CHAPTER EIGHTY
Lily
The panic room feels smaller every second I stay in it. Like the steel is closing in. Like the air is thinning. Like I’m trapped inside my own heartbeat. I won’t let my anxiety kill the man I love.
On the monitor, Mom moves in and out of frame. Dad is still on the floor, his chest barely rising. I can’t tell if he’s conscious or just… hanging on by a thread.
And she knows that. She watches him like a timer.
“Open the door, Lily,” she calls softly. “Be a good girl. Come to me.”
My hands tremble as I wipe my cheeks, forcing myself to breathe through the nausea clawing up my throat. In. Out. In. Out. Just how Drago taught me.
Dad’s voice echoes in my head, broken and fading.
Be brave… for me…
My fingers curl into fists.
I stare at the release panel. At the camera feed. At the blood on the floor outside my room, and I make my choice. At mymother’s face when she looks up into the lens, eyes bright with sick devotion, like she’s watching her prophecy unfold.
And something inside me… shifts.
My father isn’t dying, so I can hide behind steel. I’m not letting Maria take me either. There is another way. There has to be.
My father taught me how to survive as a kid. The world has tried to break me down. I’m not letting that happen to me again. And I’m not going to let her take me like I’m some prize she gets to claim.
My gaze flicks to the storage shelf built into the wall, stocked because Drago designed it to withstand the end of the world.
Weapons line the wall.
My stomach twists again as I step toward it, forcing my shaking hands to steady. I slide my fingers along the shelf until they close around cold metal.
A handgun.
My breath catches as I lift it, my palms sweating instantly, my pulse hammering so violently it makes my vision blur.
I know how to shoot. I could take a shot at seven years old. I don’t have time to think about how terrified I am. I don’t have time to be soft.
I pull my sweater tighter, tucking the gun against my stomach, hiding it beneath the fabric, pressing it into place until it sits snug and unseen.
Then I inhale, head back to the door, and press the release.
The locks disengage with a low, heavy clunk. The door swings open.
Maria turns instantly, her smile blooming like she’s been waiting for this exact moment.
“There you are,” she purrs, stepping closer, her voice warm. “My brave girl.”
I force my face to crumple. I let my lips tremble. Let my tears fall as if I’m surrendering. I step out barefoot, shaking, clutching my sweater around my body like it can hold me together.
“I’ll come,” I whisper, voice broken. “Just… please. Help him. Please don’t let him die.”
Her expression softens, and it would almost look real if I didn’t know what she was. “Sweetie, Drago will fix him up when he gets back. We need to move.”
My stomach turns at the indirect threat she’s reminding me of. Drago. I swallow it down.
“Okay,” I whisper. “I’ll do what you want.”
