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Chapter 200 — The Dump

The door didn’t just close; it detonated. The slam was a seismic crack that split the fragile silence, snapping me back into the grim reality of the room like a jolt from a live wire. My breath hitched, a useless gasp caught in my throat. Before the sound could even finish echoing, the garish neon light bled over a new silhouette in the doorway.Cassandre.She didn’t enter; she claimed. An amused, toxic whirlwind spinning back into the eye of her own storm. Her previous exit had been rage; this return was pure, chilling theater. She stalked forward, each step a deliberate, punishing cadence on the stained concrete. Her body was a blade, her gaze a scalpel, dissecting the room and finding me, always me, as the only specimen worth her attention.I opened my mouth , to beg, to deny, to scream , but no sound emerged. She was already there, a hurricane contained in human form, the scent of cold night air and something sharper, like ozone or malice, clinging to her. She invaded my space unt

Chapter 201 — Thirst

The silence after her exit was a living thing, a thick, suffocating blanket woven from the echoes of her accusations. It was broken only by the ragged saw of my own breath and the phantom sting on my cheek. But her absence was a lie. She had filled the room with a presence more lasting than her physical form: a poison, slow-acting and cruel.“I was looked at as the guilty one.” Her words from moments before seemed to hang in the air, written in the dust motes dancing under the sickly neon. “My freedom was taken away. I was torn away from months, from years with my Alexandre. And you?”I could see her fingers in my mind’s eye, tightening around the spine of that cheap notebook. Not with rage, but with a cold, possessive hunger, as if each page were a fragment of my life she could crush into pulp. The madness in her eyes wasn’t the hot, flailing kind; it was glacial, tectonic. It was the absolute, unshakable certainty of a creditor whose debtor had squandered the entire fortune. She bel

Chapter 202 — Thirst (2)

CassandreI lean against the damp cardboard, my shoulder pressed into a corner of the warehouse that smells of rust, salt, and old neglect. The air is heavy, stagnant, as if even oxygen hesitates to circulate here. Above my head, the neon lights flicker intermittently, their sickly glow stuttering like dying insects trapped in glass. Each blink fractures the shadows, reshaping them into new geometries, new hiding places for my thoughts.This space is a cathedral of abandonment.Low, vast, indifferent.Crates rise like silent pews, stacked one upon another, their labels faded, their contents forgotten. The shadows accept everything. They do not ask questions. They do not offer absolution. They simply receive.I smile, but there is no pleasure in it. It is not the smile of triumph or anticipation. It is the expression of a machine running diagnostics, calibrating itself for the precise hour of execution. Everything in me is aligning.They have stolen months from me.Not in a single, bru

Chapter 203: Thirst (3)

CassandreI do not want to kill her in ignorance. Ignorance would be mercy, and mercy is not what I am here to dispense.I want her to know.To understand.I want the moment when comprehension dawns , slow, reluctant, irreversible. When her eyes finally meet mine and the world rearranges itself in her mind. When responsibility ceases to be an abstract notion and becomes a weight crushing her chest. That is where justice begins for me. Not in the act itself, but in the recognition that precedes it.This is a calculated cruelty. I am aware of it. I accept it.I will let her hover between life and death, not as a spectacle, not as an orgy of suffering, but as a suspended sentence. I imagine the arc of her thoughts as she falls: disbelief first, then confusion, then that naked terror reserved for moments when the body realizes the mind can no longer save it. I refuse the pornography of pain. I will not indulge in gore or screams. I do not need them. The idea is enough. The clarity is enou

Chapter 204 — The Blue Hour

CassandreThey say the sea erases everything. I know it keeps the last words deep within bodies, preserving the severed promises and the names we shouted before fading away. That’s why I chose the sea: it will be the silent memory that forgets nothing. It will receive Lyra as one receives a debt finally repaid.I gather them near the dock, three straight silhouettes, their faces lit by an obedience I cherish. The henchmen don’t need endless orders to understand; they read the precision in my silences. I give them the details as one gives a score: departure at dusk, two hours of navigation, a point—the only one—where the current swallows the traces and where the night is deep enough to remain silent. No unnecessary cries, no spectacle. I want everything to be orderly, clear, irrefutable.“Check the moorings,” one says, nodding. “The engine, the fuel reserve, the anchor.”I nod. The meticulousness soothes me. They move with mechanical gestures because they know what I expect and because

Chapter 205 — The Shards of the House

DanielI'm driving too fast. The headlights bite into the night like fangs; each curve brings me closer to a house that is no longer a home, to a place shattered into pieces. The call hit me like a slap: Lyra has been kidnapped. The word sticks in my throat, sharp and undeniable. Kidnapped: intent, organization, no possibility of accident.I stop the car in the gravel driveway, the engine still coughing. Through the windows, glimmers and silhouettes: the rumor has settled in before me. The door barely opens before I’m already inside. The warmth of the lamps makes the features harder; fatigue hardens the faces.People are crying, holding each other. Lyra's mother trembles, curled against an old man whose gaze has suddenly aged twenty years. Around them, neighbors, cousins, figures huddled around an emptiness. Lucas is stiff as a rope, ready to spring; Alexandre appears tense, as if shame has taken flesh. At the sight of Alexandre, something inside me shifts: it’s not just anger; it’s t

Chapter 206 — The Flayed Roads

AlexandreThe night is just beginning, and yet it already weighs like three days without sleep. The dried blood at the corner of my lips sticks, bitter; each swallow is a sting. It burns, it pulses, but I refuse to touch it. Daniel hit me, and he was right to do so. He reminded me of my fault, my failure. And I deserve this mark. The pain is almost an ally: it prevents me from forgetting.I should stay back. My strength is slowly abandoning me, my body is screaming it. But nothing in the world will keep me away from the road as long as she, over there, is waiting to be brought back. As long as there’s a breath left in me, I won’t stop. Every step is a slap to fatigue, every breath a challenge thrown at vertigo.The car sways from one turn to another. The headlights carve tunnels of light into the darkness, cutting through warehouses, deserted docks, warehouses that smell of rust and dust. I know these places by heart. I’ve crossed them a thousand times, but tonight they seem hostile,

Chapter 207 — The Sons of Truth

At the police station:The ticking of the clock becomes a drum in the policeman's chest. The neon lights on the ceiling flicker, accentuating every crease on the faces of Cassandre's parents. The mother trembles, her pale hands gripping the cold metal of the table. The father tries to remain stoic, but his shoulders are tense, as if bearing the weight of a secret too heavy.— Listen to me, the policeman says, calm but relentless. Even a detail, no matter how small. Every word counts.The mother swallows hard, her breath short.— I... I think... she murmurs. She received a call. A strange call... I didn't know what to do...The father, furious but tense with fear, interjects:— That's not what you think.His voice trembles, but he tries to mask the crack. The mother continues, panting:— They talked about... Lyra. That they were keeping her... somewhere... far away.The policeman takes notes, silence falls like a lead curtain. Every word hangs in the air, heavy with gravity.— Where? t

Chapter 208 — The Weight of Tears

CassandraThe rope still vibrates in the air as I take it back, my fingers gripping it as if I were already holding her last breath. The night is vaster than ever. The moon glides through the clouds and casts an almost spectral pallor on Lyra's skin, a halo of wax on a figure that has lost its name.She is there, on her knees, her body swaying with the movements of the boat. Her hands are clasped, but it is no longer a posture of strength: it is a raft of trembling gestures. The water beats against the hull like a heart that does not want to stop.She lifts her eyes to me. This look, I have been waiting for weeks: it is no longer defiance, but a crack, a fissure where bare fear rushes in.— Cassandra... please.Her voice is a trembling thread, fragile, breaking in the salt of the air. She pronounces my name like an anchor, as if she believes it could hold her. I crouch in front of her, my shadow swallowing hers. I want her eyes to see only me, with no avenue of escape.— You pray now?

Chapter 209 — The Salt of Silence

CassandraSilence is never as dense as after a stifled scream. The sea has taken everything, swallowed it all. Lyra is gone. And I stand here, breathing this emptiness like a victory.At last.A shadow has left my life. A shadow I did not choose, but which had clung to me like mold. Her pleas, her trembling looks, her promises that were nothing but threads of silk ready to snap… all of that now belongs to the abyss.I sit on the bridge's bench. My fingers glide over the damp wood. I feel as if I still hold, in the hollow of my palms, the weight of her body. A light, insignificant weight. As if all of that girl, all her voice, all her so-called importance, had been nothing but a bubble of air waiting to be popped.And yet, there remains this silence. This silence that gnaws.I close my eyes. Her last breath comes back to me, that word pity which slipped from her mouth like a worthless whisper. It was not a prayer; it was a confession: she knew she had nothing left, that she was nothing

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