"It's also about showing the Consortium that I can be trusted with power. That I can train someone without breaking them. That I deserve a place in the inner circle."
"And if you had to choose? Between the inner circle and me?"
The question hangs in the darkness.
He's quiet for so long I think he's not going to answer.
"I don't know. A month ago, the answer would have been easy. The inner circle. Power. Everything I've been working toward for years. But now?—"
"Now?"
"Now it's more complicated. You've become—" He stops. Starts again. "You matter to me, Eden. More than you should. More than is convenient or strategic or smart. And I don't know what that means yet."
The admission makes my chest tight.
"Do you want me?" I ask. "Actually want me? Or do you just want to own something beautiful and broken that you can display?"
"Both. And neither. I want you because you're strong. Because you survived the Sanctuary and Elder Jacob andrunning and the hunt and everything I've done to you since. Because you're not broken—you're resilient. Adaptable. Stronger than you think you are."
"I don't feel strong."
"Strength isn't about not bending. It's about bending without breaking. You've bent, yes. Changed, yes. But you haven't broken. You're still you underneath all the training. Still Eden."
"Am I? Because I don't know anymore."
"You are. You're just discovering new parts of yourself. Parts that were always there but buried under the Sanctuary's programming. Parts that are finally free to emerge now that you're safe to explore them."
"Safe? I'm a captive being trained for a showcase."
"Safe from the Sanctuary's judgment. From the belief that desire is sin. From thinking you have to be one thing forever. You can be both the girl who ran and the woman who kneels. Both can exist in the same person."
Both things can be true.
There's that phrase again.
"Seven days," I whisper.
"Seven days."
"And then?"
"And then we see what happens. One day at a time. But Eden—" He tightens his hold on me. "Whatever happens at the showcase, whatever comes after—you're mine. That doesn't change. The Consortium doesn't change that. Nothing changes that."
"Even if I wanted to leave?"
"You don't want to leave."
"How do you know?"
"Because you haven't tried again. Haven't tested the doors. Haven't looked for opportunities. If you really wanted to leave, you would have tried by now."
He's right.
I hate that he's right, but he is.
I haven't even thought about escaping in weeks.
Haven't looked for exits or opportunities or ways out.
