Just fragments.
And then… this.
Cam’s eyes soften, but there’s something behind them—something dark and heavy he’s not saying.
“I got to you at the auction,” he says quietly. “I had to play their game. I bought you, Nell. That’s how I got you out.”
The words hit like a slap, but not because of him—because of what they mean.
Because that’s what it took.
“They think I’m one of them,” he adds, voice low. “That’s how I got close. That’s how I got you back.”
He brushes a strand of hair from my face, his touch trembling. “You’re safe now. I swear it.”
Safe.
The word feels foreign.
But in his arms, for the first time in forever, I start to believe it might be true.
My hands creep upward, slow and uncertain, like they’re moving through water. I press my palms to his chest first—solid, warm, steady beneath the soft cotton of his T-shirt. His heart beats beneath my touch, grounding me in a reality I still don’t fully trust.
I let my fingers wander, up the slope of his shoulders, along the curve of his neck, brushing the stubble along his jaw.
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t pull away.
He just lets me explore him like I’m trying to memorise him all over again.
And maybe I am.
I thread my fingers through his hair—longer than before, messier, like he hasn’t had time to care for it. It slips through my hands like silk, but it’s his scent that undoes me.
That familiar, quiet mix of soap and spice and something uniquely him.
It hits me like a wave—nostalgia, safety, grief—and I close my eyes, breathing him in like his scent alone can protect me.
“You’re real.”
The words fall from my lips, soft and reverent. Not a question. A declaration. Like if I say it out loud, it’ll stay true.
“Yes,” he whispers.
His long fingers cup my face, his thumb brushing gently beneath my eye. Then he tilts my chin up, coaxing my gaze to meet his.
His eyes—one warm and brown, the other strikingly pale—lock onto mine with a tenderness that shatters me.
And then the tears come. They slip down my cheeks in silence, hot and aching. Not just from relief. Not just from the overwhelming truth that I’m safe.
They’re happy tears.
But they’re also soaked in sorrow.
Because I got out. But Lea didn’t. She died in that room—brutalised, discarded, forgotten by everyone but me.
And I couldn’t save her.
Her eyes still haunt me. The way she stared into my soul as the life left her body.
