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“Did you really think they’d leave you alone for two whole days before your trial?” he continues, taking another step with the careful precision of someone approaching a wounded animal. “After everything we’ve been through together?”

Two days. The words slam into my sternum, driving air from my lungs in a violent rush. Two days trapped in this beautiful prison with him. Two days of whatever conditioning Amarantha has planned, with Davis as the primary instrument of my psychological destruction.

I try to back toward the door, but my body responds like I’m moving through thick honey. The magical conditioning makes resistance feel not just difficult but wrong, inappropriate. Like fighting back would be rude after all his care and attention.

“Davis.” My voice comes out smaller than intended, words forming slowly as if my tongue has forgotten their shape. “You shouldn’t be here.”

The hurt that flashes across his face is so familiar it makes my chest ache. The same expression from every time I declined his invitations, deflected his advances, maintained professional boundaries he pretended not to see.

“Shouldn’t I?” His voice carries that wounded tone that used to make me feel guilty. “Three years, Ash. Three yearsof partnership, protection, caring. Doesn’t that earn me a conversation?”

He settles into the chair across from where I stand frozen, making himself comfortable like this is a normal debriefing session. Pulls out his usual notepad. Crosses his ankle over his knee.

My body flinches before my brain catches up—muscle memory recognizing the familiar routine, the way he used to move before interrogations. Some instinct deeper than thought recognizing the predator beneath the comfort.

“You know what I kept thinking about during the trial?” He leans forward with that earnest expression I once found reassuring. “How beautiful you looked when you finally told the truth.”

Every nerve ending recoils in violent protest, but the suppression magic makes my body stay still even as my mind screams. The disconnect between forced compliance and internal horror makes nausea rise in my throat.

“The truth about being a killer?” The words taste like ash in my mouth, heavy with the weight of Greyson’s face in my scope’s crosshairs.

“The truth about being exactly what I always knew you were.” His voice carries warmth that makes my skin crawl despite the magical conditioning. “Powerful. Decisive. Willing to do whatever it takes to protect the people you care about.”

He stands slowly, movements deliberate and careful. His hands visible, palms open. The way he used to move in the field when civilians were spooked and might run.

“That boy you killed—Greyson. You didn’t hesitate because you’re cold. You didn’t hesitate because you understood what needed to be done.”

“Davis, stop.” But even this protest feels halfhearted through the suppression magic, like objecting to rain while standing in a downpour.

“I’ve been protecting you the same way,” he continues, close enough now that I can smell his familiar cologne—cedar and leather, scents that used to mean safety and now trigger every alarm I have left. “Three years of making sure you stayed safe, stayed human, stayed mine.”

The possessive pronoun drives a dagger between my shoulder blades. Not stayed with me. Stayed mine.

His hand comes up to touch my face, thumb tracing my cheekbone with possessive tenderness. The suppression magic makes my body accept the touch even as my mind recoils in horror—skin staying still while everything inside me tries to crawl away from his fingers. I should be pulling away, should be fighting, but the enchantments make compliance feel natural while resistance feels exhausting.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmurs, thumb stroking across skin that feels numb and hypersensitive at the same time. “Peaceful. Not fighting me for once.”

“The iron supplements,” I manage through the magical haze that makes thoughts feel scattered and distant, words forming in fragments before dissolving. “You were... you were poisoning me.”

“I was protecting you from becoming something that would destroy everything good about you.” His thumb traces lower, across my lips, and the intimate gesture makes bile claw up my throat. “Those creatures filled your head with fairy tale romance, made you think you wanted to be a monster.”

“I’m not a monster.”

“No,” he agrees, both hands framing my face now with a gentleness that feels like violation. “You’re perfect. You’vealways been perfect. But they convinced you to want things that would ruin you.”

The suppression magic makes my responses feel dreamy, disconnected from my actual thoughts. When he steps closer, pressing me back against the pearl-carved wall, my body doesn’t resist the way it should. Can’t resist the way I desperately want it to.

“Remember our first mission together?” His voice drops to that intimate tone I once found comforting during post-mission debriefs. “You trusted me completely. Let me lead, let me protect you. We were good together, Ash.”

His hands slide down to my shoulders, then my arms, the touch growing bolder as the magical conditioning makes me appear compliant. Every movement careful and practiced, like he’s done this before. Like he’s been planning this moment for longer than I want to consider.

“You used to look at me like I mattered,” he continues, pressing closer until I’m trapped between his body and the wall. Heat radiates from him, familiar and wrong, making the beautiful chamber feel like a cage. “Before they poisoned your mind with magic and impossible romance.”

“Davis, please—” The words barely form, thoughts moving like molasses while my body stays perfectly still despite internal screaming.

“Shh.” One hand moves to the back of my neck, fingers threading through my hair with possessive familiarity. “You don’t have to pretend anymore. The magic is making you honest, stripping away the lies they taught you.”

He misinterprets my lack of resistance as consent, the suppression magic making my survival responses feel muted and distant. When his mouth moves toward mine, alarm shrieks through my nervous system, but my body feels like it’s wrapped in suffocating cotton.