His hand moved toward his coat pocket. A glint of metal—a syringe?—before it vanished. "In fact, I was hoping we could discuss your work somewhere more private. I have opportunities that might interest someone with your... particular talents."
"I need to go." I turned toward the door, but Julian shifted to block my path. Not obviously. Just moving so leaving would require pushing past him.
"Don't be rude, Micah. I'm trying to help your career." His smile sharpened, becoming more predatory. "Besides, I think Ezra would be very interested to know how thoroughly he's... trained... his protégé. Such devoted work deserves recognition, don't you think?"
The threat hung between us, barely veiled but unmistakable. Julian knew something. Enough to be dangerous. And the way he said 'trained' made my teeth clench, as if Daddy was some kind of handler instead of the man who'd seen me completely and chosen to nurture what lived in my shadows.
"What do you want?" I asked quietly.
"Just conversation. A chance to get to know Ezra's protégé better." His eyes glittered. "I have a car outside. We can talk privately."
Every instinct screamed danger, but what choice did I have? If Julian really knew about our work, refusing him could expose everything. The image flashed before me: police breaking down Daddy's door, flashlights illuminating preservedspecimens, our private sanctuary defiled by strangers who could never understand its beauty. Headlines screaming about "The Ravencrest Ripper and His Profane Protégé." Ezra in handcuffs, his career, our future, everything we'd built together destroyed in an instant.
I could harvest organs without flinching, could reduce men to artistic components, but the thought of losing him made my hands shake. The stump of my amputated finger throbbed.
"Fine," I said. "But I need to text Ezra first. Let him know where I'm going."
"Of course." Julian's smile widened. "Take your time."
I pulled out my phone, setting my coffee cup on a nearby table to type:
Julian ambush. Suspicious. Threatening exposure. Help.
My thumb hovered over send as Julian's shadow fell across the screen. I quickly deleted the message, fingers trembling as I typed a replacement while he loomed beside me:
Ran into Julian from gallery at Le Petite Jardin. Discussing opportunities. Call soon.
"Telling Daddy all about our little chat?" Julian asked, his breath warm against my ear as he peered at the screen.
I tilted the phone away, heart hammering. "Just letting him know I'll be late."
"Don't forget your coffee," he said, sliding the cup back toward me. "Hate to see good caffeine go to waste."
The first sip tasted normal. Rich, bitter, exactly what I'd ordered. But dizziness swept through me almost immediately. The coffee cup slipped from suddenly nerveless fingers, hot liquid splashing across the tile. The moth fell from my grip, landing beside the spilled coffee, its blue glow flickering frantically. Julian's arm steadied me as my knees buckled, his grip firm but false.
"Careful there," he murmured against my ear. "Don't want you hurting yourself."
The barista looked up at the sound, but Julian waved dismissively, making a subtle drinking gesture with his free hand. "I'll help him to my car."
My vision blurred at the edges. Whatever he'd dosed me with worked fast—muscles slackening despite my efforts to stand. The phone slipped from my grip, landing beside my abandoned moth.
I’d spent months learning control with Daddy. Precision with a scalpel. Steadiness even covered in blood. The discipline to hold a subject's eye open without flinching. Now, my body betrayed me. Muscles turned to water. Thoughts to fog. The loss of mastery was more terrifying than death.
"Good boy," Julian whispered as he guided me toward the door.
Those words in his mouth tasted like ash on my tongue. A blasphemy. They belonged to Daddy. Only Daddy could call me that. My lips parted, seeking the comfort of Ezra's chest, instinct driving me toward a sanctuary I couldn't reach.
Morning air bit my skin as Julian helped me toward a black sedan. My legs moved mechanically, body obeying Julian's guidance while my mind screamed warnings I couldn't voice.
"Daddy's going to look for me," I managed to slur, fighting to form words through the chemical fog.
"Oh, I'm counting on it," Julian replied, opening the passenger door. "That's rather the point."
He eased me into the seat, buckling the seatbelt around my increasingly unresponsive body. The world tilted sideways as he closed the door, my reflection showing dilated pupils and slack features.
Julian slid into the driver's seat, starting the engine. He hummed softly to himself as he pulled away from the curb.
The last thing I managed before darkness claimed me was the realization that Ezra's breakfast sat abandoned on the counter, growing cold while I disappeared into Julian's carefully laid trap.
