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When I step out, the mirror’s fogged, the room thick with heat, but nothing’s changed. I towel off, throw on another one of the shirts they packed from my drawer.

Later, Ruin returns.

I know it’s him because he isn’t moving like a kicked puppy. He just opens the door and walks in like it’s his right.

“Do you have a fucking death wish?” I snap, already standing, body coiled tight.

He closes the door behind him without a word.

“I gave you space,” he says calmly, voice still filtered through the modulator. “All day. You’ve had time to think.”

I narrow my eyes, arms crossed. “And you decided now was the moment to get brave?”

He tilts his head slightly, like he’s studying me—measuring the amount of fury left in my bones.

“You’re not as angry as you were.”

“Maybe I’m just better at hiding it,” I shoot back, taking a step toward him. “Or maybe I’m just saving it for the right moment.”

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move. Just keeps staring through that mask like it sees straight through me.

“You’re right to be pissed,” he says eventually. “You deserved the truth sooner. But if Rule had told you from the start, you never would’ve listened. You would’ve run. And I wasn’t about to lose you over your own fucking pride.”

My lip curls. “Don’t talk to me about pride like it’s some flaw. You of all people don’t get to lecture me.”

His gloved hands flex slightly at his sides, like he wants to reach for me but knows better. “You think I’m here to lecture you?”

“Then whyareyou here?” I demand, stepping in close. “To explain? To justify the lies? To make another speech about how this is for my own good?”

“No,” he says. “I’m here because I couldn’t stay away any longer.”

My breath catches.

He closes the distance in one slow step, towering over me like some specter of obsession that’s been haunting my dreams. I hate how the sight of either of them does something to me. How it pulls heat low in my stomach despite everything. Despitehim.

“Get out,” I whisper, not backing down even as my voice betrays me.

He lifts a hand but doesn’t touch me, just hovers it near my jaw. “Tell me you don’t want to understand. That you don’t want to know the rest. And I’ll leave.”

I say nothing. I can’t. Because the truth is—Idowant to know. Every dark, twisted secret they’re still hiding. Every fucked-up reason they think I belong to them. Every mask. Every name. Every motive.

But I’m not giving him that. Not yet.

“I don’t forgive you,” I say instead.

“I’m not asking you to.”

“And I’m not yours.”

His voice drops low. “Yes, you are.”

My skin prickles. I hate that he’s right.

Hate that I’m not throwing a punch. Hate that I’m letting him stand this close. Hate that my body remembers the way he touched me like he knew it better than I do.

His voice softens. “We’ve both done fucked-up things, Seanna. You’re not clean. You never wanted to be. And that’s why this works. Because Rule and I—we don’t want the sanitized version of you.”

He shifts even closer now, like he’s daring me to swing. Like hewantsit. My pulse jumps, but I don’t move. I don’t give ground. I just stare up at him like I’m willing him to combust under the weight of everything I haven’t said yet.