"Did you get it?"Sterling asks through the intercom.
"Who is Clara?" I ask, my voice trembling.
"She was the last one,"Sterling says softly."She played the cello. Beautiful girl. Very... fragile. Just like you."
"Why are you showing me this?"
"Because I like you, Elodie. You have spirit. And I don't want to see you end up at the bottom of the elevator shaft like she did."
My blood turns to ice. "Alaric killed her?"
"Alaric breaks things,"Sterling corrects."He doesn't mean to. He loves them too much. He squeezes too hard. Clara couldn't handle the pressure. She tried to leave. He didn't let her."
A pause. The silence stretches, heavy and poisonous.
"The pills aren't sedatives,"Sterling whispers."They are blockers. They will neutralize the tracking isotope he injected you with. The 'vitamin shot'. Remember?"
I look at my arm. The spot where he injected me in the clinic.A vitamin complex.To combat malnutrition.He lied. He tagged me. Like a wild animal.
"Take them,"Sterling urges."And when the lockdown lifts... find me. I can help you get out. Before you become Clara."
Click.The intercom goes dead.
I stand there, staring at the pills in the cup. They are small, blue. Innocent looking. And the paper.Clara S.Deceased.
Doubt, sharp and agonizing, pierces through the trust I was starting to build. Alaric told me he saved me. He told me I was special. But stalkers always say that. Abusers always say that.I protect what is mine.Until it tries to leave.
I look at the pills. I look at the camera in the corner of the room. Is he watching? Does he see me holding the evidence of his past crimes? Or is Sterling lying? Isshethe mole, trying to turn me against him?Divide and conquer.
I hear a sound. The main door. The heavy bolts are retracting.Clank. Clank. Clank.The bio-lock beeps.
Alaric is back.
I shove the paper into my bra. I grab the pills and flush them down the sink in the kitchenette, running the water to hide the sound. I turn just as the door flies open.
Alaric storms in. He looks... feral. His suit jacket is gone. His white shirt is soaked with sweat and splattered with something dark that might be oil or blood. He is holding a gun—a sleek, black tactical pistol—at his side.
He scans the room instantly. Checking corners. Checking the windows. His eyes land on me. He doesn't smile. He doesn't say hello. He crosses the room in three strides and grabs me. He pulls me into him, burying his face in my neck, inhaling deeply.
"You're here," he rasps. "You're safe."
He is shaking. A fine, high-frequency tremor runs through his powerful frame. "Did anyone contact you?" he demands, pulling back to look at my face. He grips my shoulders hard enough to bruise. "Did the system breach the room?"
I look into his eyes. They are wide, frantic. The eyes of a man who is terrified of losing his possession. Or the eyes of a man terrified that his possession found out the truth.
"No," I lie. The word tastes like ash. "No one. Just me."
Alaric exhales, a long, shuddering breath. "Good. Good." He holsters the gun. He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up. "I didn't find them," he admits. "They are gone. Ghosted the server. But they were in the building. They were close."
He walks to the kitchenette. He sees the wet sink. "You drank water?"
"Yes."
He nods, distracted. He opens the fridge and grabs a bottle of water, downing it in one go. "We are moving," he announces, crushing the plastic bottle in his hand.
"Moving? Where?"
"The Safe House. Off-grid. The facility is compromised. I can't guarantee the perimeter anymore." He turns to me. "Pack a bag. Essentials only. We leave in ten minutes."
