“Strictly?” I repeat, voice taut with disbelief. “Ah, yes — clearly, this was just a misunderstanding, wasn’t it?”
He doesn’t answer.
I drag myself upright, my arms trembling, heart racing. I stare at him like I don’t know him—because I don’t. Not anymore. Maybe I never did.
“You’re working with him,” I spit. “You watched him choke me. You let him.”
George doesn’t even flinch. His voice is smooth, calm, and deadly. “I stopped him.”
“You didn’t stop him,” I snap. “Youmanagedhim. Like you’re both in on something I don’t understand. Like I’m a piece of a puzzle I never asked to be part of.”
He leans casually against the wall, arms folded, as if the world bends to him. “You’ll understand. In time.”
“No,” I hiss. “You don’t get to say that. You don’t get to orchestrate all of this and then drip-feed me riddles. Is thatwhy you came back? Why you started showing up again — like nothing happened? The gallery? My store?”
A flicker crosses his eyes. However, it’s gone before I can pin point it.
“That was you, wasn’t it?” I whisper. “You planned it. Ran into me as if it was by chance. Said you were just passing through. Asked about Elijah. About my life. You were already watching me.”
George’s silence is all the confirmation I need.
“You planned this,” I growl, rising slowly. The shackle bites my ankle, a cruel reminder of my limits. Not far. Not far enough.
“Why?” I demand, lower this time. “Why me?”
For a heartbeat, just a heartbeat, something like regret passes over his face. Then it vanishes. And back is the cold and heartless man that he always was.
“You were always curious, Ava,” he says softly, almost mockingly. “Always digging. Always chasing answers. So… tiresome.”
“What are you talking about?” I snap.
“You’ll see,” he says. “But not yet.”
I shake my head, fury and fear warring inside me. “You think you’re protecting me?”
“No,” George says, voice silky, precise. “I’m preparing you.”
He turns toward the door, slow, deliberate.
I take one last swing — words sharp, cutting.
“You’re a monster,” I spit. “Maybe worse than him. At least Henry doesn’t pretend to have any morality, like you.”
George pauses, hand on the handle, and finally, a trace of a smile — elegant, cruel. “I’m not pretending, Ava,” he says without looking back. “You just never saw who I truly am.”
Then he’s gone. The door slams.
And for the first time since I woke in this cell, I feel something worse than fear. I feel utterly, completely alone.
***
Sleep takes me in pieces. Short, broken shards of unconsciousness. Just long enough to dull the ache in my body, not long enough to silence the fear. I don’t remember falling asleep. Only the cold metal frame beneath my back, the dampness of the sheet soaking through my clothes, and the iron bite of the shackle at my ankle.
Then something touches me.
Fingertips on my arm. My shoulder. Light, deliberate. Almost tender.
“Elijah…” I mumble, barely awake, my mind reaching for comfort, for a memory. For anything safe. But then the smell hits me.
