I exhale through my nose. “Because I don’t want another ghost on my hands.”
She snorts softly, no humor in it. “You already do.”
The silence stretches between us until it becomes a wall. I sit back, fingers laced, eyes fixed on the chain at her wrist. My throat feels tight, but I force the words out anyway.
“Roman wasn’t always like this,” I begin, voice low. “He didn’t start out wanting cages. He started out wanting control, because control was the only thing we didn’t have. Our father was killed by people who called themselves protectors. They burned our house, took everything we had, and left us in the dirt. Roman taught me how to steal before he taught me how to fight. He to smile before I learned how to lie.”
Mary doesn’t look at me. She watches the wall.
“I was fourteen the first time he made me slit a throat,” I continue. “I didn’t even know the man’s name. Roman said he was a threat. He said it was justice. He put his hand on my shoulder after and told me I’d done good.”
Her gaze flickers for a heartbeat, but she stays silent.
“I stayed,” I say. “I stayed because he made me believe there was no world outside his shadow. That loyalty was survival. That blood was a chain you never take off.”
Finally she speaks, voice sharp. “You think telling me this makes you different from him?”
I lean forward, elbows on my knees, eyes locked on hers. “You think you’re the only one who’s been used?”
That lands. She flinches, not with weakness but with recognition. She draws in a slow breath and finally looks at me, not past me, not through me. At me.
“You stayed,” she says quietly.
“I did.”
“You’re still here.”
“For now.”
Her eyes search mine for a long moment, something shifting behind them, then she looks down at the tray. Her fingers twitch once as if she might reach for the bread but she doesn’t.
I stand, moving toward the wall panel. “Come on,” I say.
She blinks up at me. “What?”
“Get up.”
Her brow furrows but she rises slowly, chains clinking, suspicion tightening her shoulders. I press the code and the lock releases with a soft metallic sigh. The cuff falls from her wrist but the belt stays. A compromise. Enough freedom to walk, not enough to run.
I open the door and gesture. “Walk.”
“You’re letting me out?”
“I’m not letting you out. I’m letting you breathe.”
She steps past me into the corridor, barefoot on the cold floor, every movement measured. Her wolf rides just under her skin, I can feel it in the way she holds her head high even though the collar drags.
We walk the narrow hall lined with old storage rooms that haven’t been used in years. No guards here. I arranged it that way. The air smells faintly of oil and dust.
“You planning to kill me out here instead?” she asks.
“No,” I say. “If I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t be standing.”
“That’s comforting.”
“It’s true.”
She glances at me sidelong. “What’s the point of this?”
