Page 21

I can’t stop thinking about his face.

The man who called himself my father. The one who left me in the dark, who turned his back and never looked back. I remember the way his voice sounded muffled through a door I couldn’t open. I remember the silence that followed. Hours. Days.

I remember crying so hard I forgot how to speak.

Now—he’s back. Stumbling through the garden like some broken ghost, muttering my name like it still belongs to him.

He doesn’t deserve a single second of my thoughts; yet here I am, hours later, still tangled in them.

I lie in bed with my body perfectly still, pretending to sleep. The blankets rise and fall with my breath, but my mind is a storm. Kolya’s guards passed through the hallway a few minutes ago—quiet, but not quiet enough. I’ve memorized their schedule. That’s what happens when you spend your days caged in velvet. You learn the rhythm of your prison.

I wait for the shift change. When it comes, I move.

Quietly. Smoothly.

I slide from the bed, already dressed beneath the covers. Something comfortable. Dark. Easy to move in. The moonlight barely touches the room, but I don’t need light. I know the layout by now. The hidden corridors, the service stairwell near the west wing, the rusted latch on the side exit Kolya probably doesn’t even remember exists.

My shoes are in my hand. I slip them on just before I reach the door.

There’s no one outside.

I move like a shadow, keeping close to the walls, avoiding the security cams I’ve learned to track. It’s not a flawless escape, but it doesn’t need to be. Not if they’re not expecting it.

Only—they are.

I just don’t know that yet.

The street beyond the compound is quiet, cold, the kind of empty that hums with danger. I don’t pause. I know where I’m going.

He told me.

In the seconds before Kolya’s men dragged him off, he leaned forward and hissed something at me.

“Under the old bridge. Midnight. Two nights.”

I hadn’t believed I’d actually go.

Here I am.

The bridge is crumbling at the edges, its underpass thick with moss and damp. Broken glass crunches beneath my steps. I hear the water running nearby—slow and black, a ribbon through the darkness.

I hate that I’m here, but hate is nothing new.

He’s already waiting when I approach. Same flannel shirt. Same slumped posture. Like he’s been drinking the past two days straight and can’t remember how to stand.

“Elise,” he says, lighting up when he sees me. “You came.”

My arms fold across my chest before I can stop them. “Only for answers.”

He nods quickly, eyes glassy. “I can explain. I wanted to explain. They—they wouldn’t let me. That man—your husband, or whatever the hell he is—”

“He’s not the reason I was in a closet alone at eight years old,” I snap.

That shuts him up, at least for a second.

“I was young,” he mutters. “Scared. Your mother was gone. I didn’t know what to do. The drugs were—”

“I don’t care,” I bite out. “You don’t get to blame a needle for locking up your daughter and disappearing.”

“I didn’t disappear.” His voice trembles, desperate. “I left you at the orphanage. You were taken care of—look at you now! You’re alive, aren’t you?”

Alive. As if that’s the bar.

He steps forward like he might touch me. I move back without thinking.

“You’re not my father,” I say. “Not really.”

His mouth opens, closes.

“You’re just a man who left.”

He nods, slowly. “Maybe, but I’m also the only one left. The only one with the truth.”

I hesitate. My heart skips. “What truth?”

He smiles, crooked and hollow. “About the Ember Trust. About why they took you. Why they paid for everything. Why that rich bastard came sniffing around all those years ago asking about a girl with no name and no ties.”

My stomach twists. “What do you know?”

“I know who he is,” he says, eyes narrowing. “That Kolya Sharov. I know what he did before you ever laid eyes on him. You think he found you by accident?”

I feel the blood drain from my face.

He chuckles, dry. “You think you’re free now? You think you’re his equal? He picked you for a reason, Elise. You’re a name on a list, a piece of a deal made long before you knew what power even was.”

I step forward. “What deal?”

Before he can answer, I hear it—the crunch of gravel.

I whirl around just as headlights flare. Doors slam. Footsteps. I count at least three. Maybe four.

“Shit,” my father mutters.

Too late, I realize what’s happening.

I wasn’t lucky. I was allowed to find him.

The men don’t shout. They don’t run. They move with practiced efficiency.

Within seconds, I’m seized by the arm. One of them shoves my father to his knees. His hands go up, trembling.

“Please—please, I wasn’t—”

“Quiet,” one of the men snaps.

“Elise!” he shouts. “He chose you—don’t you see that? It was never an accident.”

The words barely have time to settle in my brain before a rough hand clamps around my arm and yanks me backward. I stumble, breath caught in my throat, fingers scrabbling for something—anything—to hold on to.

“Wait—what are you—” My voice breaks as panic surges through my chest.

The men don’t wear Kolya’s colors. Their movements aren’t as precise, their hands rougher, greedier. One of them grabs my jaw, turning my face toward the streetlight. A flashlight beam stabs into my eyes. He grunts something in Russian, confirming something to the others.

That’s when it hits me.

These aren’t Kolya’s men. This isn’t Kolya.

I twist hard, driving my elbow back into a stomach—someone curses—but I’m too slow, too stunned. Another grabs me from behind, pinning my arms, dragging me toward the idling van parked just out of sight beneath the bridge.

“No!” I scream, kicking wildly. “Let go of me!”

“Elise—”

I whip around, eyes searching for the voice, desperate.

There he is. My father, standing there, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, watching.

“You—” I choke on the word, stumbling as they shove me forward. “You set me up ?”

He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t move. His face says it all.

He did. He walked me into this like it was nothing. Like I was nothing.

A bag is yanked over my head. The world vanishes in darkness. I scream, loud and sharp, raw from the back of my throat.

“KOLYA!” I shout, my voice echoing off the stone arch above us. “Help me! Please—somebody!”

The van door slams open. My knees scrape the metal as they force me inside. Hands push me down, hard. My wrists are yanked behind me, bound with something rough and unyielding. I thrash, my breath ragged inside the stifling canvas of the blindfold.

“ Don’t fight ,” one of them growls in my ear.

“Fuck you,” I spit, kicking until someone grabs my ankles too.

Everything spins. My body jerks with each turn of the tires as the van lurches forward, accelerating fast. The floor vibrates beneath me. My cheek is pressed to cold steel. I can taste blood where I must’ve bitten my lip, but I barely feel it.

Terror blots everything else out.

“KOLYA!” I scream again, my voice hoarse. “ Please !”

I don’t care how it sounds. I don’t care if it makes me weak. I just want him to find me. To storm in with that fury I’ve seen in his eyes, the violence he wears like a second skin.

I want him to come for me, but n o one answers.

I’m alone in the dark. Again.

My father’s words echo in my skull. He chose you.

He chose me, but what if Kolya was never the only monster in this game?

What if I’ve just been handed off—traded like currency—by the only two men who were ever supposed to protect me?

The van swerves. I hit the side wall with a thud, gasping, coughing against the fabric at my mouth. My wrists burn. My head throbs. My lungs feel too full, like I can’t get air, like the darkness is swallowing it before it reaches me.

I scream again, just to hear something.

It’s useless. The van barrels forward into the night, and I have no idea where I’m being taken.