The compound's deepest level was colder than a tomb.
Celia lay strapped to a steel table—skin pale, eyes wide open, pupils like pinpricks. Needles still in her arms. Tubes pumping her full of something unnatural.
Her memories flickered like broken film reels.
A name.
A face.
Fire.
"Do you remember now?" a voice whispered from the shadows.
The boy.
She blinked slowly, her lips dry.
"I remember… burning."
He smiled. "Good."
He leaned down, brushing her hair back from her face. Tender. Cruel.
"You were supposed to die," he murmured. "But I decided to keep you."
Her voice was a ghost.
"Why?"
He smiled wider.
"Because Nathaniel loved you."
Her heart twisted.
Nathaniel.
The name hit her like a knife.
She saw him.
Felt his hands.
Felt his kiss.
Felt—
The boy slapped her.
Not hard.
Just enough to snap her out of it.
"We're not here to dream," he snarled. "We're here to rebuild."
He nodded to a Reaper.
The Reaper injected something black into Celia's veins.
Her back arched.
She screamed.
And then—
Silence.
The boy leaned close again.
"Do you know who I am?" he asked.
Her eyes opened.
Dark.
Empty.
But then…
She smiled.
"You're the one I'm going to kill," she whispered.
—
Meanwhile, in an underground safehouse—
Nathaniel's fists slammed into the wall.
"She's alive and you knew?!" he roared at Celeste.
Celeste shrugged, lighting a cigarette.
"I suspected."
"You suspected?"
She blew smoke in his face.
"You didn't need another distraction. You barely keep it together as it is."
Nathaniel lunged.
Vincent grabbed him by the collar, slamming him back.
"Not now," the old man growled.
Nathaniel's chest heaved.
Alfreda watched from the corner, silent, eyes burning.
Celeste flicked ash to the floor.
"You want to find her?" she said calmly.
Nathaniel glared.
Celeste smiled darkly.
"Then let's give the boy something to trade for."
—
Later that night.
Nathaniel stood in the rain-soaked streets, alone.
The deal was simple:
Celia for the Vault's final passcodes.
He knew it was a trap.
He didn't care.
Because love makes you stupid.
Even when love is twisted and dead.
Headlights flared.
An armored truck screeched to a halt.
The boy stepped out first, flanked by Reapers.
Behind him—Celia.
Alive.
Walking.
But not herself.
Nathaniel's heart cracked.
"Celia," he whispered.
Her eyes flicked to him.
Recognition.
Maybe.
The boy laughed.
"She's prettier dead, don't you think?"
Nathaniel's fists tightened.
The boy nodded, and Reapers dragged a bound figure out of the truck.
Alfreda.
Bloodied.
Bruised.
Her eyes wild.
Nathaniel's world went cold.
"What is this?" he growled.
The boy smirked.
"A bonus."
He pulled a knife and pressed it to Alfreda's throat.
"You give me the Vault," he purred, "or I give her a new smile."
Nathaniel's heart hammered.
Alfreda locked eyes with him.
Don't you dare, her gaze said.
The boy smiled wider.
"What's it going to be?"
Nathaniel's fingers twitched toward the detonator hidden in his coat.
His thumb hovered over the button.
He looked at Celia.
Looked at Alfreda.
One heart would break either way.
One would die.
And maybe that was what he deserved.
His thumb pressed.
—
BOOM.
The truck exploded.
Reapers scattered, screaming.
Smoke and fire swallowed the night.
The boy staggered back, coughing.
Nathaniel tackled him, slamming him into the pavement.
"You lose," Nathaniel snarled, fists raining down.
The boy laughed through broken teeth.
"Do I?"
Behind them, Celia stepped from the flames.
Gun in hand.
Pointed at Nathaniel.
Her voice was soft.
"Let him go."
Nathaniel froze.
His heart stopped.
"Celia…"
She smiled.
Cold.
Empty.
"You're in my way," she whispered.