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“Four, maybe five. We’re tracking them now, but—”

“I’m on my way.”

I hang up and stare at the doorway where she disappeared. The photographs are still scattered across my desk, her face staring up at me from a dozen different angles.

Chapter Nineteen - Davina

The mansion feels different after the office.

Not physically—nothing has changed about the layout or the guards or the way the light falls through the windows in the afternoon. Something has shifted inside me, some fundamental understanding of where I am and what I’m dealing with.

I spend the next day avoiding Maxim. It’s not hard because he’s been called away to deal with whatever threat Callum’s probing represents, and the mansion is quieter without him. The guards still watch me, still track my movements, but there’s a looseness to their attention that wasn’t there before.

I’m not planning another escape. Not yet. The last attempt nearly got me killed, and I’m not eager to repeat the experience, but I can’t stop my brain from doing what it does—mapping systems, identifying patterns, finding the cracks in the architecture.

It’s what I’ve always done. It’s what I’m good at. Right now, it’s the only thing that makes me feel like I have any control at all.

The opportunity comes on the third day.

There’s some kind of disturbance in the east wing. Something about a security concern related to Callum’s movements, I overhear one of the guards saying. The staff is redirected to assist, and for a brief window, the hallway near the kitchen is empty.

I don’t hesitate.

I slip into the kitchen, my heart pounding, and find the housekeeper’s cart exactly where I knew it would be. The phone is sitting in its cradle, dark and silent, and my hand trembles as I pick it up.

I know this is risky. I know that every call is probably monitored, every number logged, every deviation from routine noted and reported. But I can’t keep living in this uncertainty, this limbo between wanting to leave and wanting to stay.

I need clarity. Even if it’s not what I want to hear.

I find a quiet corner in the library—a space I’ve mapped carefully, with no camera angles and limited foot traffic—and I dial the only number I still know by heart.

It rings once. Twice. Three times.

Then Ethan’s voice comes through, sharp and alert. “Mercer.”

For a moment, I can’t speak. The sound of his voice—the familiar cadence, the professional tone, the underlying warmth that I remember from our meetings—hits me like a wave. My throat closes up, and I have to press my hand against my mouth to keep from making a sound.

“Hello?” He’s more cautious now. “Who is this?”

“It’s me.” The words come out rough, strained. “It’s Davina.”

Silence. Then, “Davina! Are you okay, where are you?”

“I’m—” I swallow hard. “I’m okay. I’m not hurt.”

“Are you sure? Are you being monitored right now?”

“I don’t think so. There’s a security situation, everyone’s distracted.”

“Listen to me carefully.” His voice shifts into what I think of as his operational tone—focused, efficient, completely in control. “I need you to tell me everything you can about your current situation. Are you being held against your will? Have you been physically harmed? Are you in immediate danger?”

The questions come rapid-fire, and I try to answer them all, but my mind is spinning. It’s been so long since I’ve talked to anyone from the outside, so long since I’ve heard a voice that isn’t connected to this place, to him.

“I’m not being physically restrained,” I say. “I can move around the mansion, within limits. There are guards, but they’re not—” I hesitate, trying to find the right words. “They’re not cruel. They’re just… always there.”

“Have you been hurt in any way?”

I think about Maxim’s hands on my body. I can still feel the heat of him even now.