Chapter 24 · The Bride Bites Back

Two hours left. Damian's face was gray under the blood-vault lights, tubes running into his arms like he was part of the machinery. Vivian couldn't breathe. Couldn't think past the image of him just lying there, alive, for three goddamn years while she'd mourned him.

Lucas was saying something behind her. Words she didn't want to hear. Something about the chain, about midnight, about how Cyrus had planned this from the start.

"Shut up." Her voice came out flat. "Just—shut up."

She stepped into the vault. The air smelled like copper and old stone. Fourteen glass cells, all occupied. Men and women slumped against the walls or curled on metal benches, their skin pale, their breathing shallow. Mixed-bloods, probably. People Cyrus had decided weren't worth keeping around.

Damian was in the first cell. Close enough to touch if the glass wasn't there. His chest rose and fell, slow and steady, like he was only sleeping. Like she could shake him awake and he'd crack some stupid joke about her dress or ask what took her so long.

She pressed her palm against the glass. It was cold. "I'm here," she whispered. "I'm right here.