Chapter 18
1049 Words
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
LUNA POV
Prague smelled like memory.
The rain had stopped just an hour before she landed, but the cobbled streets still glistened under the streetlights. Everything looked older here — older than Cassian, older than LaurelTech, older than the power games she’d been raised to survive.
It was the kind of city that remembered things.
Things better left buried.
She moved through the city like a shadow — unarmed, unguarded, and entirely against everything Cassian had ever taught her. But Lysander’s note had been clear. Come alone. No tails. No noise.
So she wore quiet black.
No makeup. No jewelry. Only the gold key he’d sent, cold in her coat pocket.
Midnight drew closer with each click of her boots.
The address had been handwritten — a building in Malá Strana, tucked between a church and a music school. There were no lights in the windows. No name on the bell.
Just the number: 17B.
She pressed the buzzer.
No answer.
Then the door clicked.
Unlocked from the inside.
Luna slipped in.
No cameras. No one waiting.
Just a staircase leading underground.
Of course.
Lysander had always liked drama.
She descended carefully, each step echoing in the stone corridor. The deeper she went, the colder it became. The air shifted — dry and ancient. It smelled like old paper and secrets.
Then she reached it.
A steel door.
The kind used for bank vaults.
In the center: a lock.
She took out the key. Fingers trembling slightly — not from fear, but from memory.
This man had tucked her in when her mother forgot. He taught her how to hold a knife before she learned to tie a tie. He called her petite reine — little queen — as though he’d always known what she’d become.
But he also vanished.
And now, he was summoning her like she still belonged to him.
Luna turned the key.
The door hissed open.
A single hanging light bulb flickered on.
Inside was a room the size of a library vault. Metal shelves. Dozens of boxes. Some marked with her father’s name. Others labeled Syndicate, Cassian Laurel, LaurelTech. Her blood ran cold at the sight of it.
And in the center…
A man.
Grey suit. Silver beard. Crisp white gloves.
Exactly as she remembered him.
And yet not at all.
He turned slowly, with the calm of a man who knew she’d come.
“Ma chère,” he said, his voice deep, accent still thickly French. “You came.”
Luna stared at him. “You died.”
“No. I disappeared.”
“Same thing.”
“Not to me.”
There was a long silence.
Then she stepped in fully, the door closing behind her with a final clang.
“Start talking,” she said coldly. “Start explaining why you let me believe you were dead while Laurent carved up my life.”
Lysander tilted his head. “Because if I had stayed, you wouldn’t be who you are now.”
“That’s not your decision to make.”
He smiled — soft, maddeningly fond. “It always was.”
Luna stepped closer, anger simmering just beneath her skin. “And what is this place? Another test?”
“No,” he said. “A choice.”
She looked around — files, photos, evidence — the kind of paper trail that could break men like Cassian and her father with one leak.
“You built this,” she whispered.
“I archived everything. Every betrayal. Every blood pact. Every lie. I wanted you to know the truth before you chose a side.”
Luna’s eyes snapped to his. “You think I haven’t already?”
“I think the girl I raised would want to know what her father did before burning down the rest.”
That stopped her.
Lysander turned and walked to one of the shelves. He pulled a thick black binder. Inside — photos.
Luna moved to him slowly.
And looked down.
At her mother.
In a hospital bed. Bruised. Hooked to machines. The date scrawled on the top: March 2002. Luna had been four.
“That was the day she tried to run,” Lysander said softly. “With you. Your father stopped her before she could cross the border. He didn’t kill her. But he didn’t let her leave, either.”
Luna’s throat went dry.
Lysander pulled out another file. Audio.
Her father. A younger version. Speaking in clipped tones.
> “If she speaks to anyone again, you make her disappear. She doesn’t get to take Luna. She doesn’t even get to breathe unless I say so.”
Luna backed away.
Her knees hit the metal shelf behind her. A box teetered. Her hand shot out to steady it.
Inside was a photo of Cassian.
But younger.
Wearing a military uniform. Eyes cold.
The caption read: Cassian Laurel. Recruited 2011. Asset classification: lethal but malleable. Weak point: Luna Knight.
Her stomach flipped.
“They’ve been watching him that long?” she whispered.
“They’ve been watching both of you,” Lysander said. “Because the Knight name and the Laurel legacy were always destined to collide. And Laurent—” he paused, voice tightening, “—Laurent made sure you would be enemies before you were ever lovers.”
A chill slid down her spine.
“You kept all this,” she said. “Why?”
“So you could choose what to do with it.”
She looked up at him.
Felt the weight of every file pressing down on her like the walls could cave in.
“And if I choose to walk away?”
Lysander stepped forward, touched her cheek like a father might — but she flinched.
“You can,” he said softly. “But you’ll never be free unless you finish this.”
Luna’s voice was quiet.
“I’m tired of being someone else’s weapon.”
He nodded. “Then be your own.”
She left the vault with the key still in her pocket and the files burned into her memory. Outside, the Prague air felt colder than when she came in.
But her blood was boiling.
The game had changed.
Again.
And this time?
She wasn’t playing for survival.
She was playing to win.
- Writer
