Chapter 10: Fractures in Glass
1126 Words
The Valkor Citadel glittered against the skyline like a blade of light, its towers stabbing through the clouds with ruthless precision.
From the skybridge, Elena could see the city sprawling beneath her in perfect grids—neon arteries pulsing life through steel veins. It should have felt safe. It didn’t.
Her heels clicked softly against the translucent floor as she walked toward the upper chamber. Every step was measured, every breath calibrated. She could almost feel the Citadel watching her, its walls laced with surveillance strands like spider silk, humming with quiet threat.
Don’t falter. Don’t slip.
The mantra beat in her head like a second pulse.
At the end of the bridge, the chamber doors parted with a whisper. The room beyond was a temple of glass and chrome, a panoramic view of the world Damian ruled. He stood at the centre of it all, framed by the burnished glow of the setting sun—a man sculpted in shadow and steel.
Damian Valkor.
He didn’t turn when she entered. His hands rested behind his back, posture rigid, every line of him sharp with command. The air seemed thinner around him, as though his presence consumed it.
“You’re late,” he said, voice quiet, controlled. But she heard the edge beneath it. A note that hadn’t been there before.
“I had to clear a systems glitch,” she replied smoothly, stepping closer. “Nothing critical.”
“A glitch.” He let the word linger like smoke, then turned. His eyes—cold mercury under fractured light—studied her with a depth that made her spine stiffen. Damian wasn’t a man who looked. He dissected.
“Strange,” he murmured. “You’ve never been careless with systems before.”
Her lips curved, faint, practiced. “Even perfect machines need recalibration.”
“And people?” His gaze didn’t waver. “Do they need recalibration too?”
It was a question with teeth. She felt them sink deep, slicing through the armour she wore like skin. But she didn’t bleed. Not yet.
“I suppose they do,” she said lightly, moving toward the console. Her fingers brushed the glass, pulling up holo-graphs of cargo manifests, patrol schedules—safe data, sterilised and bright.
But she could feel him moving closer.
The reflection in the glass caught his silhouette, sharp against the glow of dusk. He came to stand behind her, close enough that she could feel the heat of him, close enough that his breath brushed the curve of her neck.
“Elena,” he said softly. “Look at me.”
She turned, slowly, her face a mask of calm. But inside, her pulse hammered.
Damian’s hand lifted—not in threat, not in violence, but something worse. His fingers skimmed her jaw, tilting her chin just enough for their eyes to lock.
“You’ve changed,” he murmured.
“Have I?”
“You used to be…” His thumb traced the faint line of her cheekbone. “Transparent. Now you’re smoke.”
“And you don’t like smoke?” she asked, her voice steady, though her lungs felt starved.
“I like control,” he said. “And smoke can’t be contained.”
His words curled around her like a noose. For a fleeting second, she imagined ripping free—stripping his control from him, piece by piece, until he was nothing but dust at her feet. But she didn’t move. Couldn’t. Not yet.
Instead, she smiled faintly. “Maybe you’re looking too hard.”
“Maybe,” he said, but his eyes didn’t soften. If anything, they burned colder. Then, just as abruptly, he stepped back, the contact severed like a blade through glass.
“You’ll be with me tonight,” he said, turning toward the console. “The ambassador’s gala. I want you close.”
“Of course,” she replied, voice smooth as silk, even as her thoughts raced.
The gala. A nexus of power and danger, wrapped in glitter and lies. Perfect for alliances. Perfect for traps.
Damian’s fingers danced across the console, pulling up encrypted strings of data. “One more thing,” he said, not looking at her. “Your clearance level was flagged yesterday.”
Her breath stilled. “Flagged?”
“A brief anomaly. Someone accessed the Western Data Bridge.” He turned then, gaze like steel through frost. “I assume that wasn’t you.”
Her heart didn’t skip. It stopped.
Cassian.
His name burned behind her eyes like a scar.
“No,” she said evenly. “Why would I risk something that reckless?”
Damian studied her for a long, quiet moment. Then, slowly, he smiled—the kind of smile that didn’t touch his eyes. “Of course. You’ve always been loyal.”
The words slid like a blade under her ribs. Because they weren’t truth. They were a test. And she’d just stepped onto the edge of a blade.
“I’ll prepare for tonight,” she said, turning before he could read more from her face.
“Elena,” he said softly, just as the doors whispered open. She paused, spine rigid. “Wear black.”
She didn’t answer. Just walked, each step an exercise in control, even as her lungs burned for air that felt like acid.
The corridor stretched before her, endless and sterile, but her mind was already moving—fast, sharp, slicing through every layer of risk. Damian knew something. Not enough to strike. Not yet. But enough to circle, enough to taste blood on the air.
By the time she reached her quarters, her hands were trembling. Not from fear. From fury. Fury at Cassian for pulling data from the bridge. Fury at herself for letting him.
She slammed the door shut, leaning against it for a heartbeat, chest heaving. Then, slowly, she stripped the gloves from her hands and crossed to the console embedded in the wall. A sweep of her wrist unlocked the holo-screen, light flooding the room in blue fire.
Her reflection stared back—perfect. Untouchable. A lie.
“Cassian,” she whispered, voice like broken glass. “What have you done?”
The screen flickered. A single line of encrypted code pulsed at the edge of her HUD—the signal they’d used for years. Three beats. Then silence.
He wanted her to answer.
She didn’t. Not yet. Not while Damian’s shadow coiled around her like smoke and steel.
Instead, she shut the system down, the light dying like a severed vein, and sank into the quiet hum of the Citadel—the quiet of a cage closing tighter with every breath.
Outside, the city burned in neon. And somewhere in its veins, Cassian was waiting.
- Writer
