And he knows it.
“Every scar you carry…” Something traces my forearm—the one I got at twelve, defending myself from Kevin’s belt. Light pressure, following the raised line. “Proof of your strength. Not your weakness.”
The touch moves to another scar. The one on my ribs where Phil shoved me into the counter. Then my shoulder—the door I couldn’t get through fast enough.
He knows where they all are.
How does he know?
My throat tightens.
“They marked you because they were afraid.” His voice drops lower, intimate. “Each one a battle you survived. Each one proof you’re still standing.”
No one’s ever—
No one’s ever said that before.
Everyone looks at my scars and sees damage. Something to fix or pity or fear.
He sees victories.
The warmth presses closer. I can feel him everywhere now—in front, behind, surrounding. Not touching, but there. Undeniable.
“From the moment you woke,” he continues, circling again, “I felt it. That power. That light in the dark.”
Another touch at my temple. Trailing down to my jaw.
So gentle it almost feels like care.
“They want to tame you.” The voice is right at my ear again. “Shape you into something manageable. Safe.”
A pause. Heavy with meaning.
“But you were never meant to be safe, little queen.”
His breath ghosts across my neck.
“You were meant to befree.”
The word hooks into my chest andpulls.
What does free even mean anymore? I haven’t been free since I was seven. Maybe never.
My hands are shaking. Not from fear this time.
From something I don’t want to name.
“Say the word.” His voice wraps around me like a blanket. “Say no, and I stop. I leave you in peace.”
Silence.
Long enough that I could speak.
I don’t.
Can’t.
The word won’t come.
