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Lex plucked the cloth napkin from the rack and spread it over his lap like he was preparing for a picnic. He forked a small piece of lamb and held it between the bars.

“Here,” he said, gently. “You need to eat.”

Ollie stayed put.

Lex didn’t react. He just kept holding the bite there.

And waited.

Morgan watched the moment stretch—past politeness, past command.

Long enough to make the space between words hurt.

Long enough for the cage to stop being a punishment and start feeling like a new way of life.

The absence of command was itself a command—sharp and precise. Lingering long enough so that its weight could actually carry.

Not bad.

Lex tilted his head. Still waiting.

“It’s not poisoned,” Lex said finally. He chuckled. “It’s just dinner. You’re allowed to eat. I know it’s not the dry cereal you like, but… a treat isn’t bad every once in a while.”

Still, Ollie didn’t take it.

So Lex set it down on the floor—just outside the bars.

Then he cut another piece. Ate it slowly. Moaned, soft and high, like it was decadent.

“ God , it’s good,” he said.

Lex hated lamb. Morgan wasn’t sure why he even ordered it until now.

Another offering went outside the cage. Then another.

A little altar of meat and honeyed carrot, arranged with precision. The napkin beneath it looked like a mirror image of the larger plates.

Ollie watched the food—watched every morsel with eyes so large they didn’t quite fit his skull anymore.

“Go ahead,” Lex said. “You’re doing so well.”

Morgan’s pulse kicked once.

It wasn’t the phrase. Not exactly .

It was the timing.

Lex gave praise like breadcrumbs—placed with care, spaced just far enough apart to make the subject crawl for them. The sweetness wasn’t earned. It wasn’t genuine.

It was strategic.

One more thing Lex had—somehow—silently picked up.

And Ollie, like a child too hungry to remember what pride tasted like, began to move.

He uncurled himself from the strange, half-fetal position he’d stayed in, hand reaching through the bars. His wrist stuck, and he sucked in air through his teeth.

But his fingers still stretched toward the food.

Lex kept still as Ollie pulled the first bite of lamb through the bars. Didn’t soften when he whimpered, or when his teeth bit through his lip hard enough to draw blood. Lex just reached forward and brushed Ollie’s hair behind his ear.

“There we go,” Lex whispered. “Good boy.”

Morgan closed his eyes.

He couldn’t watch that part—not because he didn’t want to.

Because he wanted to too much.

When he opened them again, Lex was humming the same thing. Low, tuneless. A lullaby, maybe. Or something from the radio Lex had half-heard once. The melody didn’t matter. The effect did.

Ollie ate like a starving animal.

Fast. Aggressive. As if the food might vanish if he blinked.

No care given to the mess of orange under his fingernails.

Lex didn’t tease. He didn’t gloat .

He just wiped Ollie’s chin with a napkin after each bite. Murmured nonsense.

“You’re safe now.”

“You’re okay.”

“You’re doing so well.”

It was all a lie.

And Morgan couldn’t stop watching.

There was no hesitation in Lex’s movements. No flicker of guilt or second thoughts. Just clean lines and soft commands.

Lex had taken something horrific—ritual humiliation, dismantling of self—and made it crisp and clean. Elegant in a way Morgan had never got to witness in person.

When the tears started, Lex didn’t scold. He just whispered, “Don’t cry. You’ll choke.”

And Ollie, red-faced and shaking, nodded like that made sense. Like Lex was trying to help.

Morgan breathed in deep. Let the glass of bourbon rest on his thigh.

The air smelled like meat and wine. Sweat and rot.

Lex folded the napkin beside him. Sipped his can of pop. Crossed his ankles.

Monstrous and so utterly mine.

He looked absolutely beautiful.

Ollie had stopped eating.

It wasn’t a refusal.

It wasn’t even rebellion.

His fingers had gone still near the napkin. His mouth hung slightly open, breath fogging the bars. His eyes no longer tracked Lex’s hands or the can of pop.

They drifted.

Loose. Fogged. Like the part of him that knew where he was had gone to sleep.

Lex may have noticed, but he didn’t say anything.

He just reached forward and wiped the corner of Ollie’s mouth with a clean towel. Folded the napkin into a square again. Dabbed a speck of lamb grease from the floor.

As if the cage needed tidying already.

Ollie blinked slowly. Like someone waking up in a dream they didn’t remember falling into.

Then—barely audible—he whispered, “I want to go home.”

Morgan shifted his grip on the glass. Took another drink.

This sounded like someone beginning to spiral. Lost in their own mind. Trapped somewhere beyond the physical.

And that was the most difficult thing to keep under control.

“I want to go home,” Ollie said again. A little louder. Still breathless.

Lex didn’t respond.

He didn’t coo. Didn’t lie this time.

He just hummed. That same tuneless melody, slow and steady, as he tossed the can in the trash.

Morgan watched Ollie twitch, just slightly, like a glitch in an old tape. His breath hitched. His hands tightened into fists .

“I want to go home,” he said again. Faster now. As if it might call something back.

His voice cracked on the next one. “I want to go home.”

Lex didn’t even look up.

He was cleaning again—wiping down the inside of the bars with a damp towel, never rushing.

“I want to go home,” Ollie whispered.

Over.

And over.

And over.

It had stopped being a plea five repetitions ago.

It had become something else.

A mantra. A prayer to a version of himself that hadn’t been twisted into wire.

Lex didn’t hush him. Didn’t contradict him.

He just smiled.

“You are home, Ollie,” Lex said, brushing another piece of hair off Ollie’s forehead. “You never left.”

Ollie blinked. Slow. Like maybe he’d misheard.

But Lex kept going, voice quiet and even.

“This is the only place you’ll ever be again.” His fingers grazed Ollie’s jaw. “And that’s okay, right?”

Ollie shook his head, slowly at first. Then faster. “N—no. No, that’s… that’s not true.”

“What day is it, Ollie? Hm? Tuesday? Sunday? What time is it? Do you know? Can you tell me?”

The shaking stopped. Ollie’s gaze dropped to his knees, fingers curled tight around the bars.

“Tuesday. No. No, it’s Wednesday. Friday? I… ”

It was Thursday.

Lex’s hands covered Ollie’s, clasped onto the metal cage. “How could I ever feel okay with you being out there—all alone—when you can’t even answer simple questions? You said how dangerous London can be. You’re safe here. With me.”

And Ollie believed him.

Morgan could see it—the way his eyes flickered, then stilled. How his shoulders dropped, how his breath slowed. A silent surrender.

Lex had lied so beautifully it had folded into the truth.

Morgan’s spine straightened.

He’d seen Lex lie before—seen him bluff and scheme and bite. But this? This wasn’t performance.

This wasn’t some skill he’d picked up watching Morgan. This was something else—something Lex already had sitting in his own mind. Just waiting for the right moment, the right victim, to come out.

And it stunned Morgan in a way nothing else had.

He’d thought Lex needed him. Thought Lex was still learning, still playing at something darker, deeper. But now—

Now Lex didn’t need Morgan’s approval.

He didn’t need instruction.

And Morgan—watching, drink forgotten, still—felt something sharp twist beneath his ribs.

Awe.

And grief.

He’d thought he would always be the biggest monster in the room.

But Lex didn’t need a bigger monster.

What he craved now was an audience all his own.

Ollie’s hands traced the bars like he was trying to count them blind.

“I’m—I’m trying. I’m sorry, for earlier. I’m just—just confused, I think.”

Lex nodded. “I know. Why don’t you get some rest, okay? You’ll feel so much better in the morning.”

Ollie simply… shut down. His breathing went soft. His gaze drifted to the edge of the towel like it was the most important thing in the room.

Morgan had seen that look before.

On victims.

In the mirror.

Dissociation had a smell and sound all its own.

Lex had conjured all of it with a few well placed words and a plate of food.

He wiped down the bars one last time and tucked the towel into the cage handle. Smoothed it flat. Gathered the napkin and silverware like he was packing up after a dinner party.

There were few moments in Morgan’s life that left him speechless. This one didn’t demand silence—it commanded it.

Lex stood. Not shaky. Not wired. Just flushed and still, like something inside him had finally clicked into place.

Those blue eyes met Morgan’s.

“Tell me you don’t trust me now,” he whispered.