She’ll assume Manticore got to me too.
I need a plan—a way out—but this girl’s a riddle I can’t crack. One minute she’s wielding utensils like weapons, the next she’s dabbing at my wounds like some conflicted Florence Nightingale. She doesn’t seem sure whether she’s a captor or a caregiver, and frankly, neither am I.
She doesn’t seem to know what she wants. Hell, I’m not sure she even knows who she is in this.
Maybe charm could buy me a chance. Ease her guard. Turn the tide.
Not that I remember how to flirt, much less charm someone under duress. That skill rusted away years ago.
She’s been gone a while. I haven’t seen her since she patched me up—just the occasional clatter and the steady rhythm of a knife against the chopping board drifting in from the kitchen. My stomach grumbles, shameless in its betrayal.She must be planning something, but I’ll be damned if I can tell what.
Talia’s never going to believe this mess. She’ll think I’ve lost it—rambling about mystery girls and makeshift prison cells, babbling about kitchen tape and rolling pins like some trauma-addled lunatic. And just as I’m sinking deeper into that thought, the doorbell rings.
She reappears in a rush, clutching a roll of black duct tape like she’s done this before. There’s no warning—just a swift movement as she tears a strip and slaps it across my mouth, firm, almost apologetic. But her focus isn’t on me. Her gaze is fixed on the front door, muscles taut, breath shallow. Something has her spooked.
She raises a finger to her lips, commanding silence without a word. Then, as if this is all part of some deeply deranged routine, she scoops up the cat, nudges it into the room with me, and shuts the door behind her, locking us both in that strange, charged quiet.
I strain to listen. It’s a man—his voice clipped and commanding, each word sharp enough to cut.
“Where the fuck did you put it?”
“No, he’s not here, I sent him to my friend’s,” she says, but her voice splinters, brittle with fear.
Then the chaos starts; the crash of pans, a sickening thud of flesh against countertop. My blood ices. They’re fighting. Or rather, he’s attacking her.
Whoever he is, he’s violent. And the unpredictability of what’s happening the other side of that door churns my stomach.
I lurch forward, straining against the restraints, desperate for a glimpse. If I could just see his face, lock it into memory, I’d carry it with me—use it if I get out of here.
Regardless of whatever she’s done to me, however wrong or deranged this situation is, nothing justifies that kind of brutality. You don’t raise a hand to a woman in violence. Ever.
“I’m taking what’s mine, Nell—whether you like it or not. Next time I show up, you’d better have exactly what I want, or you’ll get worse than this warning. Got it?”
He spits the words like poison, then the door slams—hard enough to rattle the walls.
But she doesn’t come back. Not a word, not a sound. Just the brittle sweep of glass, methodical and slow. She’s restoring order, or trying to at least. And I think I’ve just had the first glimpse into her life.
Nell.
At least I have a name to put to the face now.
I wrestle with the restraints, straining to free even one limb—but it’s pointless. She’s good with knots, I’ll give her that. They’re tight and methodical, and completely damning. They possess the kind of skill that suggests she’s done this before.
And still, even now, I’ve got no clue what I’ll do once I’m free. She won’t go quietly—that much is obvious. And Manticore? They don’t leave loose ends. She’s practically made of them.
Somewhere nearby, she’s crying. Not quietly either—raw, hiccupping sobs that echo through the walls. She’s kidding herself if she thinks I can’t hear.
Why the hell do I feel sorry for her? She kidnapped me. Tied me up. Cracked my skull. And yet here I am, already calculating how I’d make that man pay for laying a hand on her.
Madness.
But maybe not entirely. She thought I was here to take her friend—thought I was the enemy. In her mind, she struck first.
I can’t deny the chaos she’s dragged me into—the setbacks, the sheer amount of work she’s created—not to mention robbing me of my best shot at taking them down. But no matter how much she’s messed things up, I can’t let her become their next victim.
As tempting as it is to just walk away, I know I won’t. I’ll protect her now.
And maybe, just maybe, she can repay the favour—if she’s willing to turn that reckless streak against Manticore instead of me.
