The rain is back, battering against the ancient stone outside these walls. Clouds hang heavy beyond the stained glass, and for a moment, I let myself pretend I’m in another place.
I imagine a distant bell tolling, picturing Spain, like I’m in one of Hemingway’s novels. If only time could reverse and transport me there. I’d be dropped into the middle of a world where lives are claimed and souls are reaped, but I would have a family who loves me. When the great bell sounds from the Spanish church, signaling the end of a life—a returning of a soul to the great void—I would know that I’m connected to that life. To the afterlife and the millions of souls surrounding me.
That’s what religion is supposed to feel like, I think.
It’s a deep-rooted instinct of knowing I’m not alone. That there’s a cosmic power, a lifeline connecting us all. Electric. Awakening. And I’ve never felt more alive, more at peace with myself and the world around me than when I’m with…
“Silas.”
His name is a whispered prayer. Before I even realize what I’m doing, I reach for my phone, needing to hear the sound of his voice in my ear, missing the feel of his breath on my skin.
I hit call, and something in my chest loosens the moment the line begins to ring.
“Your mother was right, you know.”
A deep voice sounds from behind me, slicing through the quiet and nearly making me drop my phone. I jump, starting to turn toward the sound—but he’s already there.
Arms cage me from behind, locking me in place as a bitter, chemical-soaked cloth presses against my face. The sharp, acrid scent burns my eyes. My head begins to swim, but I fight it, clawing at his arm and clutching my phone with every ounce of strength I have.
The third ring cuts off.
Then connects.
“Hey, baby. Out of class early?”
Silas’s voice—familiar and grounding—breaks through just as I try to scream. My lips move. My throat strains. But my muscles are failing, sluggish and numb despite the frantic beating of my heart.
“Evie?”
Black spots bloom at the edge of my vision, and my knees give out. The phone slips from my fingers, clattering to the ground as more of the poison seeps into my lungs. I can just make out Silas’s threats, muffled and distant, as reality slips further and further away.
“You’ve been acting like a whore for far too long, Evie. It’s time to repent.”
43
SILAS
“Evie!”
I hear the muffled sounds of a struggle on the other end, then a loudbang. The phone must’ve dropped, but the silence that follows is quickly cut short by heavy breathing.
Someone is listening.
“You’re dead, motherfucker. You hear me? You’re fucking?—”
“This is your fault.”
The fine hairs on the back of my neck prick as his voice rushes over me. I grind my teeth together, stepping away from my half-finished easel, and use every ounce of self-control I have to keep quiet. The confidence in his voice doesn’t belong to someone who’s easily intimidated. No, this asshole thinks he has it all figured out.
“How is this my fault?” I bite out, slipping into my boots. I don’t give a fuck about his answer, but I need to keep him talking.
I tap the speaker icon and send an SOS message to the Seven as I finish getting dressed. Noctis responds instantly, syncing with my phone to trace the call. That small differenceof knowing I have the full force of my brothers behind me gives me the slightest edge of hope.
Hope that we’ll find her before it’s too late.
Because if they take her, if Evie ends up trapped in the same fucking nightmare as Morana… if I lose them both?—
“Evie had been doing so well,” the voice drawls. I can hear the subtle patter of boots over stone. He’s pacing. “Sure, she had a rough childhood. Needed to be disciplined often, but she finally stopped fighting us. Until you found her.”
