Not just from this room. Not just from the restraints or the thick air that clings to my skin like a second layer of grime—butfromthis house. From everything it represents. But before I get out, there are two things I have to do. Two threads that pull tighter every time I try to ignore them.
First—I have to find Reign.
And second, I have to check on Ronan.
I need to see him with my own eyes. I need to know that he’s breathing. That they didn’t just leave his body to rot while they turned their attention to me. Not knowing is worse than the pain, worse than the bruises blooming across my ribs, face, or the ache deep in my spine. It gnaws at me, hollowing out my insides with every hour that passes.
Because if he’s dead…
No, I won’t let my mind go there.
Not until I know for sure.
Not until I see him—alive.
Decision made, I close my eyes and force everything down—every crack of fear, every flicker of pain, every thread of guilt that’s been winding tighter since they brought me here. I bury it deep, locking it beneath the surface where it can’t touch me. It’s not gone, not really, but I’ve learned how to tuck it away. Jay taught me that. Taught me how to find focus when the world is chaos. He used to call itmeditation for psychos, laughing as he said it like it was just another inside joke between us.
Clear your mind of emotion. Act on instinct. Nothing else matters.
That’s what he’d whisper when things got bad. When blood was already spilled and decisions had to be made in seconds. Now, that voice lives in me, steady and calm, just beneath the pulse pounding in my ears. At this moment, it’s the perfect tool.
I open my eyes and let instinct take over.
For the first time since they brought me down here, I actually take stock of my surroundings. Before, I didn’t care. The numbness had swallowed everything—shock anchoring me in place the moment I saw Ronan’s blood. I’d gone cold inside, unable to think past the red. But now, that detachment becomes a weapon. I use it. I sharpen it.
The room is dim; the corners swallowed in shadow, but I can make out enough. The concrete floor is stained in places—some fresh, some old. There’s a single bulb overhead, flickering just slightly, and the air smells of metal, sweat, and something faintly medicinal. The basement turned into an interrogation room. Crude. Functional. But not impenetrable.
And luckily for me, Rowen sucks at securing people.
The zip ties looped around my wrists behind my back are too loose—sloppy work from someone who clearly isn’t used to doing this with women. He underestimated me. Thought the bruises and the silence meant compliance. A mistake.
Slowly, carefully, I shift my hands, testing the give. The plastic bites into my skin, but not enough to stop me. I take a breath, steady and long, and pop my thumb out of joint with asickening crunch. The pain flares white-hot, but I don’t cry out. I use the moment—use the adrenaline—and twist, threading my hand free from the restraint like it’s a party trick.
The moment my hands are free, I wince and grip my left one tight, bracing myself. With a sharp breath through my teeth, I snap my dislocated thumb back into place. The pop echoes louder than I expect, and the pain flashes up my arm like a jolt of lightning. I grit through it, biting back the sound clawing at my throat. No time to dwell. I shake out my hands, rubbing my wrists hard to get the blood flowing again. My fingers are stiff, tingling at the tips, but they still work. That’s all that matters.
I glance around the room, absorbing details I hadn’t cared about until now. The space is bare and grim, designed to break people—not house them. And yet, the door to the makeshift cell is wide open. Not even latched. Another careless oversight. Another sign that Rowen isn’t thinking clearly. He’s off his game. And Emerson? Just as distracted. They haven’t been back down in hours. Time has stopped meaning much down here, but the silence has stretched too long to be normal.
Which means my window is closing.
If Ronan’s alive—and that’s still a massive if—they’re probably with him right now. Hovering. Arguing. Trying to decide what comes next. Maybe he’s holding on long enough to buy me time. Maybe he isn’t.
Either way, I can’t afford to gamble on it.
The smartest place to start is Reign’s room.
I haven’t seen her since they took me. Haven’t heard her voice, her footsteps, her fury—nothing. Which tells me she’s not here. She probably hasn’t been this whole time. Still overseas, if I had to guess. That tracks with what I know of her movements. Calculated. Distant. But she wouldn’t stay away if she knew what had happened.
Still, something about that night doesn’t sit right. I keep replaying it, trying to pull meaning from the chaos. If Reign wasn’t here—if—then maybe her room holds answers. A clue. A hint. Anything to help me untangle the knot of violence and silence that’s wrapped itself around us.
I move carefully, keeping low as I creep around the room, taking in every corner, every detail I missed while tied to that damn chair. My muscles ache from disuse, but adrenaline overrides the pain, propelling me forward. The concrete is cold beneath my bare feet, every step sending a shiver up my spine, but I don’t stop. I can’t afford to.
Once I’m sure the space is clear, I inch toward the stairs, listening for any sound—footsteps, voices, the groan of floorboards above—but the house remains eerily still. I take the first step, then the next, each one slow and deliberate. My heart pounds against my ribcage, too loud in the silence. I swear, it echoes off the walls. But I keep going, hand skimming along the rail for balance as the pressure in my chest builds with every step.
I’m close. So close to something—answers, truth, maybe even a piece of myself I didn’t realize I’d lost. Reign’s alwaysbeen a mystery wrapped in fire, sharp edges cloaked in silence. Aside from the boys, she’s the only genuine family I have left. We don’t always say it out loud—hell, most days we barely say it at all—but that bond runs deep. Deeper than blood in some ways.
Finding her is only part of the problem. I need her to understand. To remember what she knew that night. To see how she was woven into this storm long before it broke.
And if there’s anything on the other side of that door—anything at all—that can help me untangle this mess, I’ll find it. No matter what I have to face once I step through.