Finally, he sighs tiredly, running a hand down his face.
"Fine." He dips his head once. "But from now on, we do things my way. No more risks, no more disobedience." His eyes flick back to me. "If we’re going to survive this, we need to be united."
I nod once, but we both know this isn’t over.
This truce is fragile.
And I don’t trust it to last.
I slip away from Luca and Valentina, stepping into the hush of the corridor. The quiet is deeper here, but something lingers—an echo that won’t settle, a presence that winds through the walls like a serpent made of shadow, curling and twisting, never truly gone. It clings like the last wisps of smoke from a fire that refuses to die.
I should surrender to sleep, let exhaustion pull me under, let the night take me.
But I don’t.
Instead, I find myself back beside Sofia’s room. The guards straighten when they see me approach, their expressions stiff, but they step aside without a word. I nod at them before slipping inside, closing the door softly behind me.
The room holds its silence, heavy and undisturbed. Soft light pools along the walls, stretching shadows into something restless, shifting. The scent of lavender lingers—faint but steady, a whisper of something gentle against the brutality of the night we barely escaped.
Sofia is awake. She sits up in bed, dark eyes finding mine the moment I step through the door.
For a moment, I only look at her.
She’s pale, still too fragile, the weight of everything she’s endured written in the bruises blooming along her skin. Her wrists are free now, but the ghosts of the ropes remain, raw imprints circling her skin like quiet accusations. Her lower lip is swollen, a bruise shadowing her cheekbone, and something inside me pulls tight—hot and sharp, anger winding deep in my ribs.
I didn’t get to them all.
Sofia shifts, pulling the blanket tighter around herself. "Why am I locked in here like a prisoner?" Her voice is hoarse but strong, layered with accusation.
I let out a slow, uneven breath, my hand raking down my face. I should’ve seen this coming. She’s clawed her way out ofone cage, only to wake up in another, the fight still etched into her bones.
But I’m too fucking tired to be questioned again.
"You’re not a prisoner," I say, my voice flat.
She scoffs. "Then why are there guards at the door? Why can’t I leave?"
"For your safety."
Her eyes flash. "And I don’t get a say in that?"
My teeth press together, the tension grinding through me. I shouldn’t snap at her, shouldn’t let this frustration—this raw, blistering rage at everything that led us here—push its way out.
But it does.
And I know. I know she’s speaking from fear, from exhaustion, from being worn thin by everything she’s endured. But knowing doesn’t make it any easier to hold back.
"Goddamn it, Sofia." The words snap from my throat, harsh and unfiltered. "I just risked everything to get you out of there, and now you’re going to sit here and fight me on keeping you safe?"
Her lips part slightly, her breath catching in her throat. Then, suddenly, her face crumples.
Tears well in her eyes, her shoulders trembling, and fuck?—
I messed up.
In the next second, I’m at her side, my hands framing her face before I even realize what I’m doing. "Shit, Sofia?—"
She grabs my wrist, tight and desperate, and before I can say anything else, she pulls.
