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He tilts his head, the movement slow and unreadable. “Consider it an incentive,” he says smoothly. “You behave, we reward. Simple. You’ve earned a little slack—whether you meant to or not.”

Satisfied I’m secured once more, he nods once.

“Rule will be back shortly,” he tells me. “With food.”

I say nothing.

I don’t thank him. I don’t curse him.

I just lay back slowly, eyes locked on him, watching as he leaves again and closes the door behind him.

The soft click echoes louder than it should.

I stare at the ceiling, wrists aching slightly from the tension, my legs now free. It’s not enough to run. Just enough to remind me I can move.

I don’t know if it’s mercy. Or a mind game. I don’t know why it feels like both.

And Ihatethat I’m starting to wonder which one I want it to be.

Chapter 22

Seanna

Theoppressivesilenceshatterswhen the door swings open again, and my hands clench in irritation as Rule strides casually into the room. Despite the begrudging slack Ruin granted in the chains binding my wrists to the wrought-iron headboard—enough to sit cross-legged and properly glare at my captor—I remain pissed off.

"Wow, room service in a kidnapping?" I mock sweetly, watching him approach with a coffee cup and a paper bag. "How considerate."

Rule chuckles, low and infuriatingly amused. "Consider it a peace offering. We both know how desperately you cling to your caffeine addiction."

I snort, giving the chains a pointed rattle. "Peace offering? You spelled manipulation wrong."

He waves the coffee just within my reach, clearly enjoying my irritation. "Here you go."

Rolling my eyes, I snatch the cup and take a sip, immediately grimacing at the cold liquid. "Seriously? Cold coffee? Are budget cuts hitting kidnappers now too? You can’t afford heating?"

He laughs, annoyingly smug. "Did you honestly think we'd trust you with something hot? Give us some credit."

"Oh, don't worry," I snap back, slamming the cup onto the bedside table. "The lack of credit is entirely deliberate."

My attention flickers involuntarily toward the paper bag, and despite my blazing irritation, the familiar scent already has my mouth watering. Cherry cream cheese pastries, my favorite—damn him straight to hell.

"Thought I'd tempt you into having a civil conversation," Rule says, deliberately pulling one pastry from the bag and holding it just beyond my immediate reach.

"Bribery is beneath even you," I sneer, though my stomach tightens traitorously. I could hold out, we are trained for situations like this. I could go days without food, refusing every inch they grant out of bitterness, but there is a level of manipulation to this that my training doesn’t account for.

"Yet you’re clearly tempted," he counters smugly, placing the pastry onto a napkin and sliding it only a fraction toward me yet still out of reach. "Here’s the deal. Agree to a temporary truce until after your sister’s next call—and the pastries are yours."

My eyes narrow sharply, suspicion and temptation warring inside me. "My sister isn't calling until tomorrow."

"Precisely," he confirms smoothly. "One day. One peaceful day. No fighting, no biting remarks—well, fewer biting remarks—and you get these little indulgences."

"Maybe I don’t feel like making a deal," I taunt, arching an eyebrow challengingly.

"In that case," Rule replies casually, picking up the pastry again and moving as if to leave, "perhaps I'll just go make you porridge instead. And I’m sure I can change the future meals to things you like as much as porridge. We know them all."

My lip curls in disgust at the thought, pride clashing with cravings. "Fine," I relent grudgingly. "But once that call comes through, all bets are off."

"Understood," he murmurs, setting the pastry down again and settling onto the end of the bed. "So, are we actually capable of having a conversation, or should I brace for impact?"