Page 8

After dinner, as people start to scatter, Dylan leans close. "I should go. But we need to discuss some things. About us. About your loyalty."

"Can't it wait?—"

"Tomorrow," he says firmly. "My place. Noon. Wear the red dress."

I know what that means.

Know the price of keeping Bjorn safe.

The red dress is his favorite—the one he bought me, the one that makes me feel like a possession to be displayed.

"I have to work?—"

"Call out sick." His smile never wavers, but his eyes are cold. "Unless you want to test me. Unless you want to find out if I'm serious about Tuesday."

He stands, making a show of thanking everyone, shaking hands, playing the perfect guest.

At the door, he turns back to me. "Walk me to my car?"

It's not a request.

I follow him outside, where Astrid is on the porch getting air.

The sun is setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and red that remind me of blood.

"Everything okay?" she asks, looking between us.

"Perfect," Dylan says, but his grip on my arm tightens. "Just saying goodbye. Can't stay for dessert—work tomorrow."

We walk to his car in silence.

Once there, hidden from view, his mask drops completely.

"You embarrassed me today," he says quietly. "Barely talked to me, acted like I wasn't even there. Made me look like an idiot in front of those criminals."

"I didn't?—"

"Shut up." He grabs my shoulders, shaking me slightly. "You're going to make this right. Tomorrow. And if you even think about not showing up..."

He pulls out his phone, shows me a photo—the hospital's physical therapy room.

Another photo—Bjorn in his wheelchair, taken from outside. "I know exactly where he'll be. Exactly when. My friend works security there. Cameras can malfunction. Accidents happen. Do you understand?"

I nod, unable to speak past the fear choking me.

"Good girl." He kisses my forehead, a mockery of affection. "Now go back inside. Smile. Act normal. And remember—I'm always watching."

He gets in his car, but before driving away, calls out loud enough for Astrid to hear: "This whole lockdown thing is getting old. You should come with me, babe."

"She's safer here," Astrid interjects, moving closer.

Dylan's eyes narrow at her interference. "Right. The boogeyman everyone's so scared of. Maybe if your club didn't make so many enemies?—"

"Dylan," I warn, panic rising. "Don't."

He raises his hands like throwing them up in surrender, "Whatever. Stay here then. But don't call me crying about being stuck in this place."

He peels out dramatically, leaving me shaking in the cold.