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No one speaks for a moment, the weight of Alex’s foresight settling over us like a heavy fog. Even now—held captive and broken—he’s still ten steps ahead of everyone else. The thought fills me with equal parts hope and dread.

LUCA

The door crashesopen like a thunderclap, making me flinch despite myself. After all this time in this hellhole, you'd think I'd be used to it.

“Move, Rossi.” The guard's voice is emotionless as he yanks me from my cell, his fingers digging into my bicep hard enough to leave fresh bruises alongside the fading ones.

I stumble into the hallway, the lights harsh after the dimness of my room. My bare feet slap against the cold tile as they marchme down a corridor I've never seen before. This is new. This is different. And different has never meant good in this place.

“Where are you taking me?”

The guard doesn't answer. Of course, he doesn't. They never do.

We stop at a metal door halfway down the hall. He punches a code into the keypad, then shoves me inside with enough force that I stumble, catching myself against the wall. The room is larger than my cell, two beds instead of one, a small table, even a window, though it's covered with metal grating.

The door slams shut behind me. Thirty-seven seconds pass in silence before it opens again.

Another body is thrust inside, this one taller, lankier. He catches himself with more grace than I managed, turning immediately to face the door as it closes. When he turns around, recognition jolts through me like an electric shock.

“Alex?” The name escapes my lips before I can stop it. Alex Rafner from St. Jude's Academy—platinum blond hair now matted with blood, ice-blue eyes rimmed with exhaustion, but unmistakably him.

Recognition flickers across his battered face. “Hey, neighbor.”

Neighbor? Why the hell would he say that unless…fuck, he’s the guy on the other side of the wall. My brain struggles to process this revelation. The man I've been communicating with through the vents is someone I actually know. Or knew, a lifetime ago, when we were just teenagers at St. Jude's.

“You're the one who's been talking to me?” I manage, my voice hoarse from disuse. “Through the vents?”

Alex nods, his movements careful, controlled. He's clearly in pain, though he's trying not to show it. "Good to finally see your face, Rossi. You look like shit."

A strangled laugh escapes me. "You're one to talk."

His face is a tapestry of bruises in various stages of healing—purple fading to green around his left eye, a fresh split in his lip crusted with blood, a row of neat stitches at his temple. The way he's holding himself suggests broken ribs, maybe worse.

“What the fuck happened to you?”

“The same as you, I suspect. Guards with a penchant for violence?”

He moves toward the unoccupied bed, each step measured as if calculating the exact amount of energy required. I notice the careful way he holds his torso, broken ribs, probably. I've had them before. The Collector's guards aren't exactly gentle.

“How long have you been here?” I ask, moving to sit on my own bed.

“Hard to tell. Time works differently in this place. After I rammed a boat into your grandfather’s guards, it got a little hazy after that.”

“You rammed a boat in his guards?” I can't keep the incredulity from my voice.

Alex shrugs, then immediately winces at the movement. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“And how'd that work out for you?”

He gestures to his battered body with his less injured arm. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

"Why are they putting us together?" I ask, suspicion immediately replacing shock. Nothing happens here without purpose, without calculation.

“Motivation for your sister. Her daily proof of life for both of us.” Alex eases himself onto the edge of the bed with a barely suppressed wince. “The Collector wants her compliance. Seeing both of us alive, but suffering, is the perfect leash.”

I study him more carefully, trying to reconcile this battered man with the quiet, reserved classmate I barely knew at St. Jude's. Back then, he was just another privileged kid, brilliantbut distant, existing on the opposite side of my limited social circle. He had sidled up with the Petrovs immediately upon his enrollment. Not that it stopped me from casually observing him in the classes we shared together.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you were solidly on Team Petrov the last time I saw you.”