The rope slips again. My wrist burns.
Above, the house exhales—a hinge, a door, the sigh of winter air moving through an open space.
Justin’s face lights with it. His smile breaks wide, unsteady. He braces the gun in both hands, body quivering like he’s been waiting for this moment his whole life.
“Vincent Beaumont!” His voice rips through the dark, echoing off the concrete. “Come see what you built!”
The noise stills everything. A pause, then a voice answers—low, controlled.
“Put the gun down.”
Cast.
Another voice follows, calm but closer. “Let her go.”
Justin presses the barrel to my temple. His breath shakes, warm against my hair.
“You came.”
Vincent says nothing, still somewhere on the stairs.
“You took everything from me,” Justin breathes. “My father. My work. Her. You don’t get to keep any of it.”
Cast’s voice drops low. “Let her go, Justin.”
“No,” Justin says. “She’s my proof. You turned her into a ghost. I’m showing you what’s left.”
The rope slips another inch. My wrist slick with sweat and blood.
Vincent moves down one step. The wood groans.
Justin shifts, using me as cover. The gun digs into my jaw.
“You’re not a savior,” Justin says. “You’re a thief.”
Vincent’s voice stays calm. “We can talk.”
“There’s nothing left to talk about.” Justin’s voice cracks. “I’m done being ignored.”
Cast takes another step.
“Stop moving!” Justin’s voice breaks. The gun trembles against my skull.
Cast freezes. “Okay.”
The air tightens. My mouth tastes like metal.
“You built an empire on broken people,” Justin spits. “You made art into currency. You made her a product.”
Vincent’s tone doesn’t change. “You don’t understand.”
“I understand enough,” Justin says. “And when you’re gone, maybe she’ll remember whatrealfeels like.”
He adjusts his aim.
The rope gives. My hand rips free, skin tearing. Heat shoots up my arm.
I drop back into him, slamming my shoulder under his arm. The shot cracks into the doorframe. Splinters rain down.
