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Satisfied, I unlock the restraints around her wrists, grin darkly to myself behind my mask as Rule chuckles again.

"Sleep well, little storm," I murmur, trailing a finger down her cheek possessively before stepping back.

Rule and I leave the room, deliberately not locking the door behind us.

Chapter 27

Seanna

Consciousnesspullsmefromdreams that feel more like nightmares. I lie perfectly still for a moment, my instincts prickling, expecting the familiar shadowy presence of Ruin waiting silently in that damned armchair, watching me like his personal twisted form of entertainment.

But as my eyes finally open, the chair sits empty. Strange.

A sharp, sudden cramp sears through my lower abdomen, and I hiss through clenched teeth, annoyed. By my estimate it's right on time, like clockwork. Because clearly, being abducted wasn't inconvenient enough, my uterus decided to join the party. At least the pain is familiar, predictable—it'll fade soon enough.

How could I have been so careless? Letting Ruin slip beneath my defenses, caving to their masked dominance, their arrogant control—it's unacceptable. I’m supposed to be fighting tooth and nail, not succumbing to their twisted fucking games.

Anger sharpening my senses as I sit up, rubbing my temples, only then noticing an unfamiliar weight pressing coolly against my throat. My fingers jerk up to investigate, discovering a thick, smooth chain secured by a small padlock. There's no latch, no weak link. Perfect. Another twisted accessory courtesy of my masked captors. I tug at it futilely, frustration simmering.

It's only then that I realize I'm not chained to the bed.

Suspicion floods through me instantly, slicing sharp and cold through lingering remnants of sleep. I swing my legs from the bed, searching quickly for clothes. I find some of my own—of course—neatly folded inside the large mahogany dresser.Meticulous bastards.

Jerking the clothes on as quickly as I can, I silently curse myself. I should've spent every second of my time here plotting an escape instead of playing into their warped little scenario.

Tentatively, I approach the door, gripping the handle with cautious anticipation. It turns effortlessly beneath my palm, swinging silently open into an empty hallway. My heart pounds harder, suspicion tightening my chest. This is too easy, too clean. Like stepping willingly into a trap.

Whatever house we are in isn't small, but I'm sure as fuck not sticking around to play hide-and-seek with my masked abductors. Screw that. All I need is an exit.

My search is brief, driven by desperation. Finally, an unlocked back door opens into darkness that surprises me—I hadn't even realized what time it could be, locked in a windowless room for what felt like days. Judging by the faint, greyish light beginning to creep at the edges of the horizon, it must be sometime in the early morning.

Freedom beckons.

Every instinct screams this is exactly what they want, but I'm too stubborn to ignore the opportunity.

Breaking into a sprint, I rush toward the thick tree line, the sound of my own breath echoing sharply in my ears. It's not until I'm engulfed in shadows that I glance back, suspicion still gnawing viciously at my spine. The house is silent, beautiful, and cruelly calm, yet the unmistakable sensation of being watched prickles coldly along my skin.

Of course I'm being watched. This is their twisted fucking game, after all.

Gritting my teeth, I plunge deeper into the forest, branches scraping mercilessly against my clothes. Direction doesn't matter—distance does. Every hurried step carries me further from the cage they've meticulously crafted for me.

But then, training kicks in.

I force myself to stop.

Crouching low, I steady my breath, dragging in slow, deep lungfuls of air through my nose, letting my body recalibrate. The chill of the early morning air brushes against my skin, but I shove it aside. I focus.

The forest hums around me. Crickets, birds, the rustle of leaves overhead. Life, undisturbed. Somewhere in the distance, I can just make out the faint murmur of water—a stream or river maybe. Could be useful.

I strain harder, tuning out the natural sounds, letting silence stretch over me like armor.

There. Low. Too calculated to be the forest. Beneath everything else—movement.

Not an animal.

Not nature.

Something deliberate.