Nico
They took her.
I saw her disappear through the rusted threshold with men who thought they were gods because they held keys instead of crowns.
And I did nothing.
Not because I wouldn’t.
Because I couldn’t.
My body was a marionette of dead nerves and bruised muscle, strung together by rage and instinct. But rage wasn’t enough—not yet. Not when Dante still breathed and Serena still bled.
I laid there, tasting blood and failure, watching the flickering light die with the echo of her steps.
She looked back.
Just once.
And in that glance, I saw it.
She wasn’t mine anymore.
She wasn’t anyone’s.
She was something worse.
Free.
And that scared me more than death.
The room was a tomb.
Stone walls. Iron door. No windows. No mercy.
A place for forgotten things—monsters, secrets,
