Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)-Chapter 237 - 232: The Locked Room

He found them in the lowest part of the west wing, inside a partially sealed drawing room where the fire had long since gone out.

George Claymore was on his knees in front of a thick door lined with glowing sigils. His sleeves were rolled up, knuckles raw from magic strain, his coat half-off, breath rising in ragged clouds. His usually perfect hair was damp with sweat, streaked across his forehead.

The glamour of nobility was gone. What remained was just a man clinging to someone on the other side of a cursed door.

Alexander didn’t announce himself.

He stepped through the threshold like a shadow cast by command, the door sealing behind him with a soft click. One of the other agents flanked the entry, quickly warding off the room.

"Unless you’re here to kill me," George said hoarsely, eyes not leaving the sigils, "go away."

"I’m not here to kill you," Alexander replied.

That voice—calm, quiet, laced with lethal clarity—made George turn his head. His expression flickered between shock and fury, settling somewhere near broken recognition.

"You."

"Shadow Commander Alexander," he confirmed. "Damian sent me."

George let out a dry, bitter laugh. "Of course he did. Emperor’s lapdogs, always timely."

"I’m here to recover Callahan," Alexander said, stepping closer. "Nothing more."

George flinched, hands splayed against the sigils. "You can’t. The ward is soul-linked. I’ve been trying to undo it for hours. If I break it, it will—"

"Rupture his mind," Alexander finished. "I know; that’s why Damian sent me, not Gregoris."

George looked up sharply at that—sweat beading along his brow, eyes bloodshot from sleeplessness and spell strain. "And what makes you so special?"

Alexander didn’t rise to it. He simply unbuckled his right glove and let it fall to the ground beside him, baring a hand marked with old ether scars—lines etched deep, shaped by magic that had never been meant to touch skin.

"Because I’ve unbound soul-wards before," he said, pressing his fingertips against the edge of the seal. "Without killing the person behind them."

The sigils flared at the contact, flickering violently—recognizing intrusion, resisting it.

George swore under his breath. "It reacts like it knows him."

"It does," Alexander murmured, his eyes locked on the swirling sigils. "One of Hadeon’s men keyed it to Callahan’s emotions. He didn’t trust Elliot to keep him away from you."

The words hit like a slap—worse because they made sense.

George’s expression twisted, a flash of something raw behind his exhaustion. "So he was a prisoner even before he sealed himself in."

Alexander didn’t look up. His blade hovered just above the second anchor line in the ward, glowing blue now instead of red.

"Yes," he said. "And the worst part is, he agreed to it. He locked himself away to protect you."

George staggered back a step like the air had turned solid.

"And you’re sure," he said, voice hoarse, "you can undo it without killing him?"

"No," Alexander said simply. "But I’m still going to do it."

He traced a second arc with the obsidian blade, each motion precise and deliberate. Not fast. Fast was what got people killed. Fast was for soldiers. This was surgery.

The outer ring of the ward flickered, then shuddered—threads of Callahan’s ether recoiling, confused, sensing someone else’s hands in the core. The runes twitched.

"Callahan," Alexander said quietly, not as a command but as an anchor. "It’s me. I’m not here to hurt you. Damian sent me. George is right here."

The ward pulsed again.

Inside the room, something shifted.

Callahan, lying on the cold floor, stirred. His fingers twitched weakly. His breathing, shallow and broken, began to even out just slightly.

George took a step forward instinctively.

Alexander didn’t look up. "Don’t. If he senses you now, it could snap the entire tether."

George froze mid-step, fists clenched at his sides. "I’m not losing him again."

"Then let me work," Alexander said calmly, a third stroke of the blade slicing through a final glyph. "Because this isn’t a lock anymore—it’s a plea. And someone needs to answer it."

The ward gave one last violent shudder.

And then, it began to unravel.

Not breaking.

Unwind.

Thread by thread, the glowing sigils began to fade from the door like breath on glass—until all that remained was the faintest shimmer in the wood.

Alexander stepped back.

"It’s open," he said, low and clear.

George didn’t wait. He shoved past him, through the door, and dropped to his knees beside Callahan’s motionless form, cradling him instantly, hands trembling.

Callahan groaned faintly at the contact, head rolling toward the warmth, eyes fluttering open just enough to see the man above him.

"George," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I didn’t think... you’d come."

"Coward," George said, his voice breaking as he gathered Callahan closer. "You think I wouldn’t come for you? After everything?"

Callahan tried to speak, but only a weak cough escaped. His body trembled with the effort, frail and overheated, soaked with the aftermath of long-pressed magic. But still—he clung to George’s coat, weak fingers curling into the fabric like it was the only thing tethering him to the world.

"I didn’t want you to see me like this," he rasped.

George exhaled sharply, forehead pressed to Callahan’s.

"Then maybe don’t nearly die next time. Idiot."

Callahan gave the ghost of a laugh. "Still... sharp."

"You locked yourself in a room to bleed out for me, Callahan. If I ever hear you say that was noble again, I’ll punch you through your own damn ward."

"I had to," he whispered. "They said... if I didn’t... if I reached out, they’d—"

"I know." George’s voice cracked, pain and rage boiling just under the surface. "I know what they threatened. I know what you did. But you should’ve told me."

"I wanted to protect you."

"I didn’t want to be protected," George snapped. "I wanted you."

Behind them, Alexander remained silent, watching the ether in the walls slowly fade, signaling the full collapse of the emotional tether. No alarms. No failsafes. The danger had passed—but the damage would linger.

"Sorry," Callahan murmured, his eyes fluttering shut again.

George caught his face between both hands. "Don’t you dare apologize. You want to make this right? Stay alive."

Alexander moved then, approaching the pair with practiced efficiency.

"We need to get him out of here," he said. "His body won’t hold much longer without stabilization."

George nodded quickly, still cradling Callahan’s weight. "I’ll carry him."

Alexander tapped the rune crystal on his shoulder again, his voice sharp and clear.

"Extraction confirmed. Alert the Emperor. Both targets secured."