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For the first time, his smile falters. “Not today,” he says quietly. “But soon.”

CHAPTER

FIFTY-NINE

The room feels alive. My knees dig into cold concrete as I’m yanked forward. The chain around my neck tightens with each pull, its links rattling like a perverse hymn.

Clyde stands in the center, hands clasped behind his back. “Ah,” he says, his voice slicing through the quiet. “There she is. The prodigal daughter.”

The chain jerks forward. “You tried so hard, Lydia,” Clyde says, stepping closer. “You thought you could tear this down. And yet here you are.”

“You’re afraid of me,” I say.

A ripple of laughter stirs the circle. “Afraid? No. We’re enlightened. You’re the cautionary tale we’ve been waiting for.” He crouches so his face hovers close. “And soon, you’ll be the lesson they never forget.”

He stands, addressing the men, arms raised. “This woman thought she could destroy us. She killed us. Men who understood the truth. The order that holds this world together.” He turns back to me. “But what did you accomplish? All you did was spread chaos. All you did was prove why we’re needed.”

A sound builds beneath the silence. A low hum, then words, dark and rhythmic. The men begin to sway, their bodies moving in unison, a tide rising around me.

Clyde steps into the center of the circle. “Tonight,” he says, his voice rising, “we take back what’s ours. Tonight, we remind the world of God’s plan. Of the order that was meant to be.” He gestures toward me. “She’ll be the first. The first of many. A beacon. A warning. A holy example for the women of the world, a reminder of their place.”

A roar erupts from the circle, voices crashing together, feet stomping in rhythm.

I close my eyes. The fire inside flickers wildly, fighting for air beneath their voices.

But it does not go out.

Not yet.

“She’ll stay here,” Clyde says. “A vessel for worship. A tool to show the world what happens when chaos tries to overtake order.”

“You’ll never win,” I say, forcing the words out past the pain. “The world doesn’t belong to you. It never did.”

“The world belongs to those who take it,” he says coldly. “And you’re about to help us do just that.” He crouches in front of me. “You think your defiance makes you powerful? It doesn’t. It just makes you stubborn. And stubbornness breaks.”

He stands, turns toward the men. “Let the ritual continue,” he says. “Let her understand.”

Through the fog of pain and bone-deep exhaustion, I latch onto the one thing that’s still mine. That small, stubborn flicker of resistance, still burning somewhere deep inside, refusing to go out.

CHAPTER

SIXTY

The air sticks to my skin, thick and damp, wrapping around me like a heavy, suffocating layer I can’t shake off. Sweat mixes with the sharp bite of blood still hanging faintly in the air.

Every part of me feels weighed down. My muscles are aching, joints sore and swollen, my whole body pulled low by exhaustion. The chain digs into my neck, no longer just a pinch or a sting but a steady, pulsing throb. Every breath I manage scrapes at my throat, dry and raw, each one harder to pull in than the last.

Above me, the flickering light sputters again, casting jagged shadows that crawl across the cracked walls like living things. The men move in slow, deliberate arcs, their boots dragging across the concrete in a rhythm that sounds too close to ritual. A quiet hum builds beneath their movements, a tension, a knowing.

The door creaks open.

The sound cuts through the stillness like a blade. The murmurs cease. Every head turns toward the doorway, eyes gleaming in the dim light, hungry and waiting.

Two figures step inside, dragging something small between them.

A girl.

She stumbles forward under their grip, a fragile thing swallowed by their hands. Her frame is thin, too thin, her shoulders curled inward as though trying to collapse into herself. Her dark hair hangs in limp, tangled curtains, clinging to damp, tear-streaked cheeks.