Iwas now fairly confident that Knox and Silas,while still terrifying and morally questionable,were not on Marco’s payroll. I watched them from across the room as Dr. Hampton scribbled in her notebook, asking the same questions she always did.
Today, I found it difficult to concentrate on her words. My mind lingered more on Knox’s revelation last night than on my therapist’s attempts to mend my fractured psyche.
Marco had killed their mother.
In addition to telling me their truth, Knox and Silas now knew exactly what Marco had done to me. And, unexpectedly, that knowledge felt like relief, instead of shame.
In my gut, I knew they were telling the truth about their mother. Perhaps it was the way Knox spoke about his grief, about losing her and the chaos of their childhood. His speech wasn’t rehearsed or sharpened for sympathy. It was raw. Unpolished. Real. And in the background, I had seen it in Silas too: the way his expression darkened, the way he stayed silent, fury and loss sitting just beneath the surface.
I didn’t need to complete a puzzle to see its final form. Aslong as enough pieces were in front of me, the full image would appear in my mind.
That was what I had been doing with Knox and Silas.
Collecting pieces.
Every word they spoke, every movement they made, every decision they chose. I held onto all of it, gathering what I needed, waiting until I had enough information for the picture to form the way it always did.
Until there was only one question left.
Whether I could trust them.
Last night, the image finally came into focus.
I was going to help them.
When my therapy appointment finished, Silas went to walk Dr. Hampton out like usual, while I debated my next steps before he returned.
I hadn't slept last night, opting to filter through every helpful memory I'd stored, searching for clues to the rest of the omega's whereabouts.
There wasa lotto sort through. Five years was a long time to watch and wait.
I could recall it all. So many guard’s conversations I’d eavesdropped on through the door of my prison. Every hint Marco let slip carelessly, assuming I would never escape to use it against him. Each insignificant detail I had noticed and stored away. I laid them out in my mind, fitting them together like pieces of a puzzle.
But I couldn’t see the ultimate image yet, because I didn’t have enough of the pieces.
First, I needed a map.
Knox sat across from me, watching the way my gaze fixed on nothing and my attention turned inward. He always noticed. When Silas came back into the confrence room, I lifted one hand and mimed paper, then a pen.
“What? You want to write something down?” Silas asked, surprise flashing across his face before excitement quickly took its place.
He looked at Knox with a sharp, almost disbelieving grin. “Are you seeing this? The little mute actually wants to write something down.Fucking finally.”
Unlike Silas, Knox didn’t grin.
The shift in him was immediate, his entire focus narrowing on me with sudden intensity, like he was afraid the moment might disappear if anyone moved too fast.
“Get her something,” he said instantly. “Now.”
Silas rifled through a stack of paperwork, tore off a page, turning it over to the blank side, and slid it across the table with a pen.
“Alright, Lena. What do you have to tell us?"
I wrote three letters and pushed the page back toward him.
MAP
Silas frowned. “A map? Of what?”
