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With his lips, he said, “See?”

“Great. Feeding time at the prison.”

Lucien set the bag down, opened it, and pulled out what looked like a sandwich wrapped in paper. “Pastrami and cheese,” he said. “It could be worse.”

“No offense to Pastrami,” I said, taking the sandwich, “But it’s no lobster.”

“You could try to sound less disappointed.”

I looked up at Lucien again. “I’ve barely left my family’s mansion. This is my first time in the city during the day. I’m in a fancy hotel, with a huge list of delicious foods and drinks I’d love to taste…”

“This is a surveillance operation, not a vacation.”

He was right of course, but the words still stung. I retreated to the headboard and sat up against it. The sandwich wasn’t the problem, it smelled great—I never had an issue with Pastrami, or bread, or even cheese—the problem was the reminder of the shitty situation I was in.

This room had now become my third prison. Was that what my life was going to be? Hopping from place to place, given glimpses of the outside world but never being allowed to take part in it, or experience what it had to offer? Restaurants, walks on the street, room service at a fancy hotel.

I wasn’t sure I could take being denied those things anymore when true freedom felt so close.

All I had to do was bolt out of the room, sprint down to the lobby, and make a break for it. I would be free of them; free of Mason, of Carla, and the two idiots in the other room. I felt like I could make it, too. By the time the assholes knew I had left the room, I would be all the way to the stairs on the other side of the hall.

Unless one of them is waiting outside.

That was the only thought stopping me from really considering making my move. That, well, and Lucien. I couldn’t read him. I didn’t know if he really wanted to help me get away from his father, or if he was just stringing me along like the rest of them were.

If he was, well, I was going willingly, because something about him made me want to be near him. It wasn’t so much a physical desire—although that was always there, whether I liked it or not—but an emotional one. Before I knew his name, he’d had an effect on my body I would never be able to forget.

Now, though, I felt this weird pull toward him whenever I was near him. I wanted to trust him. I wanted to behave for him. I wanted him to tell me I was doing a good job. Why did I crave his validation? Why did I want him to tell me what to do?

I had never experienced anything like this with anyone. Maybe this was the reason I had decided to end things with him in the first place, escaping before the black hole of feelings could pull me in too far.

Maybe.

Or maybe I was suffering from Stockholm Syndrome and empathizing with my captors.

That was totally possible.

I decided not to try a daring escape and sit and eat my sandwich instead. Lucien didn’t eat his, choosing instead to continue surveilling the building across from us. I could tell, though, that something was on his mind. He didn’t seem as diligent as he had been a little while ago. He was unfocused.

After a while, he stopped, checked his watch, then turned to look at me. “Looks like you’re getting your wish after all,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t get pictures of the inside of that building from here.”

“Can we use the drones?”

“We will, but I don’t think they’ll be of much use if there’s magic keeping us from getting pictures of the inside. We’re going to have to go out and take a look.”

Go out… I thought, excitement mounting in my chest. “Right now?”

“Let’s give it a little while, at least until the sun goes down.” He set his equipment down and strode to the bedroom door, then opened it.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“To get us something to wear. We’ll need to blend in.”

“Wear? Should I come with you? You don’t know my size.”