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“I know the pressure.” His voice lowers. “I know what it is to feel something inside you clawing for a door. I know what it is to need a pain you can name because the other kind has no shape.”

The words hit too close, far too close. So, I look away.

Darkness exhales softly as he chuckles. “That is why I came.”

“To torment me?” My question is laced with poison.

“Partly.” He shrugs his shoulders.

“How generous,” I sarcastically spit out.

“I am multifaceted,” he jests, like this is a casual conversation.

“You are a trespassing lunatic,” I seethe through my teeth.

“And yet you are still listening.”

Damn him.

He steps around the bath, dragging one gloved finger along the marble rim. “Edward will not tell you the whole of it. He thinks silence is protection. He has always believed suffering quietly makes him noble.”

My chest tightens at Edward’s name.

“And Alcott?” I ask.

“Alcott remembers in pieces.” Darkness pauses. “I remember the spaces between.”

Something about that sentence chills me more than any threat could.

“What do you want from me?” I ask.

His gaze finds mine.

“For you to understand what you are walking toward.” His answer is cold.

“I am walking toward The Collector,” I state with confidence.

“No.” Darkness’s smile disappears. “You are walking toward the man who taught two boys that survival was another word for obedience.”

The room seems to tilt. I say nothing.

“Their parents sold everything first. The furniture, jewelry, decency. Then, when there was nothing left, they sold the boys.”

My fingers curl around the washstand until my knuckles ache. “Stop,” I plead.

“No.” The word is quiet. Absolute.

“You want the syndicate. You want names. You want revenge dressed as justice, very noble. Very beautiful. Very you.” His eyes sharpen. “But do not pretend this is a game of poisons and pretty gowns. The Collector does not simply kill. He collects, hence his moronic title. He makes cages look like debts and calls ownership salvation.”

My stomach twists. Edward’s voice echoes in memory. We know what it is to have choice taken from you.

Darkness watches the realization move through me. “There it is.”

“Why tell me this?” My voice cracks.

“Because Edward will stay away until it kills him.” He leans closer. “And Alcott will laugh until he shatters. Lazarus will swing his sickle at anything that resembles grief. But you...” His gaze moves over my face with unnerving precision. “You might be ruthless enough to do something useful.”

I hate that the words feel like praise. I hate it more that they feel true. From the adjoining room comes a thud. Then a low, furious growl. Morrigan.