Chapter 35
The darkness in the room is suffocating, pressing against me like a second skin. The air is thick, stale, filled with the scent of decay. My body aches, my throat raw from screaming. But no one is listening. No one is coming.
I try not to look at them—the bodies. Their stillness, the way their lifeless eyes seem to stare at nothing. The way the room feels heavier with their silence.
I pull my knees to my chest, rocking slightly, trying to focus on something else. Anything else.
Then, like a whisper through the madness, a memory surfaces.
My mother’s voice.
A song she used to hum whenever I was scared.
I close my eyes and force the melody out, my lips trembling as I hum the familiar tune. It’s barely a sound, but it’s something. Something that belongs to me.
The door creaks.
I freeze.
My pulse pounds in my ears as heavy footsteps approach. I don’t need to look up to know who it is.
Adrik.
The scent of his cologne reaches me before he does. Clean, sharp, expensive. It doesn’t belong in this room, among the filth and death.
I keep my head down.
A gloved hand grips my chin, tilting my face up.
His eyes meet mine—cold, unreadable, patient.
“You’re still in one piece,” he muses. “I was almost expecting you to break.”
I say nothing.
His fingers tighten slightly, just enough to remind me of the power he holds.
“Have you learned your lesson?”
I swallow, my throat burning. My body is weak, drained, exhausted. I can’t do this again.
I nod.
“Say it.”
My voice barely escapes. “Yes.”
He watches me for a moment, letting the silence stretch before releasing my chin.
“Good.” He straightens, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve. “Then stand up.”
I hesitate, my limbs stiff from days of stillness. But I force myself to my feet, wobbling slightly.
His hand catches my arm, steadying me, but his grip lingers longer than necessary.
“If you can tell me why I punished you, your time here ends now,” he says smoothly. “If not… well, I’m sure another night with them won’t hurt.”
My stomach tightens. Not another night.
I try to think. What does he want me to say?
I force the words out. “Because I disobeyed you.”
A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “That’s part of it.”
His head tilts slightly. He wants more.
I take a shaky breath. “Because I let someone else touch me.”
His expression darkens, his grip on my arm tightening for a brief moment before releasing.
“Now you understand,” he murmurs.
The tension in the air thickens.
He takes a step back, giving me space, but I know better than to believe it’s kindness.
“Come,” he says simply, turning toward the door.
I don’t hesitate. I follow.
Because I know that whatever is waiting beyond that door, whatever ‘lesson’ he still has planned for me—
It’s better than being left in this room.