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Everything felt…fuzzy. Calix groaned, blinking as he dragged himself from a deep sleep that had left him with a headache.

Wait.

No, it hadn’t been a sleep at all, had it?

He jolted, cursing when something rough tugged at his wrists, keeping them bound behind him. His ankles had been secured as well, and he frowned at them, lost for a moment. How had he ended up chained to a chair?

And where the hell were his clothes?

Calix stared down at his chest and thighs, unable to process exactly what he was seeing and why.

He was covered in love bites. Hickies and full-on bite marks, some still wet with saliva, decorated his bare flesh. When he shifted in his seat, he felt tiny stings and burns from some of the worst injuries.

Like the outline of teeth that had broken skin on his inner left thigh. A few droplets of blood had rolled from the wound.

“You’ll have to forgive Aodhan,” a calm voice cut through his jumbled thoughts. “He’s brilliant, but he often struggles to see the forest for the trees, so to speak.”

Titus Mercer, the director of Hopeful Heart Hospital, and the man Cal had once had a sort of crush on, stood in the center of the room, seemingly putting something together. His focus remained on the task at hand, never once sparing Cal a glance, despite obviously being aware he’d woken up.

It felt dismissive in the worst of ways, which only added fuel to the fire, helping to shove some of that confusion down.

Did it really matter how he’d ended up here? All that counted was why .

“He’s too reactive. I’ve warned him countless times that his sporadic nature was going to get him in trouble someday, but he never listens,” Titus continued, moving to attach what appeared to be a metal pulley to the opposite wall.

They were in a small white room with a cot and the chair Calix was currently stuck on.

There weren’t any windows, so he couldn't gauge what time of day it was or how long he’d been unconscious.

The single entrance had been left ajar, but he was only able to catch a glimpse of a hallway and nothing else.

Were they still in Aodhan’s house, or had they brought him somewhere else? Somewhere off the beaten path, where they could murder him and cut him into pieces uninterrupted?

A cop had been shot and Aodhan was the one behind what had happened to him the night of the reunion. Neither of those things were good signs. Added to the fact it’d been the doctor who’d brought him to that party where the merman had been cut in half and…Well.

Cal wasn’t stupid.

Or maybe he was, because despite knowing all of that and realizing he’d gotten himself tied up in a shitshow, he still felt a tug of annoyance and jealousy toward Titus.

“I don’t need you to tell me about Aodhan Solace,” Calix growled, trying to test the cuffs at his wrists more carefully now that he was aware of them. The metal seemed thick and didn’t offer much give. He could lean forward a few inches, but that was all.

He wasn’t going to be able to get out of them on his own.

Fuck.

In actuality, he did need the director to tell him about Aodhan, because obviously everything Cal thought he knew about the man was false. Granted, they hadn’t known each other for long, but still. They’d been close…intimate, even.

Images of the video he’d been played in their kitchen before Titus knocked him out caused him to still as bile rose in the back of his throat. It wasn’t because he was disgusted by the doctor who’d raped him the night of the reunion and pinned it on someone else though.

All of that disgust was aimed directly at himself, because Calix also recalled his initial reaction to discovering the trick.

Relief.

He’d been relieved that the person who’d witnessed him blubbering and begging for it like an idiot had been Aodhan and not Heathe.

That relief was gone now, however, replaced with a deeply rooted mortification that instantly had him wanting to cave into his own skin and disappear.

“Should I tell you about myself then?” Titus asked, casual tone such a juxtaposition to their situation and the way Cal was feeling it was insane.

Then again, all of this was.

Insanity.

“You like long walks on the beach, pretending to be nice, and murdering people?” Cal shrugged when that finally earned him a glance from the director. “What? I took a shot in the dark. Can’t blame me if I was accurate.”

Being alone in his presence made Calix uncomfortable in a unique way he could never quite put his finger on.

It always had. Underneath that ardent gaze, Calix wanted to squirm.

It was worse this time, because it didn’t seem like the director was holding anything back now.

Before, there’d always been a mysterious edge to him, a cold aloofness that helped create this false sense of distance and, therefore, safety.

It was gone now.

Titus turned to face him and then tilted his head. “What exactly do you think is going on here, Calix?”

“It’s kind of obvious.” He used his chin to motion at the blank room. “You’re going to kill me.”

“For?”

“What?” Cal frowned.

“Exactly my point. What’s the reason I would want to kill you?”

“Because I found out what you are?” Why did he sound unsure of himself? “I witnessed you shoot Amory.”

“Kind of hypocritical,” Titus said. “Just a few days ago, you were the one holding a gun on me. Tell me, honestly, you were strongly considering shooting me that day, weren’t you?”

He was referring to the incident at the hospital when Rhett, their main suspect in the serial murders, threatened Titus with a stolen blaster. The weapon had later been linked back to Amory.

“Is that why you did it?” Calix ignored his question, offering one of his own instead. Mostly because it probably wasn’t wise to confess to the man currently holding him against his will that yes, yes he had considered shooting him.

Cal didn’t like acknowledging that truth either, for what it was worth.

Had hoped to bury the whole ordeal as deep as possible and never have to bring it up again.

If he’d made it off the planet as intended, he would have been successful.

Instead, he’d made the stupid decision to visit Aodhan one last time.

To say goodbye.

Like a sentimental fool.

Or, perhaps, a hopeful one.

“It would have been a great cover,” Titus mused. “If you’d shot, you could have pinned the blame on Rhett. Almost everyone would have believed you.”

Calix frowned. “Almost?”

“Our doctor would know the truth. He wouldn’t let you off easily if you’d gone through with it. Let’s just say, you wouldn’t be here, under these pleasant circumstances, that’s for certain.”

“Pleasant.” He tugged at his bound wrists pointedly and glared.

“You did try to kill me, Detective.”

“You—” Calix had almost slipped and played into the director's hand, but he caught himself, changing his sentence and pretending like it was what he’d intended to say all along. “You’re still breathing, aren’t you?”

“Only because your partner walked in on us.”

Cal scowled. “I wouldn’t have actually gone through with it.”

Titus eyed him closely. “You truly believe that.”

“Because it’s the truth. I’m an I.P.F. agent. Not a murderer.”

“Only because Nero Quinten didn’t die and I helped you get away with hitting him with your car.”

“Stop.” Calix shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about the past.”

“That’s your problem,” he stated. “You’re always running away. It’s not cute anymore. Or perhaps it never was. I’ll get a confession out of you eventually, you have my word on that, but since you aren’t ready, let’s continue our other chat. Amory. Do you feel bad for her?”

“I don’t have to feel bad that she’s dead to know what you did was wrong.” Truthfully, no, he didn’t feel bad for the now deceased cop. She’d been nice to him when she’d been alive, but that was before he’d discovered her involvement with the case he’d been working.

Before she’d helped murder Police Chief Bruce, whom Cal actually had cared for.

Some dark, inner voice whispered he probably wouldn’t feel bad even if none of that were true, asked him if he even really believed that it was, but he silenced it and focused on the director.

“What’s right and wrong, really?” Titus slipped his hands into the front pockets of the form-fitting black slacks he was wearing, drawing attention to his impeccable style of dress.

It was as though he hadn’t just killed one cop and kidnapped another. He’d removed the dark brown blazer he’d been in when Calix had arrived, but the cashmere black turtleneck was still on, making it seem like he was ready to head to a cocktail party.

It was off-putting because it gave the impression that this wasn’t unusual for him. That shooting something at point-blank range wasn’t unusual.

“Yeah,” Cal backtracked, “actually. Tell me about yourself.” If they had to talk about something, he’d much rather be in charge of the topic. The fact he didn’t give a shit about Amory wasn’t exactly making him feel good about himself.

Titus was right. He was always running.

And he didn’t plan on stopping any time soon.

The corner of the director’s mouth curved upward ever so slightly, but that was the only indication he gave that he found Calix’s change of heart amusing. “Let’s see…You already covered the long walks on the beach part.” He hummed, clearly pretending to think it over.

“You’re always like this,” Cal blurted before he could help himself. “Coy and unattainable.”

“I’d make an offhanded remark about how we haven’t known each other long enough for you to make that observation, but I’ll save us both the bother. As much as you loathe discussing the past, you’re the one who brought us back to it this time.”

Calix opened his mouth to disagree, but Titus wasn’t finished.

“Your trial went on for over three months, and I was there almost every step of the way.”

“You shouldn’t have been,” Cal said, recalling how confused he’d been by the then-surgeon’s constant presence. “Why’d they even let you?”