The only sound in the vault was Eron's wet, ragged breathing. Each gasp was a struggle, a weak whistle through broken teeth and blood. He lay in the crater Lucian had made of him, a broken doll in a fine suit.

Lucian didn't look at him again. He turned, the cold fire in his eyes banked for now, and moved toward his friends.

Reia was already working her raw wrists, her gaze fixed on Lucian with a mixture of relief and something else—awe, maybe. Silas gave a weak, lopsided grin as Lucian approached. "Took you long enough," he rasped.

Lucian didn't smile back, but his posture softened a fraction. He reached for the manacles on Silas's arms. They were thick, cold iron, etched with suppressing runes. He didn't bother with a key. He placed his fingers on the metal, and the space within the lock twisted. With a sharp crack, the mechanism shattered from the inside, and the manacles fell open.

"Thanks, kid," Silas grunted, rubbing his freed arms.

Lucian moved to Reia next. Her chains were heavier, anchored to the wall. She watched his face as he worked, her eyes searching. "Lucian... your brother..."

He didn't look up, his focus on the chain links. "I know." His voice was quiet. With a similar, precise spatial warp, the chains holding her snapped apart and clattered to the floor. Reia stumbled forward, and Lucian's hand shot out to steady her elbow. It was a brief, solid contact. She nodded her thanks, her own strength returning.

Finally, he went to Vyn. She was the worst off, her shadows so faint they were barely a shimmer. Her head lolled against the wall. Lucian crouched in front of her, his movements uncharacteristically gentle. The manacles around her ankles were the most complex, humming with dark energy.

"Hey, Vyn," he said, his voice low.

Her eyes fluttered open. "Took a vacation, did you?" she whispered, a ghost of her usual sharpness in her tone.

"Something like that." He placed his hands on the manacles. The warping space made a low groaning sound this time, fighting the dark magic. With a final, grating shriek, the metal gave way.

As the last of the restraints fell, a collective tension eased in the room. They were free. But the silence that followed was heavy, crowded by the two elephants in the room: the broken man on the floor and the lost one standing by the door.

Marc hadn't moved. He watched Lucian free his teammates with a efficiency that was almost clinical. He saw the easy way they interacted, the unspoken trust. It was a world away from the rigid command and bitter lessons Eron had given him. His whole body was a knot of conflict. Every ragged breath from Eron was a pull on a leash he'd worn for twenty years. Every quiet word from Lucian felt like a door cracking open to a place he was never allowed to go.

His fists were clenched so tight his nails bit into his palms. The story Eron had fed him—of being unwanted, discarded, saved—was crumbling, but its foundations were deep. It was the bedrock of his entire life. Who was he without that hate?

Vyn, now standing shakily, looked from Marc's tormented face to Eron's broken form. Her own expression was grim. She was the strategist, the one who saw the board three moves ahead.

"Lucian," she said, her voice still raw. Her gaze flicked between the two Thornes. "What's the play here? With both of them?"

She didn't specify, but she didn't have to. What do we do with the mastermind who destroyed a family? And what do we do with the weapon he created, who is also your flesh and blood?

Lucian finished helping Vyn to her feet. He didn't even glance at Eron. He looked at Vyn, his face utterly calm.

"What's to decide?" he said.

Then he moved.

It wasn't the blurring speed from before. It was just a walk. Three calm, measured steps over to where Eron lay dying.

Eron's eyes, swollen and bloodshot, managed to focus. He saw Lucian standing over him. He saw the lack of anger, the lack of hate. He saw only finality. A pathetic, gurgling sound escaped his lips, not a word, but a plea, a curse, it was impossible to tell.

Lucian didn't speak. He didn't grandstand. He simply lifted his foot and brought it down.

There was a terrible, sharp crunch, the sound of a walnut cracking under a boot. Eron's body jerked once, then went completely, utterly still.

The sound echoed in the silent vault, more definitive than any explosion.

Reia flinched, turning her face away. Silas let out a slow breath, his jaw tight. Vyn just watched, her shadowed eyes unreadable.

Lucian stood there for a moment, his boot resting on the dead man's chest. He had ended a war that started before he was born with the brutal simplicity of stepping on a spider. He had promised no mercy, and he had meant it.

He lifted his head and turned his gaze to the spot where Marc had been standing.

The space was empty. Nothing but the flickering green light of the dying wards against cold stone.

Marc was gone.

Lucian's face didn't change. No surprise, no anger. He just looked at the empty space for a long moment, as if he'd expected it.

"He's gone," Reia said softly, stating the obvious.

Silas limped forward, peering into the dark hallway beyond the vault door. "He couldn't have gotten far. Not in his condition. Do we go after him?"

Lucian finally turned away from the doorway. He looked at his team—battered, bruised, but alive. He looked at the corpse at his feet. Then he shook his head, a single, slow motion.

"No," he said. "Let him go."

"But—" Reia started.

"He has to choose," Lucian interrupted, his voice quiet but firm. "For the first time in his life, no one is telling him what to do or who to hate. Forcing him now... it'd just be another cage."

He walked over to Silas, slinging the bigger man's arm over his shoulder to take his weight. He looked at Reia and Vyn. "Can you walk?"

They nodded.

"Then let's go home," Lucian said.

As they moved toward the door, a single, final tremor ran through the mansion. With Eron's death, the magic holding the place together was beginning to fail. Stone dust sifted from the ceiling like grey snow.

Lucian didn't look back at the vault, or at the body of the man who had stolen his brother. He focused on the weight of Silas against his side, on the sound of Reia's steady footsteps behind him, on the faint pulse of Vyn's shadows as they gathered strength.

He had come for his team. He had found a brother. He had killed the monster.

Now, he just had to live with the quiet, complicated aftermath. And hope that somewhere in the darkness, Marc was finally learning how to be free.

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