"No," Ambrose nibbles my knee. "But I can be something else."
He darts up, pushing my body back on the bed, his brown eyes with flecks of green begin to glow as he slides his hands up my waist. "Look at me, Ione, yes, keep my gaze cutie."
I can't look away. I'm trying to force my eyes shut. "Stop."
"Why? Aren't we having fun?" He winks, as his eyes keep burning into mine. Something is happening, but I can't stop it.
Aren't we? Yes. I think so? My brain is foggy again, my body relaxes, and slowly Ambrose lets me go. "There we go." He leans down, planting a kiss on my forehead. "That's my good girl, you've put up such a good fight."
"Thank you," I mutter. There's two versions of me. This one and another one, she's inside of a glass box, banging her fists on the surface, screaming at me. What's her problem? "Where are we?"
"Everywhere and nowhere." Ambrose's eyes stop glowing. He lays next to me, lazily dragging his fingers up and down my stomach.
I float on a sea of silk, the bed beneath me whispers against my skin. The air smells of something sweet—too sweet. My limbs feel like melting wax, heavy and slow. Beside me, Ambrose hums low under his breath, his fingers tracing idle patterns along my arm. I turn my head sluggishly to look at him. His brown-green eyes are alight, glowing like twin coals stirred in a deep forest fire. He smiles at me—a smile full of sharp teeth hidden behind honeyed lips.
"Just relax, princess," he purrs, voice rich enough to drink. "No need to struggle. You'resafewith me."
Safe. The word cracks against my skull like a whip. Behind my closed eyelids, another world spins into view. I see myself—two versions of me.
One, the me lying drugged on the bed, outside a massive glass box. The other—me, real me—is trapped inside it. Her hands slam against the cold, transparent walls. Her mouth moves frantically, but the sound is muffled, distant.
Get up.
Run.
My heart jerks in my chest. I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, trying to block out the visions, trying to focus on Ambrose’s fingertips burning trails across my skin. His voice is syrupy, coaxing, drowning me. “Don’t fight it, cutie," he coos. "You’ll only make yourself tired. Let go. It’s easier.”
The woman in the box screams silently, punching the glass with both fists. I stumble closer in my mind, hands trembling.
Find the potion room. Drink the locator potion. Hurry.
Her voice is slipping away, fading under the lull of Ambrose's spell, but the urgency—the terror—punches through the fog.
And then—Athanasius.
He appears like a phantom behind the glass, his silver hair wild, his black eyes desperate. His voice thunders through the dreamscape:"Help me, rabbit. I need to find you."
My body jerks, every nerve in me suddenly snapping taut. I shoot up off the bed.
"Whoa, whoa!" Ambrose yelps, half-laughing, half-startled. He reaches for me, but I'm already moving, bare feet slamming against the stone floor as I tear out of the room.
Down the corridor. Down the stairs. The world tilts and spins, but I keep running.
The potion room looms ahead, its door slightly ajar. I crash through it, the shelves blurring into streaks of glass and colored liquid.
Behind me—A sharp curse. Then Ambrose’s voice, sharp as broken glass: "Ione, cutie,stop!"
I rip through the shelves, knocking vials and bottles to the ground. They shatter, releasing a whirlwind of scents—biting herbs, rotting sweetness, acrid smoke.
"Gods, woman!" he howls, following me into the room. "Do you even know what you're touching?! What you're breaking?! That’s six months of work, you monster!"
My hands fumble across a cluttered table. My fingers brush a small violet bottle, the locator potion—I just knew it. My gut screams it's right.
I snatch it up, whirling to face him. Ambrose stands framed in the doorway, his coat half-off his shoulders, his purple hair tousled and wild. He looks furious. Magnificent. Terrifying. "You don't evenknowwhat that does," he hisses, stalking closer with slow, predatory steps. "What’s your plan, Ione? Chug it down andhope?"
I lift the bottle to my lips. My hands are shaking so badly I almost dropped it. "You won't let anything happen to me," I say, voice steadier than I feel. "You need me."
His mouth twists into a sneer, but there's a crack in his performance—a flicker of panic in his too-bright eyes.
