“You weren’t as smart as you thought,” I say, my voice strained, aching.
The whistle suddenly stops.
Itstops, and so does my heart.
“What, did you think you wouldn’t get caught?” I ask, taking careful steps forward.
Only silence answers back as I stop in front of some prison bars. My eyes still haven’t adjusted to the darkness, so I can barely see what’s beyond. All I know is the energy emanating from this space is just…off. The air is thick, charged, and it makes breathing hard.
“Your silence doesn’t scare me. I find it quite ludicrous.” The lie scrapes my throat raw.
Chains groan, a low, metallic whine that slithers behind the iron bars before they drag across the floor toward me. Inside the cell, the darkness stirs,breathes, as a shape stretches up the wall—tall and alive, as if the prisoner were sitting on the floor, and now he’s getting up.
Then, something pale flashes through the bars. A somewhat familiar hand, inked to the knuckles, slides out inch by inch, like a demon crawling out of its lair.
“Come to me then,” he murmurs, his voice deep and lush, like poisoned smoke. “If you’re not afraid.”
My heartbeat picks up, my body taut, paralyzed. I force myself to speak, even though I didn’t expect him to sound like that. “W-What’s there to be afraid of? A rabid dog barking from a cage? I’m perfectly fine where I am.”
A hum of amusement. “Lie.”
I squint my eyes, noticing the protruding veins and muscular forearms wrapped in ink—roots and symbols I’ve never seen in my life.
It’s him. The man I saw at the recital.
“Y-You’ve been following me. I’m here now, so talk.”
“Talk?” he muses. “There are many things I want to do with you, Cecilia. Talking isn’t one.”
His mocking tone hits me like a slap. “You’re chained to a filthy wall. If sex is what you wanted, you’re about to die a virgin at my father’s hand.” Something tells me he’s not a virgin, though. His confidence seems to know no bounds.
A sense of dread envelops me. I might’ve gotten him angry. Then, he laughs.
“Unfortunately for you,Lastochka, sex wasn’t what I had in mind.”
My cheeks flame. “What, then? What the hell do you want from me?”
I blink, urging my useless eyes to fully adjust. There’s a small hole in the wall to his left, looking out into the night. Not much light is coming through, but when he tilts his head in that direction, his eyes become visible—green and watchful like I remember them from the gallery.
I suck in a breath. Danger is imminent, but, despite the fear, I force myself to hold that gaze, to show him he doesn’t scare me. My face begins to heat, and for the first time since coming down here, I wish I were wearing more than a flimsy sundress.
“How does it feel?” he purrs.
“How doeswhatfeel?”
“Freedom. Following a monster into the dark becauseyouwanted to, not because someone asked.”
I pause, the question taking me aback. No one has asked me that before, let alone someone whose own freedom is, well, gone. But something else makes his question invasive—he knows things about me. He has to, given the amount of time he’s been on my track. But how much…andwhat…I’m not sure.
He must see the conflict written all over my face, because he adds, “Something to tell your therapist about. Or, you know, shove it under the rug like you do with everything you don’t want to think about.”
“H-How do you?—”
“Odious woman,” he sighs, as if he knows my shrink personally.
Not an answer, though. He’s giving me nothing.Nothing.
He steps closer to the bars, the sound skittering down my spine, and I hate myself for taking the smallest step back. His hand pokes through, and he props himself on a horizontal bar, leaning in.
