Chapter 26
Elira
I wake in a cell.
It’s cold—so cold the stone floor bites through my skin.
Damp air clings to my lungs. My shadows drift restlessly around me like smoke, like they want to protect me.
They slither up the bars, but the moment they touch the shimmering silver light that hums around the cell, they snap back with a hiss.
“Where… where am I?” My voice sounds wrong. Higher. Fragile. A child’s voice. “Where’s Mummy?”
Beyond the bars, I hear them—moaning, whimpering. Screams that start high and end in silence. They claw at my bones. I flinch. I try to cover my ears, but the chains rattle and pull my arms taut. I can't move. I can’t run.
Then I hear footsteps.
A shadow detaches from the darkness and walks toward my cell. He’s tall. Too tall. His shoulders scrape the archway. His eyes glow red—like coals buried in ash.
I shrink back, heart hammering.
“There, there, child…” His voice is syrupy, smooth—and wrong. “I’ve got you now.”
My eyes shot open and I clutched my chest. My heart was pounding. The room around me was pitch black and beside me, with his mouth wide open snoring loudly lay Leo.
He was snuggled up against me, and at my start he stirred. I froze in place and gradually watched as he settled down again, snoring once more.
With his floppy hair on the pillow, he looked remarkably innocent and young. I didn’t want to wake him.
But I was scared. My whole body throbbed with the adrenalin.
I felt wide awake. I tried to lay back and drift off, but I couldn’t. I needed to act. To do … something.
I extricated myself quietly from the bed and got dressed. I pulled on my stretchy pants and a shirt, then attached my knives to my body. Then, giving Leo a soft kiss goodnight, I opened the door and snuck out down to the training room chambers.
**
Phoenix
My office was a disaster.
Maps, blueprints, and broken weapon schematics cluttered every inch of desk space. None of it worked. None of it would satisfy the king. I stared at the mess for a long moment, then grabbed the nearest sheet and crushed it in my fist.
Useless.
I tossed it into the hearth and flicked my fingers. It caught with a whoosh. The flames ate through it greedily.
That’s when I heard soft footsteps.
I stood, moving to the door. Outside, under the pale hallway lights, a small figure padded quietly down the corridor. Barefoot. Determined.
Elira.
What the hell was she doing, wandering the halls at this hour?
I stepped into the shadow and followed at a distance. She didn’t see me.
She made her way to the training room and dragged one of the heavy wooden dummies across the floor with a grunt. Tied it to a post. Took several paces back. Then—without hesitation—she threw.
One dagger. Then another. Then another.
All clean shots.
I stayed in the doorway, watching her. She hadn’t noticed me yet. Her form was tight, efficient. But her movements were too fast. Too sharp. Like she wasn’t aiming for practice—she was trying to outrun something.
I watched her for a few more throws. Her breath came fast. Shoulders too tense. She wasn’t just training. She was trying not to fall apart.
I stepped into the room.
“You’re going to pull your shoulder if you keep throwing like that,” I said quietly.
She froze mid-draw. Then slowly turned, not startled—just exhausted. Her eyes were rimmed red. No tears now. Just the aftermath.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, voice raw.
“Could ask you the same,” I said. I crossed my arms but didn’t move any closer. “It’s the middle of the night.”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“I figured.”
She looked away, fingers toying with the hilt of a blade. “Nightmare.”
That one word carried the weight of a hundred unspoken memories. I let the silence hang.
“I see,” I said. I didn’t—not fully. No one could. But I wanted to.
She drew back and threw the dagger. It struck the dummy with a sharp, satisfying thwack, dead centre.
“Want to talk about it?” I asked, careful not to press.
Another blade flew. Another bullseye.
When she didn’t answer, I stepped in closer.
“I’ve been told I’m a good listener. If you ever feel like trying me.”
A tired, sad smile curved her lips. “I don’t doubt that,” she said softly.
She undid the belt of throwing knives around her waist and let it fall with a quiet clink. Then she sank down beside it, a long breath escaping her.
“How did you come to be here?” she asked.
“Are we talking birds and the bees,” I said, with a faint smirk, “or something a little more... relevant?”
She chuckled—soft, real. “Here. At the Shade Tower. Where were you born? Where did you grow up?”
I frowned. “What’s this about, Elle?”
“I have absolutely no memories of my childhood.” Her voice turned distant, like she wasn’t really speaking to me, but to some echo in her mind. “It’s like I just... appeared. Sixteen years old, dropped into the world. I could read, write, sing. I knew how to speak. But I didn’t know who I was.”
“You don’t know why?”
She shook her head. “No.”
I crouched beside her and stretched my legs out, lying back against the cold, hard ground. It bit through the fabric of my clothes, but I didn’t care.
“Do you want to know now? Is that why you’re upset?”
She scrunched her face, brows pulled together in thought. One black curl slipped from her ponytail and fell across her cheek. I had to fight the urge to brush it away.
“It’s more that... it never even occurred to me to ask before. Isn’t that weird?”
I blinked. “You mean—”
“I mean I woke up in the woods with Finn at sixteen, and I just... accepted it. Didn’t question where I came from. Who does that?”
“And now, suddenly, you care.”
“Now,” she said, voice quiet, “I can’t stop caring.”
“Is that what you dreamed about? Your past?” I asked her.
“I think so. But at the same time, I really hope not.”
“What did you see?”
“A small child in a cell, locked up and screaming for her mummy,” she said softly.
I swallowed back my concern. “Gods,”
“Yeah. So now, as you can see, no sleep.”
“Does it feel real to you?” I asked, after a long pause.
She didn’t answer right away. Her fingers toyed with a loose thread on her shirt, and her eyes had gone somewhere far away.
“I mean… what’s real?” she said at last, voice quiet.
“I feel like I’m both watching and experiencing it at the same time.
Like I’m stuck inside this… this child’s body, feeling her fear, her confusion.
But also watching her from the outside, screaming at her to move, to run, to fight—and she just sits there, sobbing for someone who never comes. ”
My stomach turned.
“Elira—”
“I think it was me,” she said, gently cutting me off. “That little girl. I think I’ve seen that cell before. The way the shadows moved... the way they felt.”
Her hands trembled slightly as she ran them down her thighs, grounding herself.
“I don’t remember much else. Just the cold. And his eyes.”
“Him?”
“The watcher in the dark. With the red eyes.”
I stared at her. “You saw someone?”
She nodded slowly. “He’s like this insidious shadow. Always there. Watching me like he knows me—like he’s waiting. I saw him when Thorne tried to read my memories the other day. And…”
“And what?” I asked, voice low.
Her eyes flicked away. “I think I saw him at the market. Right before the attack.”
My stomach turned. “Elle…”
“I’m sorry. I should’ve said something.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because I didn’t know if he was real,” she admitted. “And then everything happened so fast. Slade got hurt, you all chased after the rebels. I guess... I forgot.”
I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. “It’s okay. But you can’t keep things like that from us. We’re supposed to be a team.”
She gave a dry laugh. “According to Thorne, I’m not officially part of the team yet. He’s convinced I’ll bolt the first chance I get.”
My chest tightened at that. “You’re not going to bolt... are you?”
The thought of her leaving hit harder than I liked to admit.
“Not today,” she said, smiling faintly. “But…”
“Elira—”
“I don’t know, Phoenix.” Her voice softened, almost lost. “I came here for Finn. To save him. And now he’s gone. I don’t want to be the king’s pawn, but I can’t deny…”
“Deny what?” I asked gently.
She looked up at me then. Vulnerable. Honest.
“That I’m growing... attached. To some people here.” Her eyes met mine, knowingly.
“Attached huh?” I asked, unable to help my smile. “How so?”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” She snarked. But I could sense the truth.
“I would never dream of it,” I grinned at her.
She lay back on the ground, looking up at the ceiling. I lay down beside her.
“I hate that I can’t tell what’s real,” she whispered. “I hate that I didn’t even care to know who I was until now. What if I’m not someone worth remembering?”
“Don’t say that.” My voice came out harder than I meant it to. I took a breath. Softer this time: “You are.”
She looked at me then, and for a heartbeat, I saw the fear drop away, just enough to let something else peek through. Grief, maybe. Or hope.
I studied her face for a long moment—how the dim light caught in her eyes, how the uncertainty lived just beneath her skin.
She didn’t know who she was. And somehow, that terrified her more than anything else.
“I was younger than you,” I said finally, “when I came here.”
She glanced at me, surprised.
“My father was a soldier. My mother... I barely remember her. She died young. My brothers were all older. Strong. Loud. Aggressive.” I smirked faintly. “I was the quiet one. But I was angry. Always angry, and I didn’t know why.”
She listened, eyes softening as I spoke.
“The Shade Tower claimed me because I burned someone’s arm off during a street fight.” I shrugged. “I didn’t mean to. I just... snapped.”
“You were scared.”
“Something like that.”
She was quiet for a beat. Then: “Do you ever feel like your anger is older than you are? Like it doesn’t even belong to you?”
I turned my head to look at her. “Every day.”
Her shoulders sank like the tension had bled out of her. “Sometimes I think there’s something wrong with me. Something broken that can never be fixed.”
“You’re not broken, Elle,” I said, voice low.
“Thanks,” she said. “Even if you’re just saying that to stop me spiralling.”
“I don’t do flattery,” I said with a faint smirk. “If I say you matter, it’s because you do.”
A small smile tugged at her lips. Then she lay back again, her head turning toward mine on the cold stone floor. Our shoulders brushed again.
“I don’t want to sleep,” she whispered. “Not yet.”
“Then don’t,” I said. “We’ll just lie here. No pressure. No dreams.”
“Thanks Phoenix.”
For a long time, we stayed there, staring up at the high ceiling of the training hall. She didn’t cry. I didn’t ask anything more.
Sometimes, silence said enough.