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And I’m left with silence. But it's not a peaceful silence. The kind of silence that comes after a detonation—when the world still feels like it’s ringing and you’re waiting to see if the building is going to collapse or hold.

I stare at the door like it might open again. Like he might take it back. Or come back and finish what he started.

I’m shaking. Not visibly. Not enough for someone else to see.

But I feel it. Under my skin. In the pit of my stomach.

I sink onto the edge of the bed slowly, chest tight, thoughts spiraling.

Because I should hate him. But I don’t.

And he was right about one thing.

It was a lie.

Chapter 34

Seanna

Thearmchairisemptyagain.

And I don’t fucking trust it.

Last time it was empty, I thought—stupidly—that maybe they’d let up. Maybe the obsession had quieted. Maybe I wasn’t being watched every second like some lab rat in heat. And then I opened that door and ran, thinking I could outpace them.

Only to be hunted through their goddamn trap-rigged forest by Rule like prey.

So no. I’m not buying it. Forwhateverreason the chair is empty. It’s probably just bait.

I stare at it, muscles tense, every inch of me humming with unease. My mind won’t shut the fuck up. Not after everything they’ve told me. Not after everything I’ve felt.

Their confessions claw under my skin and build a nest. The kind you can’t burn out. The kind that eats you from the inside.

I’m not this person, or at least, I wasn’t. I was rage and vengeance. I was the woman who built her career on gutting predators and walking out clean. And now?

Now my gut twists when I think about what might be behind their masks, about wanting them to crawl between my legs while I sleep. I dream about their hands and wake up soaking wet, caught between hatred and hunger.

My obsession used to be taking Reyes down. It was my everything. But now?

Now I’m obsessed withthem.

And I hate it.

Fuck, I should still be fighting this. I should be attacking the next asshole who walks through the door, seizing a vehicle, and getting the hell out of here, not thinking about the twisted thrill of another primal chase through their fucked-up playground. But their confessions have wormed beneath my defenses, gnawed at my resolve, and left me uncertain of everything I thought I knew about myself.

But instead, I’m still here sitting in this goddamn cage. I keep thinking about their hands. Their voices. The truth buried under all that armor. The confessions that carved deeper than any blade ever could.

I'm not this fucking woman. I’m unraveling. Piece by piece. And I don’t know how to stop it.

The door opens without warning—of course it does—and Rule walks in with a tray of scrambled eggs and a mug. He sets it down gently, then steps back—calm, back to the cool, controlled persona from before. Yesterday’s raw vulnerability might as well have never happened.

Suspicion gnaws at me, but I eat, grateful for the quiet reprieve even though it won't last long. I pick at the food slowly, eyes flicking toward the mug. It’s hot but not boiling when I finally take a sip—fresh coffee. That pisses me off more than if it had been cold. He didn’t just bring me food. He made sure it would be good. And of course, he watches.

Rule crosses his arms, voice smooth like steel wrapped in silk. "Still haven’t decided whether to stab me or fuck me again, have you?"

I don't even blink. "Not mutually exclusive."

He huffs a low breath through his mask—amused, maybe. “I figured if I brought hot coffee, I might not get stabbed today.”