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As the realization sinks in, Oliver lifts his napkin and dabs the corner of my mouth, wiping away a smear of yogurt. His fingers graze my skin a fraction too long, and a jolt sparks through my system.

Our eyes meet and hold.

Something charged passes between us.

Then he drops the napkin onto the table and utters six words that tilt my world off its axis.

“We’ve been summoned to the dungeon.”

“When?” I manage, my voice a thin squeak as my heart bottoms out.

“As soon as we’re finished here.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask who issued the summons, but I already know. Mr. Stone made it clear at dinner the other night.

“Will Liam be there?”

“I don’t know.”

Another lie. He knows.

Of course Liam will be there. All of them will, the men who decide my fate behind closed doors, dangling their power like a noose around my neck. Some will watch in silence, while others will wait for the right moment to tighten the rope.

And Oliver?

I have no idea where he stands.

Acid rises in my throat, threatening to purge what I ate, and I gulp it down, even as I lift my chin.

“What do they want?” Forced bravado colors my tone. I hope he doesn’t notice how my knees are trembling under the table.

“I think you already know what they want, Novalee.”

“This isn’t fair.”

“Fair or not, we have to go.” He stands, chair legs scraping across the hardwood, dragging dread in his wake.

I fold my arms. “You could have given me more warning.”

“I was just informed this morning.” He hesitates a beat. “I wanted you to finish breakfast first. Liam said you haven’t been eating.”

“Well now it’s about to come back up.”

“If you need to puke, you should do it now.” He pulls me upright. “Making them wait would be a mistake.”

The warning is clear.

Resisting is futile, but I do it anyway, rebellious feet rooted to the spot.

His grip tightens. “Are we heading to the dungeon?” He angles his head, one brow lifting. “Or do you need the toilet?”

I want to say neither, but I shake my head and grit out, “I’m fine,” before letting him lead me out of the House of Capricorn.

The air crackles with mounting fear as we descend into the bowels of this hellish tower. At the bottom of the stairs, the iron gate is unlocked, its metal bars gaping like the jaws of a beast, salivating over its next sacrifice.

Oliver urges me forward, each step ushering in dread. The space is stale from aged leather and rusting iron, the echoes of past suffering gnashing their teeth in the shadows.

Memories soak me, vivid and ice-cold, and I’m back in time, my fingers curling around the bars of a cage while Pax chains Sebastian to the ceiling. His brutal whip cracks through the utter quiet, relentless, too many times to count. Then…