That kiss was amazing, everything I’ve been wanting for so long.
I mean, was it as good as my first kiss with the boy wrapped in shadows? No. But was it still earth-shattering? Absolutely. So I have no idea how I’m supposed to pretend that didn’t happen.
* * *
The shed is colder than the gym, colder than the courtyard at dawn.
That’s the point.
No distractions. No warmth. Just me and Enzo.
As soon as the swelling started to fade, I was rotated to weapon training. Two days with Elijah, then two with Abraham, our brutal combat specialist whose idea of motivation is dislocating your shoulder mid-praise.
Now I have Enzo for mental fortification. This is the one part of my conditioning that my deranged father never allowed anyone else to touch.
Only Enzo is trusted to break me. Because only Enzo can put me back together.
The walls are bare except for two things: a clock and a mirror. Floor to ceiling, one-way glass. I’ve never asked who’s on the other side. Dante. Maybe Elijah. Maybe Abraham, cataloging every move for a report.
But Enzo never looks at the mirror. His eyes stay on me.
Always me.
He’s already sitting when I’m ushered in, long legs crossed, hands folded, posture relaxed, treating this as a casual meeting, not the most brutal upcoming hours of my week. He doesn’t wear black like the others. He wears grey or white. The colour of smoke.
It’s deceptive. That’s his weapon. Enzo doesn’t need fists or knives. He has words, memory, and silence.
And me.
He has me.
“Sit,” he says, nodding to the single chair across from him.
I obey. The guards slip out, locking the door.
For a few seconds, there’s nothing but the hum of air through the vents. I know better than to speak first. That’s not how this works. He sets the rules. I survive them.
Finally, he leans forward, elbows braced on his knees. His eyes—those same blue ones that stare back at me in every reflection—pin me in place.
“You still dream of her?”
I swallow. He doesn’t have to say the name. He never does.
“Sometimes.”
It comes out confident, and I’m proud of that.
“What does she say?”
“She doesn’t.” I keep my chin high. “She’s quiet.”
Enzo tilts his head. “Interesting, and what about him?”
I shake my head no.
“That’s not true, Ace.”
I don’t answer.
