Page 58 of A Touch of Madness

Quick, brutal, precise—his hand snaps around the back of her neck before she can even register the threat. Lara snarls, thrashing violently, but Rebecca is already there, the syringe glinting once before she drives it into the soft skin beneath her jaw.

A feral growling noise tears from Lara’s throat. She fights, her body jerking, twisting, her strength far greater than it should be given the state she’s in.

But the sedative is instantaneous.

Lara’s movements grow sluggish. Her limbs falter. And then—she collapses.

Dorian carries Lara’s unconscious form to the car hastily as the girls get in the backseat and prop her up as if she’s just another willing passenger. I watch them move her body with ease, and for a brief moment, a ghost of memory brushes against me—Sylvie, fragile and cold in my arms as I carried her into the Guild only days before.

Dorian shuts the back door and slides into the passenger seat alongside me.

"She belongs to us now," I say, finally drawing in a deep breath as I realize we are one step closer to getting her to Sylvie. One step closer to ending all of this—for better or worse.

The descent into the Guild’s underground chambers feels heavier than it should.

The stone steps echo with my footsteps, each one dipping slightly in the center from centuries of wear. The air down here is thick, stale with age and old magic, the faint scent of damp stone clinging to the walls. Runes glow faintly along the passage, pulsing in steady intervals—wards meant to hold creatures far more dangerous than my sister.

But then again, I don’t know what my sister is anymore.

The thought clenches at my chest, a slow, painful twist as I tighten my grip on the iron railing, steadying myself. My body is still weak, the aftershocks of the Mirror’s destruction lingering in my bones, but I feel my power coming back—slowly but surely. As Calidora said, it hasn’t been a quick fix. And despite everything, I’m grateful for the rest she and the other elders have demanded of me.

No one thought I should come down here, insisting I wait even longer, but eventually I talked them into it. Nearly a week of waiting is already too much.

I step off the last stair, the corridor stretching before me. The walls are carved from dark stone, flickering torchlight casting long, wavering shadows across their rough surface. The closer I get, the more I can feel her—the way the air itself seems heavier, charged with something unnatural. She may not be my sister anymore, but I feel her as if she’s never left.

At the end of the corridor, Lucian waits for my arrival, along with the three elders.

Lucian’s figure is partially obscured by shadow, but I’d recognize the way he carries himself anywhere—shoulders set, arms folded, his presence steady even in the dim light. He watches me approach, his expression unreadable, but there’s something in his gaze that makes my stomach twist.

"Are you sure about this, love?" I’ve missed him so much over the last week. I’ve seen him, yes, but it hasn’t been the same with the stress of finding Lara, getting my strength back up, and being in a different environment. I miss us being us. Long talks in front of the hearth. The way he holds me in the way no one else has.

“Sylvie?” he asks again. “Are you sure?” His voice is quiet, but there’s weight behind it. A warning.

I nod once. “Yes.”

The man I love studies me for a long moment, his gaze searching, and I wonder if he sees what I already know—there is no version of this where I walk away untouched.

He sighs, running a hand through his dark hair before stepping aside. “She’s restrained. Warded. She can’t hurt you.”

That’s not what I’m worried about.

I move past him, pushing open the heavy iron door keeping her from me.

The chamber is dark, lit only by a few hovering orbs of witchlight, their glow casting the room in a pale, unnatural luminescence. The walls are lined with sigils, carved deep into the stone, glowing with faint gold and silver light.

In the center of the room, strapped into a reinforced iron chair, is Lara.

My breath catches, and for a moment, the world narrows.

She looks… the same.

And yet, not at all.

Her body is still, head slumped forward, dark hair tangled and sweaty. The soft rise and fall of her chest is the only indication that she’s alive. But it’s her aura that unsettles me most.

Even from across the room, I can feel it—wrong, fractured, like something struggling against itself.

Nicole and Rebecca stand along the far wall, watching in tense silence. Dorian lingers near the entrance, arms crossed, his usual smirk absent.

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