Chapter 58 The Photograph
Wynter's POV
The maintenance building was exactly as Jax had described—isolated, forgotten, with windows covered in grime that let in almost no light.
Before we entered, I glanced back at Rosalie, who had positioned herself near the corner of the building where she could see both approaches. She gave me a small nod, her expression tense but determined. "I'll keep watch," she'd said quietly. "If anyone comes, you'll know."
Chase had prepared one of the back rooms earlier, clearing away old equipment and setting up a chair that was bolted to the floor.
Owen didn't fight as we guided him inside. Didn't speak. Just moved with mechanical compliance, like he'd already left his body and was watching from somewhere far away.
"Sit," Chase said, not unkindly.
Owen sat.
I watched as Chase secured Owen's bound wrists to the chair with a second set of restraints, my stomach churning with each click of metal.
This was wrong. Everything about this was wrong. But I couldn't see another path forward.
This is what Anne did to me, I thought. Took away my choices. Hurt me and called it necessary.
But this was different. It had to be different.
Didn't it?
"Owen," I said, crouching in front of the chair so I could meet his eyes. "I know you don't believe us. I know you think we're going to hurt you, or use you, or betray you to Bloodrock. But I swear to you—we're going to get your sister out. We're going to keep her safe. You just have to trust us."
Owen finally looked at me, and the emptiness in his eyes was devastating. "You're wasting your time," he said flatly. "I won't tell you anything. You can do whatever you want to me—torture me, threaten me, keep me here until I starve—and I still won't tell you anything. Because the moment I do, she dies."
"She's already dying," Jax said from his position by the door. "We know she's in a labor camp, Owen. We know what Bloodrock is doing to her right now. Every day you stay silent is another day she suffers."
"You're lying. How the hell is she in a labor camp?" Owen snapped. "She's obviously better off now."
But Chase stepped closer to Owen, his expression grim as he crouched to meet him at eye level. "Owen," he said quietly. "I can prove I wasn't lying."
"I don't care what you—" Owen started, but something in Chase's tone made him stop.
Chase reached into his jacket and pulled out his phone, waking the screen with a swipe. "My contact in Bloodrock managed to get this," he said. "It's your sister, isn't it?"
He angled the phone so Owen could see the image.
Owen's breath caught, his eyes fixed on the image. The girl on the screen was gaunt, her face hollow, clothes torn and filthy. She stood in what looked like a quarry, surrounded by other children in similar states.
"That's not—" Owen's voice cracked. "That's not possible. They showed me—just tonight, my handler showed me a picture of her. She was smiling, wearing a blue dress, she looked healthy and—"
"When was that picture taken?" Chase asked quietly.
"Two weeks ago," Owen said automatically. "They send me updates every month to prove she's safe, to prove that as long as I cooperate—" He stopped, staring at the screen in Chase's hand with growing horror. "When was this one taken?"
"Six weeks ago," Chase said. "According to my contact."
Owen shook his head violently. "No. No, you're lying. You doctored this somehow, you—"
"Look at her face, Owen," Chase said, his voice gentle but inexorable. "Look at her eyes. Does this look doctored to you?"
Owen stared at the screen, and I watched as the color drained from his face. His mouth opened but no sound came out.
"The picture they showed you tonight," Chase continued. "I don't know exactly what it looked like, but I can guarantee it wasn't taken two weeks ago. They've been lying to you, Owen—showing you old photographs while your sister suffers in a labor camp."
"Stop," Owen whispered, but Chase didn't stop.
"They made you think your cooperation was keeping her safe. That every secret you passed along, every person you spied on, was protecting her. But the reality is she's been suffering this whole time, and you've been working for the people who are destroying her."
Owen pulled against the restraints with sudden violence, the chair scraping against the floor. "No. No, that can't be—they promised she'd be safe if I cooperated, they showed me proof, they—"
His voice broke completely, and for a moment I thought he might pass out. Whatever fragile hope he'd been clinging to had just shattered, leaving him with nothing but the terrible truth of his situation.
"Let me go," he said, his voice raw with desperation. "I need to—I have to get to her, I have to—"
"You're not going anywhere," Jax said, but his voice was gentler than usual. "Not until we figure out how to fix this."
Owen slumped back, the fight draining out of him as quickly as it had appeared. He stared at nothing, his expression cycling through shock, horror, disbelief, and finally settling into something that looked like despair.
"You don't understand," he said, his voice hollow. "Whatever you think you know, whatever you think you can do—it's too late. It's been too late for a long time."
"Then help us make it not too late," I said, crouching in front of him again. "Tell us what we need to know. Let us try to save her. Please, Owen. You've been fighting alone for so long. Let us fight with you."
For a moment, I thought he might refuse again, might retreat back into silence and resignation.
Then Owen looked up at me, and the devastation in his eyes was absolute.
"They showed me a picture tonight," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "My handler. The one wearing that ring you photographed. They pulled it up on their phone—Lily in what they said was her new placement. Better conditions, they said. A reward for my cooperation."
He stopped, swallowing hard.
"I really believed that photo. I believed them. I actually believed that things were getting better for her, that my work was paying off." His laugh was broken, bitter. "But if what you're saying is true, if that was an old photograph, then everything I've done—every person I've spied on, every secret I've passed along—it was all for nothing. She's been suffering this whole time and I've been helping the people who are hurting her."
Tears were streaming down his face now, unchecked and unashamed.
"So fine," he said, his voice cracking. "I'll tell you what you want to know. I'll help you try to save her. And when it all goes wrong, when Bloodrock kills her because I was stupid enough to hope—"
He stopped, unable to continue.
"Just make it quick," he finished. "When they come for her, make sure she doesn't suffer. That's all I ask."
I felt tears burning in my eyes, but I nodded. "We'll save her, Owen. I promise you. We'll save her."