"Nobody move," Sebastian barked, his weapon trained on the centre of the room. One of the men lunged for what looked like a panic button, but Cole was faster, tackling him to the ground with brutal force. The others were quickly subdued by Trivium enforcers, though not without resistance. Shouts and curses filled the air as the men were forced to their knees, hands zip-tied behind their backs.
My eyes scanned the room frantically, searching for any sign of Cadence, but she wasn't there. Just these men, their faces now masks of fear and defiance.
"Where is she?" I demanded, grabbing the nearest one by his collar. "Where's Cadence Turner?" The man spat at my feet.
"Fuck you." I drew back my fist, ready to beat the information out of him, but Sebastian's hand on my shoulder stopped me.
"No time," he said, gesturing toward three corridors that branched off from the main room. "We need to move." He pointed to each corridor in turn, assigning teams.
"Logan, take the east wing. Ryder, west. Cole, with me to the north. Move fast, check every room. She's here somewhere." I nodded, gathering four enforcers with a jerk of my head, and moved toward the eastern corridor.
The passage was dimly lit, the walls damp with condensation, the air heavy with the metallic scent of neglect. Doors lined both sides, some open, revealing empty rooms with bare mattresses or strange equipment that made my stomach turn; others closed, hiding God knows what horrors.
"Clear!" an enforcer called after checking the first room.
"Clear!" echoed from the second. My dread mounted with each empty room. What if she wasn't here? What if this was another dead end? What if Damien had moved her, or worse...
I pushed the thought away, focusing on the task at hand. Door after door, room after room. All empty.
And then, at the end of the corridor, a heavy metal door swung open. A man staggered out, zipping up his pants, his face flushed. He looked up, freezing when he saw us, his eyes widening with fear. Something cold and terrible settled in my gut. The man tried to run, but two enforcers tackled him to the ground, restraining him with practiced efficiency. I barely registered their actions. My focus was entirely on that metal door, on what might lie beyond it.
The stench hit me first, a nauseating blend of sweat, urine, blood, and sex that made my gorge rise. I pushed the door open wider, my hand shaking despite my effort to control it.
The room beyond was dark, illuminated only by a single bulb that cast more shadows than light. It was freezing cold, the wallsslick with condensation, the floor concrete and filthy. A thin, stained mattress lay in one corner, but my eyes were drawn to the figure sprawled on the floor beside it. My heart stopped.
She was naked, her body so thin I could count her ribs even from the doorway. Her skin was a patchwork of bruises, cuts, and what looked like burns, some fresh, some healing, some infected. Her hair, once vibrant purple, was now a faded, dirty smudge against the concrete. She was curled into herself, trembling, barely moving. But it was her.
"Oh, God," I whispered, the words tearing from my throat. "Cadence."
I rushed to her side, falling to my knees beside her. Up close, the damage was even worse. Her face was swollen, one eye nearly closed from bruising. Her lips were cracked and bleeding. Finger-shaped bruises marked her neck, her arms, her thighs. And the smell, God, the smell of unwashed skin and bodily fluids and something worse, something broken.
"Cade," I said again, reaching for her shoulder with a trembling hand. "Cadence, it's me. It's Logan." She flinched violently at my touch, a whimper escaping her cracked lips as she tried to curl further into herself.
"No, please," she rasped, her voice barely audible, raw from what I could only imagine was screaming. "Not again. Please, no more. I can't, I can't take any more." Her words were like knives in my chest. I swallowed hard, trying to keep my voice steady.
"Cadence, it's Logan. You're safe now. I'm here to help you." She trembled harder, shaking her head blindly.
"Please, please stop. I'll be good. I'll do whatever you want. Just don't hurt me again. Please." My vision blurred with tears. This broken, terrified creature bore almost no resemblance to the fierce, defiant woman I'd known. What had they done to her? What horrors had she endured in this freezing hell?
"Princess," I whispered, using the nickname I'd given her months ago, one that had started as mockery but had somehow transformed into something like affection. "Princess, it's me. It's Logan. You're safe now." She stilled, her trembling subsiding slightly. Slowly, painfully, she lifted her head, her eyes, still that striking blue, even amid all the damage, focusing on my face with obvious effort.
"L-Logan?" she whispered, disbelief and hope warring in her voice.
"Yes," I said, relief washing through me at this small recognition. "Yes, it's me. I've got you. You're safe." Her face crumpled, and a sound escaped her that wasn't quite human, a keening wail of pain and relief and a thousand other emotions I couldn't name. She lurched forward, collapsing against my chest, her bony fingers clutching at my tactical vest with surprising strength.
"Logan," she sobbed, her whole body heaving with the force of her cries. "Logan, Logan, Logan." I wrapped my arms around her, careful of her injuries, and pulled her against me. She was so light, so fragile, it felt like holding a bird with broken wings. I shrugged out of my jacket and draped it around her naked form, trying to shield her from both the cold and the gazes of the enforcers who had gathered at the door.
"I've got you," I murmured into her filthy hair, rocking her gently as she sobbed against me. "I've got you, Princess. You're safe now. No one's going to hurt you anymore." Her sobs intensified, her body convulsing with the force of them. I held her tighter, my own tears falling freely now. I'd found her. After six weeks of hell, I'd found her. She was alive. Broken, traumatised, but alive.
The world condensed to a single point when I heard Logan's shout echoing through the underground corridors. It was different from the tactical calls we'd been exchanging; this was raw, primal, afraid. My blood turned to ice as I sprinted toward the sound, weapon drawn, heart hammering against my ribs. I rounded the corner into the eastern corridor just as Logan wasstripping off his tactical vest, movements frantic. His t-shirt followed, and that's when I saw her.
My feet froze to the concrete floor. The oxygen seemed to vanish from the room as I stared at the broken figure curled in Logan's arms. She was barely recognisable, emaciated, her body a canvas of purple-black bruises, angry red welts, and what looked like burn marks scattered across skin that had once been vibrant and full of life. Her hair, that signature purple I'd grown to associate with defiance and strength, hung in dirty, matted clumps, barely even there anymore.
She was naked. Completely exposed. Vulnerable in a way that made bile rise in my throat. Logan pulled his t-shirt over her head with a gentleness I'd rarely seen from him, his large hands carefully guiding her arms through the sleeves as if handling something infinitely precious and irreparably fragile. He wrapped his jacket around her shoulders, murmuring soft words I couldn't quite catch. Her body convulsed with sobs, her cracked lips forming a single word over and over: "Logan, Logan, Logan." I wanted to move. To rush forward. To touch her, hold her, tell her we'd found her and she was safe now. But my body refused to obey. I stood paralyzed, cataloging every visible injury with clinical precision even as my heart shattered with each one. The infected cut on her cheekbone. The finger-shaped bruises circling her throat. The raw, chafed skin at her wrists and ankles where she'd clearly been restrained.
She'd been here for six fucking weeks while we searched, while I drowned in guilt and fear and helpless rage. My stomach twisted violently as I realised what must have happened in this room, what had been done to her, perhaps repeatedly, while I'd failed to find her.
A sudden rush of footsteps behind me broke my trance. Ryder skidded into the doorway, his breath coming in harsh pants, eyes wild and desperate. He froze just as I had, the horror of the scene hitting him like a physical blow. His face drained of all colour, lips parting in a silent cry of anguish.
