He circled slowly, like he was assessing whether I was good enough to even have this information. “Your beauty,” he said,stopping behind me, “is a weapon. Just like your mother’s was.”
I stiffened at the mention of her, but I didn’t turn around.
“Your innocence,” he went on, “is a fabrication. Your tears are tools. If you don’t master them, someone else will. And they won’t be gentle about it.”
I faced him again, forcing my expression into something neutral.
“You will act,” he said, his tone sharpening. “Not just here. Not just when it’s convenient. You will act in every room you enter. Every conversation. Every breath you take. Until no one can tell where the performance ends and the real you begins.”
I drew in a steadying breath. “I will do my best, Father.”
His mouth twitched. It wasn’t a smile, no. More like approval without warmth.
“Good,” he said. “Because I don’t tolerate failure.”
The lessons didn’t end that night. They multiplied.
Hours stretched past midnight as I stood beneath harsh lighting, practicing expressions like lines of dialogue. My face was sore at nights end from constant trembling lips and downcast eyes. But my father corrected every flaw and wouldn’t let me leave until it fit his definition of perfect.
I learned how to let tears fall on command while my mind stayed sharp. I learned how to mix truth with lies so seamlessly that even I had trouble separating them.
By the time dawn crept through the windows, sixteen had stopped meaning childhood.
I wasn’t just a young girl anymore.
I was being shaped into a weapon.
His weapon.
My head throbslike it’s been cut open and stitched back together in all the wrong ways. The room swirls endlessly as I try and focus. The ceiling tilts above me and makes me want to vomit from the vertigo. My limbs are uncooperative as the memory of Dante drugging me re-enters my mind.
“Fucking asshole,” I mutter.
We had specifically agreed to no needles.
But because he’s like me and likes to lie through his teeth, I had to experience how it would feel to have your body betray you while your mind noticed enough to register the humiliation of it.
We’d talked about boundaries and about what lines we wouldn’t cross.
Did he think those boundaries were drawn up in lead and not ink? You can’t just erase promises like that.
I shift, testing the new restraints at my ankles. “Damn it.”
I swallow hard, fighting the next wave of nausea curling in my stomach as I glance down to see the rope tied tightly at my feet.
The door opens suddenly and Finnic steps in alone.
I’m not sure how long I’ve been out for, but I feel somewhat rested. I assume it’s been at least a few hours.
He shuts the door behind him quietly. He doesn’t look at me right away. His attention instead goes to the far wall, to a spot just over my shoulder.
Anywhere that isn’t my face.
That alone tells me everything.
Dante must’ve spoken to him about his role in all of this while I was out.
“You’re awake,” he says, leaning against the door.
