My Sister Stole My Mate, And I Let Her Chapter 459 A COLLECTION OF WISHES

TOBIAS’ POV

This was how I found myself within Catherine’s facility, assuming another person’s visage and navigating her passageways.

Catherine exercised extreme caution, particularly concerning Evelyn. While Evelyn's formidable power was occasionally required, Catherine consistently kept her distant from the operation's true nucleus.

Initially, Evelyn’s inquiries were met with indulgent patience. Subsequently, they evolved into expressions of vexation.

Following a series of confrontations, Catherine started excluding her from crucial meetings, rerouting her access, assigning her to ancillary stabilization duties and ceremonial obligations that appeared significant enough to placate her ego but concealed no essential information.

Catherine was keenly aware of Evelyn's growing unease.

Naturally, she recognized it. Catherine's prolonged survival was a testament to her sharp ability to detect wavering loyalty in those around her.

However, doubt had not yet solidified into outright betrayal, and Catherine's profound arrogance led her to believe Evelyn could still be controlled.

It was this very arrogance that provided us with the necessary leverage.

Under my tutelage, Evelyn’s unique abilities began to stabilize in ways Catherine had never fostered.

In return, she imparted to me the operational cadence of Catherine’s facility, the vernacular of its personnel, the routines of its sentries, and the vulnerabilities that inevitably emerged when a despot grew overly reliant on the fear they instilled.

Our objective was straightforward in principle yet monumentally challenging in its execution.

The aim was to dismantle the project from within its own structure.

Not to obliterate the facility in its entirety. While that might have offered a sense of grim satisfaction, it would have been an act of sheer folly.

The risks were immense: countless incarcerated individuals, an array of unidentified substances, and numerous systems designed to eliminate all subjects if tampered with imprecisely.

Catherine, like all cunning predators, had interwoven safeguards into her cruelty.

We needed to exhibit superior intellect.

Before long, a suitable opportunity presented itself, and we managed to liberate a test subject.

I vividly recall the night Evelyn approached me, clutching his file, her hands quivering – not from apprehension, but from unbridled fury.

“He’s still alive,” she declared.

I looked up from the blueprint I was meticulously examining.

“Who?”

“Aaron. One of the werewolf subjects. His mind is fractured, yet not entirely lost. Catherine had classified him as non-viable, but she hasn't disposed of him because his response patterns present an intriguing area for her study.”

Orchestrating his escape demanded three weeks of meticulous planning and precisely seven minutes of concerted action.

Those seven minutes saw Evelyn nearly deplete her entire Qi reservoir, myself sustaining two fractured fingers while forcing a service panel that ought to have been easily opened, and Aaron stumbling through the evacuation route in a semi-conscious state, his eyes vacant and wide.

Nevertheless, we succeeded in extracting him.

We transported him to a secure location, enabling another contact to assume responsibility – an individual Catherine's operatives would not immediately associate with Evelyn or myself.

By the time the security forces detected the subject’s disappearance, the trail had already diverged into four separate paths.

For a fleeting, hopeful instant, I believed we had discovered a viable strategy. A concrete plan of action.

Then, Catherine enacted stringent countermeasures.

Reinforcements of guards. Fortified wards. Novel access protocols. Shifting patrol routes. Pervasive psychic scans. Staff members redeployed without prior notice. Entire laboratories relocated under the cover of darkness.

The project did not cease; it merely retreated into deeper concealment.

Following Aaron’s rescue, we dedicated weeks to searching for another opening, but found none substantial enough to exploit without triggering a catastrophic collapse of the entire operation.

During this period, Evelyn grew increasingly reserved. More withdrawn. Her internal struggle with guilt sharpened her, making her more unpredictable and, consequently, more dangerous.

I harbored significant concerns for her well-being, fearing her desperate need for atonement might compel her to commit a grave error.

It was then that Margaret made her arrival.

Initially, I failed to discern her identity.

Rumors circulated regarding a significant guest who had been subsequently designated a restricted asset, a woman Catherine herself had personally visited.

Any individual eliciting Catherine's personal interest was undoubtedly worthy of investigation.

It required several days for me to definitively confirm her identity.

Margaret Lockwood.

Aged, ravaged by her captivity, stripped of the power she once wore like a regal mantle, yet she was alive.

The first time I glimpsed her through the narrow aperture of a service corridor as guards escorted her to the upper levels, my body reacted instinctively, preceding any conscious thought.

My hand instinctively moved to the concealed blade beneath my sleeve, and Evelyn had to step close enough to hiss a stern admonishment.

“Don’t even entertain the notion.”

Margaret’s presence irrevocably altered the prevailing circumstances.

This was not solely due to her being an old acquaintance.

Nor was it merely because she had once placed her trust in Catherine, as so many others had, and was now enduring the harsh consequences of that misplaced faith.

Margaret's significance stemmed from the extraordinary power she harbored.

Even in her diminished state, depleted and with Sylvia reduced to a mere phantom of her former lupine self, Margaret's bloodline possessed a potent force that Catherine clearly coveted.

A power that might also represent the critical vulnerability within the very structure we were endeavoring to dismantle.

Psionic inheritance did not operate in the same fashion as conventional witchcraft.

It did not adhere to the same conduits, nor did it establish its roots through the same pacts. Its transmission occurred via blood, ancestral memory, sympathetic resonance, and sheer force of will—elements that defied complete quantification through spellcraft alone.

Catherine had previously pilfered a fraction of this power during Sera’s sealing ritual, but such illicit acquisition did not equate to true mastery.

If Catherine required Margaret’s wolf to fill the void in her reanimated puppets, then Margaret was far more than a simple victim.

She was a bargaining chip.

A crucial key.

For a span of several days following Margaret’s discovery, I maintained a position of observation. I waited, meticulously tracking the guards assigned to her, studying the rhythm of her meals, her movements, and Catherine’s regular visits.

The initial strategy was not to initiate contact just yet. Evelyn stressed the necessity of a more covert approach, a robust exit plan, and a deeper understanding of the dungeon’s wards before we risked any exposure.

Then, Margaret was unceremoniously returned to the lower cell, shortly after Catherine had revealed Edward’s puppet form to her.

The guards, fatigued and disorganized after her return, neglected their duties. They logged the transfer much later than required. One patrol was intensified at the western junction, causing them to overlook the east corridor’s rotation.

A caretaker was consequently dispatched to assess Margaret’s condition post-impact.

That caretaker, as fate would have it, was me.

And this brings me to the present moment, with Evelyn’s palpable anger radiating through the changing room, akin to the brewing intensity of a storm.

“So,” I drawled, my voice laced with a hint of weariness, “are you going to deliver a lengthy lecture, or would you prefer to simply transform me into a toad and get it over with?”

Her glare intensified. “That particular spell is a grave insult to genuine witchcraft.”

“Ah, so the lecture it is, then.”

“Tobias.”

With a sigh, I exhaled and moved towards the sink, the caretaker’s scarf still loosely draped around my neck.

“I am fully aware of the risks I undertook.”

“No,” Evelyn countered sharply. “You understand the danger in principle. You have no true grasp of Catherine’s absolute capabilities.”

It had been a significant while since I had overheard Evelyn refer to Catherine by the familial title of ‘Mother,’ not since that peculiar incident at the bar.

“I arrived precisely when I was needed,” I stated. “I intervened and prevented Margaret from taking her own life.”

“And I am undeniably grateful that she remains alive,” Evelyn affirmed, stepping nearer. “However, should you be apprehended, Catherine will not merely end your life. She will meticulously dismantle you, piece by agonizing piece, because of your entanglement with Sera, with Margaret, with the original seal, and with every single unresolved query she harbors. You are not merely an interloper, Tobias. You represent a loose end with a discernible pulse.”

Evelyn’s assessment was, regrettably, accurate.

Catherine would not squander me if she discovered my presence. She would subject me to intense scrutiny. She would meticulously dissect my every memory of Sera’s formative years, every technique I employed to maintain her stability, and every fragment of research I had painstakingly collected over the successive years.

And if she were to discover Evelyn’s complicity...

I met her gaze directly.

The fury burning in her eyes was fierce, yet beneath it lay a palpable fear that she struggled to conceal.

“You should not have followed me into this restricted area,” I stated.

“Not only did I follow you,” she retorted, her voice tight. “I seamlessly covered the gap you left in the day’s schedule and conjured three manufactured ‘emergencies’ to occupy the west patrol. You are most welcome.”

I placed a hand over my chest, feigning surprise. “If I did not know you better, I might almost suspect you harbored some affection for me.”

Her eyes narrowed, yet the corner of her mouth twitched, betraying a hint of amusement.

“What exactly did you communicate to Margaret?”

“To persist in her survival and maintain vigilance. Critically, to abstain from agreeing to any propositions involving Sylvia.”

“You jeopardized your life for what amounted to a brief pep talk?” Evelyn shook her head, a wry smile playing on her lips. “Such reckless devotion.”

A soft chuckle escaped me as I pushed away from the sink, making my way towards the bench where the remainder of my disguise lay waiting.

“So, was it successful?” Evelyn inquired, observing my actions through the reflection in the mirror. “Did you manage to mend your distraught companion?”

“Margaret is not broken,” I replied, my voice soft and deliberate.

“She is perilously close,” she countered. “And proximity to the breaking point is precisely where Catherine excels.”

Her words lingered in the air, a chilling truth cloaked in dark prophecy.

Catherine’s modus operandi was not mere destruction. She waited until her victims were on the precipice of collapse, then offered them a pre-designed form to inhabit, a mold she had meticulously crafted beforehand.

This was the very fate she had imposed upon Sera.

And upon Evelyn, though Evelyn had fought her way back before the shape could fully ensnare her.

“Our pace must accelerate,” I declared.

Evelyn emitted a quiet, humorless laugh. “And why the sudden urgency? Have you grown tired of your extended vacation in the Maldives?”

I chose to disregard her sarcastic remark.

“Margaret’s very presence alters the established timeline.”

“Catherine’s burgeoning suspicion has a far more significant impact on it.”

I looked directly at her. “Has she uttered any specific inquiries?”

“Nothing overtly accusatory,” Evelyn’s lips tightened. “However, she did question my presence near the lower medical corridor yesterday.”

“And what explanation did you provide?”

“That I was conducting an inventory audit, as discrepancies had been noted following the sedative count.”

“Were there indeed discrepancies in the sedative count?”

“There were, after I adjusted the records myself.”

A faint smile almost graced my lips. “Your capacity for deception appears to be improving.”

“Really? Considering my rather unfortunate teacher.”

“An unappreciative student, I’d say.”

“A reckless mentor, undoubtedly.”

For a fleeting moment, the passage of years between us seemed to settle palpably within the room—the familiar ambiance of the old boatyard bar, the arcane chalk circles, the heated debates, the hesitant beginnings of trust, and the indelible memory of Aaron stumbling through a service tunnel, barely alive, while Evelyn desperately held a protective ward together, blood streaming from her nose.

We had indeed traversed a considerable distance.

Evelyn’s demeanor grew serious. “Catherine suspects external interference is occurring once more,” she stated. “She remains unaware of the perpetrator’s identity, and I doubt she fully suspects me at this juncture, but she is actively consolidating her defenses. If we intend to utilize Margaret as a point of fragmentation, a decision must be reached regarding the method before Catherine initiates her next maneuver.”

I offered a solemn nod.

“We must ensure Margaret remains alive,” I declared. “Sylvia shall stay unclaimed. We discover when Catherine plans to initiate the extraction, and prior to that, we provide Margaret with the means to either escape or disrupt the ritual from within.”

Evelyn regarded me with a steady gaze.

“This isn't a plan. It's merely a collection of hopes.”

“It represents the genesis of a plan.”

“It's barely even a direction to proceed.”

I met her look. “You—”

A distinct knock echoed from the far door of the changing area.

Evelyn turned her head, her attention drawn to the sound.

“Shift change,” she stated softly. “You have three minutes to depart.”

I retrieved the scarf, commencing to tie it once more, observing in the mirror as the man I was vanished beneath the guise of a woman whom Catherine’s guards paid no mind.

Before I had finished, Evelyn spoke my name.

“Tobias.”

There was a subtle yet noticeable shift in her tone.

I turned to face her.

She paused, a rare occurrence that held significance.

“When you mentioned I had the potential to become a formidable witch…” Her gaze lowered momentarily, then snapped back up with a flash of irritation, as though the mere existence of vulnerability was an offense. “Did you genuinely mean that?”

My mind drifted to the boatyard bar, to the very first spell she cast upon me, and to Catherine’s imposing shadow that loomed over a life that deserved the freedom to choose its own path.

Sera also came to mind, for regret possesses a cruel habit of casting echoes upon individuals who are entirely unrelated.

“Yes,” I confirmed.

Evelyn’s expression remained largely unchanged, yet the tension in the room noticeably subsided.

“You still possess that potential,” I added, securing the scarf beneath my chin. “A significant portion of Catherine’s power was amassed by persuading influential individuals that their sole value lay within the confines of the cages she constructed for them.”

Evelyn held my gaze for a prolonged moment.

Then, she stood taller, and her subsequent words were brisk and businesslike.

“In that case, let us shatter those cages.”