There’s a bag on the vanity — the same one that appeared yesterday. I open it again, scanning the contents. The toiletries are all still there, all neatly arranged. Moisturizer oils, concealer, a razor, and that same cheap lip balm I’ve been using to fake confidence.
But there’s something new. A small glass bottle of perfume. Expensive by the look of it — crystal stopper, no label. The kind of scent someone choosesforyou, not with you.
It wasn’t there before.
The thought snakes under my skin, cold and electric. Whoever it was — they didn’t take anything. They only left something. But the question still remains. Is it a gift, or a warning?
I uncap the bottle, curiosity outweighing caution. The scent hits instantly — bright citrus undercut with smoke and amber. Feminine, yes, but edged with something darker. It’s dangerous how good it smells.
I dab it along my collarbone, then the hollow of my throat. The perfume warms against my skin, turning sharpness to silk.
In the mirror, the woman looking back at me doesn’t look trapped.
She looks like the reason cages were built.
It isn’t vanity, I finally decide. It’sstrategy.
If they’re going to treat me like a pawn, I might as well look like a queen. I smooth my hair back, adjust the neckline, study the sharp lines of my reflection — the dress, the eyes, the quiet defiance threaded through every breath.
For the first time since I got here, I feel something close to control.
Even if it’s borrowed.
I don’t know who put this dress here — or why.
But if it was meant as bait, I plan to make them choke on it. I grab my jacket from the chair, throw it over my shoulders, and head for the door.
It’s time to let them see what they’ve made.
Chapter 19
Wraith
The afternoon drags, heavy and gray, the kind of London light that turns everything to smoke.
I’ve been watching the hall feed for over an hour. Ember hasn’t left her room since this morning. Not once. No noise, no movement. Just silence.
And that silence is louder than any scream.
Vale’s sprawled across the armchair opposite me, half-eaten apple in one hand, smirk in the other. “You’re pacing,” he says, his voice lazy. “It’s unnerving. You only pace when you’re about to gut someone or confess to something.”
“Shut it,” I mutter.
“Which is it, then?” He takes another bite. “You going soft, or you got a body to bury?”
I ignore him and pull my phone out, thumb hovering over Rook’s number.
He watches me dial and whistles low. “Ooooh, we’re escalating. Should I stay? I love when Daddy scolds you.”
“Out,” I command, but Vale doesn’t even budge. “Now.”
He rolls his eyes, tossing the apple core into the bin with infuriating grace. “Fine. Don’t say I didn’t offer moral support when you start spiraling.”
“Vale.”
He laughs as he stands, brushing invisible lint from his shirt. “Try not to break the furniture. Orher.”
The door shuts behind him, and blessed quiet finally settles. Then the call mercifully connects.
