She's trembling, a rhythmic shudder I can feel through the layers of our clothes, and yet… she hasn't screamed. She hasn't tried to claw my eyes out. She stands there, caught between survival and a curiosity that I know is as lethal as the weapon I'm holding.
“But you're mine to protect,” I whisper, my grip tightening just a fraction.
The barrel of my gun rests against the soft skin of her throat. I drag it slowly along the line of her neck. Testing. Watching. Her pulse is racing beneath it. Good. So she is afraid.
“You were going to call him.”
My voice comes out quieter than expected. Calm. She doesn’t turn around.
“That was the plan,” she says.
Her voice is steady, but I can hear the tension hiding underneath like a frayed wire. Interesting. The corner of my mouth almost lifts.
“You disobeyed me, Mali.”
That finally earns a reaction. Her shoulders stiffen slightly, the use of the nickname, acting like a physical strike. Slowly, very slowly, she turns her head just enough that I can see the sharp edge of her profile.
“You don’t get to give me orders.”
The defiance in her voice is almost impressive. Almost. I slide the gun from her throat, just for a second, only to press it gently beneath her jaw instead, tilting her chin upward again.
Now she can feel how close I am. Her voice stutters, the first crack in her armor appearing as our proximity turns the air electric.
“You tortured a man to death.”
Jake Sullivan.
His body is less than ten meters away. Tucked inside one of the stainless steel drawers just a few steps from where we stand. Ilean closer. Close enough that my lips brush the sensitive edge of her ear, my voice dropping to a low, gravelly vibration.
“He. hurt. you.”
She closes her eyes briefly, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks.
“Right… and you won’t?”
Still stubborn. Still defiant. Even with the cold weight of a gun pressed under her jaw, where most people would be sobbing for mercy,Madeline Emerson argues. Dangerous woman.
“Let’s not pretend,” I purr, the sound vibrating through both of us.
“That the one part of you isn’t relieved now that he’s dead.”
Her breathing falters for a heartbeat. There it is. The truth is always visible in the smallest fractures of a person's composure. But when she speaks again, the steel returns to her voice, sharp and unyielding.
“You don’t get to decide who lives and dies.”
I smile faintly in the darkness behind her. If only she knew.
My voice lowers to a whisper.
“I already did.”
The cold room stretches around us. Rows of metal drawers. Sleeping bodies. And the two of us standing in the middle of it like something far more terrifying than the dead.
Then she asks the one question I knew was coming. Quiet. Almost careful.
“Why am I still alive?”
Now that… that is a very good question. I let the silence hand between us a little longer. I can feel the tension in her body. The way every muscle in her shoulders is locked, waiting for the next move. Fear keeps people honest. I lower the gun slightly. Then I move.
