CHAPTER 44: THE BRUISE ON THE NECK

Cassian’s breath came in short, ragged bursts. The name Elliot echoed in his skull like a ghost rattling chains. Memories flooded back, sharp and suffocating rain-lashed windows, the smell of mildew, the way his old shoes squeaked on wet linoleum as he ran home from school, hoping he wouldn’t be there. And when he was... the silence that followed. The weight of expectation. The quiet cruelty disguised as care.

His eyes darted to the door behind him, just three steps away. He memorized the distance, the angle of the handle, and the way the lock clicked when turned. If I can just reach it -

But Lucian was still staring at his chest, fingers hovering just above the fading bruises like he owned them. Like he’d carved them there himself and was proud of it.

Cassian didn’t think. He lunged.

He scrambled sideways, fingers closing around the cold metal handle, twisting it desperately

and then a brutal yank ripped him backward.

Pain shot up his shoulder, sharp and electric, as Lucian’s grip clamped around his upper arm like a vise. He was spun around and shoved down hard onto the carpet. The impact knocked the air from his lungs. He gasped, wincing, palms scraping against the rough weave.

"The fuck are you doing?" Lucian snarled, voice low and dangerous, eyes blazing with something between fury and betrayal.

"L-leave me alone," Cassian choked out, voice trembling. Tears pricked his eyes not just from pain, but from the sheer, crushing weight of being seen, of being dragged back into a life he’d buried. He blinked hard, trying to hold them back.

Lucian stared at him for a beat. Then, to Cassian’s horror, he started laughing.

"Oh, this?" Lucian said, voice rising with dark amusement. "This is a sight to behold."

He dropped to his knees beside Cassian, close enough that Cassian could smell the faint trace of cologne and something bitter underneath like smoke and old anger. Lucian reached out, cupped Cassian’s chin with mock tenderness, and tilted his face up.

"Please," he cooed, voice dripping with false sweetness. "Cry. Don’t hold back. I know you’re pretty scared. Do it for me."

Cassian’s jaw clenched. He refused. He wouldn’t give him this. He wouldn’t let Lucian win by breaking him in silence. He pressed his lips together, eyes squeezed shut, tears pooling but not falling.

But his body betrayed him.

A single drop escaped, tracing a hot path down his cheek.

Then another.

He bit the inside of his mouth to keep from making a sound, his shoulders shaking with the effort.

Lucian’s smile widened.

"Oh, look at that," he whispered. Then his hand moved fast, firm, and wrapped around Cassian’s throat, not tight enough to choke, but enough to control.

"Come on," Lucian urged, thumb pressing just under Cassian’s jaw. "Let your voice out. This ain’t gonna work. Open your mouth."

Cassian shook his head weakly, tears now streaming freely, silent sobs wracking his frame. He wanted to scream. To call for Aiden. For Leonel. But fear glued his tongue to the roof of his mouth.

Lucian leaned closer, breath warm against his ear.

"You used to cry so prettily for me, Elliot," he murmured. "Don’t stop now."

And in that moment, trapped between memory and nightmare, Cassian realized he wasn’t just in danger.

He was known.

And that was worse.

Lucian’s fingers tightened around Cassian’s throat not enough to cut off air completely, but enough to burn, to bruise, to punish.

Cassian gasped, a broken, wheezing sound escaping his lips as pain flared hot and sharp through his neck. His vision blurred at the edges. Instinct took over. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak, couldn’t think only feel. The pressure. The fear. The crushing weight of being trapped in a past he’d sworn he’d left behind.

His eyes darted wildly past Lucian’s shoulder, across the dim room and landed on it: a heavy brass box on the nightstand, ornate and solid, left behind by some careless guest. It gleamed faintly in the amber light like a lifeline.

In one desperate motion, Cassian lunged for it.

He grabbed the box with both hands and swung it upward with all the strength his trembling arms could muster.

Thud.

The impact was sickeningly solid.

Lucian grunted, his grip on Cassian’s neck snapping loose as he staggered back, clutching his temple. A thin line of blood welled between his fingers, dripping onto the collar of his shirt. His eyes widened not in pain, but in stunned disbelief.

Cassian coughed violently, doubling over as air rushed back into his lungs. His throat burned. His hands shook. But he didn’t wait.

He saw his chance.

Scrambling to his feet, he bolted for the door. His fingers fumbled with the handle once, twice then it gave way. He yanked it open and stumbled into the hallway, bare feet slapping against the carpet as he ran.

He didn’t look back. Couldn’t.

Behind him, Lucian stood motionless for a long moment, head bowed, blood trickling down his temple. Then, slowly, he raised his eyes toward the open doorway toward the empty hall where Cassian had vanished.

A dark bruise was already blooming on Cassian’s neck, a perfect imprint of Lucian’s fingers. A mark. A claim.

Lucian touched his own wound, then looked at the blood on his fingertips. Instead of anger, a slow, unsettling smirk curled his lips.

He shook his head, voice low and almost fond, as if speaking to a ghost or a memory.

"Running again," he murmured, loud enough for the empty room to hear. "Like he can leave everything behind."

But his eyes held no panic. No urgency.

Because Lucian knew the truth:

You can change your name.

You can build a new life.

You can surround yourself with people who love you.

But the past?

It never stays buried.

And Cassian or should he say Elliot had just proven he still carried it in his bones.

Lucian wiped the blood on his sleeve, straightened his jacket, and stepped toward the door. He didn’t chase. Not yet.

Let him run.

He’d always come back.

like he did before.

Cassian didn’t run back to the party.

His mind was white noise fear, memory, the echo of Lucian’s voice calling him Elliot over and over like a curse. He just ran. Down the service stairs, past the glittering sounds of music and laughter, out into the cool night air, shoes slapping against pavement, breath tearing from his throat in ragged gasps. He didn’t think. Didn’t plan. Just moved.

By the time he reached the dorm house, his legs were shaking. He stood in front of the entrance gate, chest heaving, hands trembling so badly he fumbled with the latch twice before it clicked open. Inside, the hallway was quiet, dimly lit, familiar but it offered no comfort.

He dragged himself to his room, door creaking as he pushed it open. He took one step toward the bed

and collapsed.

His hands hit the mattress, but his body gave out, knees buckling, sending him crashing to the floor. The impact barely registered. All that mattered was the dam breaking.

The tears he’d choked back in Room 73 he silent sobs, the bitten lips, the shame now poured out in great, shuddering waves. He curled into himself, face pressed against the carpet, shoulders wracked with grief and terror. He cried for the boy he used to be. For the life he thought he’d escaped. For the trust he’d broken by running off alone.

Then it hit him Leonel. Aiden.

His head snapped up.

"Oh god," he whispered, voice raw. He grabbed fistfuls of his hair. "I’m such a fucking idiot."

First, he went to Lucian alone.

Then he vanished without a word leaving them standing there, worried, waiting.

He scrambled for his phone while still crying, pockets, floor, bed but it wasn’t there. He must’ve left it at the party. Panic clawed at his chest again. They don’t know where I am. They don’t know what happened.

------------------

At the party

Chaos simmered beneath the surface.

Leonel and Aiden had torn through the rooftop checking every balcony, every lounge, every shadowed corner. Aiden’s jaw was set, eyes scanning the crowd like a hawk. Leonel’s phone buzzed uselessly in his hand no missed calls, no texts.

"Did you find him?" Aiden asked, voice tight.

"No," Leonel snapped, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "He left his phone on the table. Just... gone." He exhaled sharply. "Fuck. We shouldn’t have let him go alone."

Aiden opened his mouth to respond

when he froze.

He nudged Leonel’s arm, eyes locked on the stairwell.

Leonel followed his gaze.

There, walking calmly up the steps, was Lucian.

Blood streaked his temple, dried in a dark line down his neck. His shirt was rumpled, his expression eerily composed. He didn’t look frantic. Didn’t look guilty. He simply walked to a nearby chair, sat down, and crossed his legs like he owned the place.

Leonel’s blood ran cold. "Do you think he -

"Definitely," Aiden cut in, voice low and hard as steel.

No more words were needed.

They both knew.

Cassian hadn’t just disappeared.