rich guy. He’s the key to something much bigger. To an Elite that no one can even imagine."
"Lucy, stop," I hiss, grabbing her hand tightly.
"You have to stop. Right now. You're in danger you have no idea about. He's watching you. He knows what you're doing."
"Who? Your stalker? Deimos?"
Lucy laughs bitterly and pulls her hand away.
"This man. Our father. Is the only one who can explain to me my childhood. I found the address of one of his old estates. I’m going there."
"You can’t!"
I shout so loudly that a couple at the next table turns.
"Lu, listen to me. The one watching you isn't your ally. He’s someone your father destroyed. He’s insane, and he sees you as a liability. A glitch in the system that needs to be removed."
"Let him come," she says fiercely, her chin tilting up in a gesture that bears a terrifying resemblance to Deimos’s arrogance.
"I’m tired of hiding. I want answers. I’ve spent my whole life without my father. Not knowing if he’s even still alive. This is my chance."
At that moment, my phone vibrates in my pocket. Just once. Briefly. I pull it out under the table. No message. Just an active microphone icon on the display and one single sentence in the top bar:
"Too many words, Madeline. Time is up."
I look up and scan the street. Outside the window, on the other side of the street, sits a black car with tinted windows. The engine is running. The exhaust puffs gray smoke into the cold air.
"Lucy, we have to go. Now," I say with icy calm, even though my heart feels like it is being ripped from my chest.
"I’m not going anywhere, Madeline. I don't trust you anymore. You’re both meddling in my life, and I’ve had enough."
Lucy stands up, throws money on the table, and before I can stop her, she runs out of the cafe. I watch her vanish into the crowd, and I know I have just lost. I am helpless.
Deimos doesn't want to save her from Charles. He wants to liquidate her to take Charles’s last toy away. And I have just unknowingly pointed the way for him. The cold air lunges into my lungs as I burst through the cafe doors, scanning the sea of coats and umbrellas.
"Lucy!"
I scream, my voice cracking against the noise of the traffic.
She is gone. The sidewalk is a blur of strangers, none of them wearing her bright red scarf. My eyes dart to where the black car was idling, but the space is empty, marked only by a fading patch of exhaust. The realization hits me: she is running straight into a trap, and I have provided the map.
I fumble with my phone, my fingers numb and shaking. I dial her number.
"Pick up, please, just pick up..."
Voice mail.
"Damn it!"
I hiss, swiping to the one contact I have sworn to ignore. I press the unknown number that still makes my skin burn with a mixture of terror and memory. Deimos.
The line stays silent. No ringing. Just a hollow, digital void. He is letting the silence do the work, dragging me back into the psychological cage he’s built over the last seven days. I call again. And again. My frustration boils over into a blind, white-hot fury.
"I know you’re listening!"
I yell into the receiver, not caring about the people staring at me on the street.
"If you touch her, I swear to God I will finish what your father started! I’ll tear down every beautiful 'design' you’ve ever made! Pick up the phone!"
Nothing. Just the faint, rhythmic static that tells me the line is open, but he isn't going to speak. He is savoring my breakdown. He wants me to feel the exact moment I lose control. The moment I realize that no matter how much I fight, I am just a piece on his board.
I stand on the corner of the crowded street, the wind whipping my hair across my face, feeling more alone than I ever have in the morgue surrounded by the dead.
Minutes turn into an hour. Then two. My phone remains a cold, silent weight in my hand. No GPS coordinates come. No threatening text. Nothing.
The silence isn't just a lack of sound; it is a physical pressure, a vacuum that begins to suck the air out of my lungs. My mind, usually so sharp and analytical, starts to fracture. One moment, I am furious, convinced Lucy is fine, that she is just being her typical defiant self.
But then, I remember the way Deimos looked at the DNA results. That dead, hollow gaze. I remember the way his hands felt, capable of the most delicate touch or the swiftest kill. He doesn't do things halfway. If he has decided Lucy is a liability, she is already lost.
"Get it together, Madeline," I whisper, my voice sounding like a stranger's.
I start walking, but I don't know where I am going. I find myself in an alleyway, staring at my reflection in a grime-streaked window. My eyes are bloodshot, my skin sallow. I start to laugh. A low, jagged sound that scrapes my throat.
Is this the design? Is the masterpiece not some grand plan for Lucy, but the slow-motion demolition of me? He is watching me fall apart in real-time. He is probably sitting in his dark room right now, sipping something expensive, enjoying the way I claw at the air he’s taken away.
I pull out my phone again, my thumb hovering over the screen. I want to call the police. But what would I say? That a man who still doesn't officially exist took a girl who doesn't want to be found?
"You win," I whisper to the brick wall, to the void in my head.
"You win, Deimos. Just show me where she is."
As if on cue, a notification finally lights up the screen.
Not from Deimos. Not from Lucy. It is an automated alert from the morgue’s security system.
Motion detected in Lab B. My lab. My heart does a sickening roll.
He isn't at some distant coordinates. He is in my sanctuary. He is playing with the dead.
The drive to the morgue is a blurred streak of gray and neon. I push my car far beyond its limits. Lab B. Motion detected. It has to be him. It has to be the end of this agonizing week of silence.
I don't even wait for the elevator. I take the stairs two at a time, the echo of my boots sounding like a frantic heartbeat. I swipe my card at the reader, beep-click, and throw open the heavy double doors of the morgue.
"Deimos!"
I scream, my voice raw and desperate.
"I’m here! End this! Just end it!"
Silence.
The cold, clinical air of the building hits me, smelling of formaldehyde and ozone.
I stand in the center of the room, my chest heaving, waiting for a shadow to move.
But the morgue is empty. The stainless steel tables glint under the harsh fluorescent lights.
The cabinets are closed. Everything is perfectly organized, perfectly still.
"Deimos?"
I whisper, my voice small and trembling now.
I walk toward Lab B, my eyes darting to every corner. The motion sensor light is on, its pale glow illuminating my workstation. There is no one there. Just a single object sitting in the center of my desk.
There lies a small, black velvet box. My hands shake so violently I nearly knock it over. I open it with a clumsy flick of my thumb. Inside is a single, silver-plated key and a slip of paper with a handwritten note:
“You looked for a monster in a laboratory, Madeline. But the real design is never under a microscope. It’s in the basement. Go home. Wait for the bell.”
I let out a choked, hysterical sob. He isn't here. He has hacked the security system just to trigger the alarm, just to watch me sprint across the city like a panicked animal. He is playing with my heart rate, mapping my desperation.
I have been tricked. That snaps the last thread of my professional composure. I sink to the cold tile floor, clutching the silver key to my chest.
The drive home is like a fever dream. The silver key burns in my palm like a hot coal. I lock myself in my apartment, engaging every bolt and latch, but I know it is a futile gesture. There is no privacy in this flat. Every corner belongs to him.
I immediately lunge for my laptop. My fingers tangle as I try to log into every database I can access. I am hunting for Lucy.
"Please, Lucy, just one signal," I whisper, slamming my fist onto the desk.
Everything is dead.
Her phone signal vanished the exact moment she ran out of that café. I try calling her again. Once. A second time. The tenth attempt ends with the same mechanical voice of the operator.
"You coward!"
I scream into the empty living room, toward the hidden camera.
"Show yourself! Stop playing with your keys and your codes!”