I point a bloody, bandage-wrapped finger at the frozen green waveform on the monitor.
“He is a psychopath. He owns the board because everyone believes he plays by the rules.”
I turn my gaze back to the steel door.
“She’s wearing the same leash I am,” I say, the awful truth of it settling heavily into my bones. “As long as she believes he loves her, she’s tied to him.”
“So you leave her tied to him,” he pushes back. “It keeps her compliant.”
“It keeps her in the crosshairs,” I snap. “She thinks she’s safe now. What do you think the first thing she’s going to do is? She already asked me to call him. The second she thinks it’s clear, she’ll reach out. She’ll tell him she survived, and she will invite the executioner right back to our front door.”
He goes quiet. He knows I’m right. We can’t lock her in the bunker forever, and the second she contacts her father, he will send another death squad.
I walk over to the console, pushing past him. I pick up a sleek, matte-black encrypted tablet from the charging dock. I plug a hardline cable into it and download the Black Ledger directly from the servers. The bank transfers. The blueprints. And the audio file.
“I can’t protect her if she still trusts the man trying to put us in the ground,” I say, unplugging the tablet.
“It’s going to destroy her, Cassian,” he warns quietly, stepping aside.
“I know.”
I look down at the black screen in my hand. It’s suddenly incredibly heavy. It feels like a live bomb.
“I have to be the one who breaks her,” I say, my voice dropping to a harsh, unforgiving whisper. “I have to break her heart so she can survive.”
I turn my back on the command center and head for the inner quarters.
25
IRIS
I stand under the scalding spray of the bunker’s shower, letting it beat down on my shoulders. I watch the runoff swirl pink down the chrome drain until it finally runs clear. The mud from the garden, the grit from the copper pipe, and the dried blood—Cassian’s and my own—are all gone.
What remains is evidence of last night.
I trace my fingers over the dark, blooming bruises on my hips. I touch the purple mark on my neck. They throb with a dull ache, but it isn’t a pain I want to wash away. It’s an anchor. It’s proof that I survived the descent into the dark.
I turn the water off and step out into the chilled air, wrapping a thick towel around myself. I dry off quickly, avoiding my reflection in the mirror.
I dress in the clothes from the duffel bag Cassian brought down earlier—a fresh pair of dark jeans and a thick black sweater. They fit perfectly. I pull my damp hair back into a tight knot at the nape of my neck, clinging to the familiar, comforting routine of making myself presentable.
For the first time since I woke up in this concrete fortress, my heart isn’t racing.
The hammering in my chest has finally calmed. The gang war is paused. The men who tried to kill us are dead.
And Cassian...
I take a deep breath, the scent of his cedar soap clinging to my skin.
The line between captor and savior is gone, and the truth is that I don’t want it back.
I sit on the edge of the mattress, waiting for the door to open.
Earlier, I told Cassian I wanted to speak with my dad once things were clear. Now, I need to get ready for the call. I run a hand over my jeans, my mind rehearsing the words. He must be out of his mind with worry. I want to tell him that I’m safe, that the worst is over, and that I’ll be coming home soon to see him. Hearing his voice will make the rest of this nightmare fade.
The lock engages with a loud clank.
The door swings outward.
