I don’t feel them.
Valentine doesn’t struggle. Doesn’t flail. Doesn’t even raise his voice.
He simply looks at me like I’m an equation that won’t balance.
Then he says, very softly, “Kayla.”
The sound hits my ribs like a bullet.
For a heartbeat everything in me goes utterly still.
Valentine continues, quiet, clinical. “If you want to find her, you will walk out of this room without killing anyone. You will take the transport I provide. You will follow the instructions you are given.”
My grip tightens. “Or what?”
Valentine’s gaze is steady. “Or you don’t see daylight – or Kayla – again.”
A lie? Maybe. But the way he says it – like a man reading a verdict he didn’t write – makes it feel true enough.
So I let go.
The guards retreat with me, cautious, like men backing away from a live animal that has decided not to bite…yet.
Valentine smooths his collar once. No tremor in his hand.
“Dawn,” he repeats, and leaves.
The door clicks shut.
The room holds the echo of his voice like a stain.
Kayla.
It doesn’t soothe me.
It makes the world sharper.
Dawn doesn’t looklike dawn in here. It looks like the lights shifting half a shade cooler. Everything is artificial and I can’t wait to be rid of it.
The door opens and this time it isn’t Valentine. It’s two staff in grey and a guard with a face like a slab. They toss clothes onto the bed. Black trousers. Black boots. A black shirt that fits like it was measured off me while I slept. A jacket with no pockets.
“No pockets,” I note, voice flat.
The staff member doesn’t look at me. “Dress.”
I do. I can feel the leash already. Not physical yet – psychological. It’s everywhere. In the way they don’t speak unless they have to. In the way the fabric is engineered to deny hiding places. In the way the boots are sturdy but not heavy enough to be used as weapons.
They don’t want me comfortable. They want me functional.
The cuffs click on once I’m dressed. Not tight. Not cruel. Just present.
They march me into the corridor.
The building feels…different.
Not quieter. Not calmer. Busier.
A hum underneath the hum. Doors opening that don’t usually open. Staff moving with purpose, not routine. The air smells like antiseptic and something faintly electrical.Preparation.
