Page 49

The tension in his grip isn’t just anger.

It’s something else.

Darker.

He is not well, and he’s aware of that I somehow know.

I need a moment; a single chance. Just a crack in the game, a shift in the balance, something neither of us understands but feels anyway.

As fast as it came, he buries it beneath mockery.

"You must think I’m stupid," he purrs, fingers trailing lower, spreading warmth where there should be rage.

I bare my teeth. "I think you’re a fucking lunatic."

He laughs.

The sound of it makes my hackles rise.

But I hate myself more for not hating it enough.

"You’re not wrong," he admits, almost amused.

Then—he lets go.

Just like that.

His touch vanishes, his heat a ghost against my skin.

The sudden absence feels like a slap.

I stumble back, chest heaving, eyes burning.

He watches me, shoulders still too tight, jaw tense, something unreadable lurking beneath his crimson gaze.

I expect him to punish me.

To drag me back, to prove, again, that I am nothing but his prisoner, his little pet.

Instead, he just shakes his head, soft laughter curling from his lips.

"Run again," he says, voice dangerously smooth.

I keep my stance, keep my breathing even.

I don’t dare to look away from.

His smirk widens.

"Go on," he murmurs, a whisper of something twisted and thrilled.

"You won’t make it past sunrise."

I glare, my heart slamming against my chest.

He turns before I can find my voice, vanishing into the corridor, leaving me standing there?—

With the door still open.