He speaks with the cadence of a man narrating a pleasant anecdote, entirely in command of the room’s temperature. “Your dear Rolan pissed me off, and I do not intend to absorb the insult quietly. You see, he wronged me most gravely. And then — by the most fortunate coincidence — our mutual acquaintance Landon and I found ourselves in conversation, and all the threads converged so beautifully.” He opens his palms as if marveling at the elegance of fate. “You see how these things align.”
“What do you want from me?” My voice holds, but the fear remains.
He doesn’t answer the question. His expression merely sharpens with amusement.
“In time,” he says. “For now, be a good girl and cooperate. I have plans for you, and they’ll proceed with far less friction if everyone involved understands their role.”
He smiles at me, then turns toward the door, pausing long enough to add in a tone so transparently false it scrapes against my skin, “I’m pleased to see you’re well.”
The door closes behind him, and the room compresses.
Landon stays.
He moves toward me and leans in. His breath grazes the side of my face, and my body recoils with a revulsion so deep it feels ancestral. I turn my face a half-second before his mouth reaches my cheek.
The silence afterward is serrated.
“Better to cooperate, Ellie.” The pleasantness remains, butthe temperature beneath it has dropped. “Before I run out of patience and things get ugly. For everyone.”
His phone vibrates. He checks the screen, and just like that, I have ceased to register as a priority. “I have to go. Be good.”
The door closes.
I stand in the center of the room for a long moment, listening to the silence settle around me.
Alright. Think.
I’ve been captured. There’s little chance Rolan, or anyone in his organization, knows where I am. He probably looked at the security footage and thinks I ran, and I guess I did… until I didn’t.
I remember the broken security camera on the ground by the wall. It wouldn’t have recorded the moment Landon bagged me. Rolan might never know the truth.
Not that I’ll know it either.
Dushku has plans he’s declined to articulate, and Landon has Maren’s phone, which means Maren is…
No. I can’t think of that right now. This is all my fault. It’s up to me to figure out how to make things right. If that’s even a possibility.
My blood runs cold as I try to think logically. The fear of all the terrifying possibilities looms large as I try to focus on what I can control.
Play the game.The thought crystallizes with a clarity that surprises me.You know Landon. You know the rhythms of his cruelty, the patterns of his vanity, the pressure points of his ego. You survived him for four years. Survive him now.
I sink onto the edge of the mattress and press both palms against my thighs, grounding myself in the contact. My thoughts migrate immediately to the places where they are most dangerous.
Anya.
The name alone produces a fissure in my composure that I have to physically brace against. She will have noticed my absence before anyone else. She’s probably thinking she was left again. The way the others left.
I didn’t choose this,I think, and the thought burns with the intensity of a confession.I didn’t choose to leave you.
But I was planning to. I was halfway through the gate. And the distinction between intending to abandon her and being stolen from her feels thinner than I want it to, sharper than I can bear to examine.
And Rolan.A mistake,he’d called me.
Maybe. But he’d also whispered,You’re perfect.Those two declarations coexisted inside the same man. I chose to anchor myself to the first because it made it easier to leave.
I want to go home.
Home.
