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“What do you have planned?” he asks as I take his empty plate.

“The usual. I’m reviewing some new gym equipment for a supplier, and then I’ll be doing some socials this afternoon. Pretty standard.”

“Do you like what you do?”

Not a question I would have expected him to ask, and suspicion rises in my throat. I know he’s only being nice so I let him leave. He’s probably kidnapped enough people to know that if you can’t initially fight your way out, you have to play the long game and win their trust. But that won’t be happening with me.

“I do. I get to do what I’m good at and share it with the world.”

He nods. “You help people.”

Yes, exactly.“I try to.”

He smiles, a small dimple forming beneath his day-old stubble. He looks good with a bit of scruff. His normal look is so clean-cut, with sharp lines. The rough ironically softens him.

“You might be the worst kidnapper in the world. I’m pretty sure you’re meant to make me feel awful while I’m here. Not give me a comfortable bed and a nine-hour sleep.”

“You’re not here to be tortured. You’re here to listen. And eventually, once I’ve won you over, give me my brotherback.”

He ponders my words, and I head toward the stairs, eager to get my day started.

“Olivia . . .”

I turn and see he’s pulled one foot up onto the bed, his arm resting on his knee. The picture of relaxation, leaned back against the wall. If I took his photo and posted it now, my following would increase by ten percent within a day, I’m sure of it.

“Have you thought that your brother might not want to be set free?” He speaks softly, like the tone of a police officer who has come to tell you that your relative has been in an accident. There’s a pity in it that I can’t stomach.

Of course I’ve thought about it. But he’s nineteen; he’s too young to commit his whole life to this man. Our parents would never have allowed it.

Heading toward the stairs, I don’t reply. I don’t want to argue with him, and regardless, it doesn’t seem the best way to get him on my side.

“I’ll be back later, okay? Think things over.”

“Wait . . . how's your head?”

“Oh.” I pause and turn back around. Placing the plates on the shelving unit, I run my fingers through my hair and push it back, revealing the scab running along my forehead. “It’s not too bad.”

“Are you gonna go to the doctor today at least?” he asks.

I’m surprised, shocked even. Why would he care whether I go to the doctor? His face is concerned, his voice sincere. I can’t read any manipulation from him. Either he’s a master at it, or he’s genuinely concerned.

“I’m okay, honestly. If I get any symptoms, I promise to go straight to the hospital.”

His brows knit together but he eventually gives me a small nod.

“Talk to your brother, Olivia.”

Ignoring his last suggestion, I pick up the plates andreturn upstairs to work through the rest of my list.

???

Austin’s concern for my well-being threw me into somewhat of a tailspin. The warmth in my chest grew cold at the mention of my brother. He wasn’t going to let him go. That much was clear.

At least not yet.

It seems that, in addition to this parting gift, the universe saw fit to grace me with more challenges today. My mom always used to say bad news comes in threes, but I disagree. It comes in threes, and then you just start counting from one again.

Of course, I’ve been distracted, imagining ways to convince Austin to let my brother go, my thoughts drifting to some dark places: I could deprive him of food and water. I could take away his mattress and blanket. This could escalate into something truly torturous. I have the imagination, but none of the follow-through.