"I know."
"You keep me locked in this house."
"The doors aren't locked?—"
"The exits are. Don't pretend this is freedom when we both know I'm trapped."
She's right.
God, she's right.
"Okay," I say. "You're right. You're trapped here. I won't pretend otherwise."
She blinks, like she expected me to argue.
"But," I continue, "I want you to understand something. I didn't buy you to hurt you. I didn't bring you here to break you. I brought you here because?—"
I stop. How do I explain this?
"Because when I saw you on that stage," I say slowly, "something happened. Something I don't have words for. It wasn't just attraction. It was recognition. Like you were something I'd been looking for without knowing I was searching."
"That's not an excuse."
"I know. But it's the truth."
She's quiet for a long moment. Studying my face like she's looking for a lie.
"What do you want from me?" she asks finally. "Really. Not the bullshit about companionship. What do you actually want?"
Honesty. She's asking for honesty.
I could lie. Should lie.
Should say something that makes me sound less obsessed, less dangerous.
But I'm tired of lying.
"I want you to stop being afraid of me," I say.
"I'll always be afraid of you. You bought me."
"I want you to talk to me without flinching every time I move."
"You're unpredictable. You could hurt me any time you wanted."
"I want—" I pause. Search for the right words. "I want you to trust that I'm not going to hurt you. I want you to feel safe here.I want you to look at me the way you look at the books in this library. With interest instead of terror."
"You want me to like my cage."
"I want you to see that it doesn't have to be a cage."
"What else would you call it?"
"A home. A sanctuary. A place where you're protected from everything that was hunting you."
"Like my father?" she asks sharply. "Like the Sanctuary? Like Elder Jacob?"
"Yes."
