She blinks. “What?”
“I should’ve asked before,” I say. “Before all of this. I never even tried to learn what you like. What you dream about.”
Her lips twitch into something between a smile and a sigh. “That’s kind of a big question.”
“I’ve got time,” I say dryly, rattling my chains for emphasis. “And I’d rather listen to you talk than think about what Kenji has in store for us.”
She hesitates, then says softly, “I like reading by the window when it rains. I like the smell of coffee in the morning and sewing during the quiet part of the day. I like when you…” She stops herself, cheeks flushing.
“When I what?” I prod gently.
“When you laugh,” she admits. “You don’t do it often, but when you do… it feels like everything’s okay.”
I smile faintly, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “Then I’ll have to do it more often.”
“You don’t have to?—”
“I want to,” I say. “You deserve that.”
Her gaze softens, and for a long moment, we just look at each other. The air between us hums with all the words we don’t say. Then she leans forward, resting her forehead against mine.
“What makes you happy, Sandro?” she whispers, the question genuine and inviting.
I pause for a long time, the words catching somewhere deep inside my chest. But I need to say them. If I am going to die down here, she needs to know. “You do,” I rasp, my voice thick with emotion.
Her breath hitches, and Evi’s arms wrap around my neck, her body curling closer as she buries her face against my throat. I tighten my arms around her as much as my restraints will allow, trying to make her feel safe even when I can’t guarantee it.
Time loses meaning down here. The light burns low, then flickers and dies completely, leaving us in darkness. Evi drifts in and out of uneasy sleep, trembling every time she wakes. I stay awake, listening for footsteps, for any sign of what’s next.
When she stirs again, I whisper, “Hey.”
She makes a soft sound. “What time is it?”
“No idea. Eternal night.”
She lets out a tired breath. “You still awake?”
“Yeah.” I pause, then say, “Tell me something else. Something you love.”
She thinks about it. “I love the water,” she says finally. “The sound of it. The way it smells. When I was little, my mother used to take me to the beach after storms to look for shells. I always found the broken ones prettier than the perfect ones.”
“Why?” I ask.
“They have stories,” she says quietly. “They’ve been through something. But they’re still beautiful.”
I stare into the darkness, letting her words sink in. “You’re like that,” I tell her.
She shifts against me. “Broken?”
“Beautiful,” I correct.
Even in the nonexistent lighting, I can see her smile—a real smile—and for a few fleeting seconds, the dungeon doesn’t feel quite so cold.
At some point, exhaustion catches up to me. My head drops back against the wall. When I wake again, Evi’s still in my arms, her breathing steady, her face soft in sleep. I study her in the faintgold light leaking beneath the door to the stairs. Every curve, every line of her features is etched into my memory like a prayer.
I can’t lose her. Not like this.
The chain rattles as I test the cuffs again, ignoring the sting of torn skin. There’s no give. No weakness. I hear footsteps again—slow, deliberate—and tense, every muscle coiling.
