Hook
The sound reached me before the screen did.
A high, sharp crack carried through the walls, like bones snapping under pressure. Then another. Louder. Desperate. Until the whole estate seemed to hum with it, each impact reverberating through the stone, crawling under my skin, rattling against my ribs.
The monitor confirmed it.
Glass. Everywhere.
Her fists bloodied.
The mirror ruined.
And her.
On her knees in the wreckage, hair tangled, mouth red with blood that wasn’t entirely hers, clutching the necklace like it was a weapon forged out of defiance. The shard pressed to her throat had my breath locked in my chest, my hand fisted against the desk so tight the wood cracked beneath my grip.
I nearly went to her then.
Nearly ripped the door from its hinges.
Nearly punished her the way she begged to be punished.
But then she dropped it.
Chose the bed instead.
Chose to live.
Good girl.
The words formed in my mouth before I could stop them, curling behind my teeth like venom. She thinks smashing a mirror makes her free. She thinks smearing her blood across the floor makes her dangerous. She thinks whispering your move into the silence is rebellion.
It isn’t.
It’s a summons.
I rise slowly from the chair, every motion deliberate, controlled, though my blood pounds savage and hot. My boots echo down the corridor again, steady as a war drum. The cameras blink red in rhythm, my silent choir.
I stop at her door.
Palm flat against the wood.
Blood from the cut on my hand smears into the grain like a seal.
She wanted a lesson?
She’ll get one.
The lock clicks under my key. Metal groans. The door swings open, and the room stares back at me—dim, smoky, reeking of sweat and blood and silence. The fire has burned low. The mirror lies in ruins. Glass glitters across the floor like a shattered constellation, reflecting pieces of her in every shard.
And her.
Sprawled across the bed, chest heaving, knuckles torn raw, eyes wide and bright even in exhaustion. The necklace chain dangles from her fist, links glinting sharp where they’ve cut her skin.
She doesn’t move.
Neither do I.
