I try to pull away, but his grip is iron, and my lungs won't work, and the edges of my vision are going dark—
His free hand comes up to the back of my neck.
Not gentle. Not comforting. Just functional.
He shoves my head down—rough, efficient, leaving no room for resistance.
"Head between your knees. Breathe."
I can't—
"Breathe." His voice is cold. Commanding. "In through your nose. Out through your mouth. Do it."
The oxygen comes in gasps. Slowly. Painfully. But it comes.
His hand stays on my neck, holding me in position, and gradually the panic recedes enough that I can think again.
"Better?" he asks after a minute.
"Yes." It comes out as a whisper.
He releases me, and I straighten up. Now we're standing too close in this empty hallway, and his eyes are searching mine again.
Looking for something. Hunting for whatever darkness he thinks he saw yesterday.
His hand comes up to my face.
Not gentle. His fingers dig into my jaw, forcing my head up, thumb pressing hard enough against my cheekbone that it hurts.
"Yesterday in the bathroom." His voice drops lower. "For one second, you weren't afraid. Where did that come from?"
Nowhere. Everywhere. Some broken place inside me that snapped when the fear got too big.
"I don't know what you're talking about." The lie tastes like ash.
"Liar." His thumb drags across my jaw—rough skin catching on mine, the pressure just shy of painful. "I don't like liars, Valerie."
My name in his mouth sounds like a threat and a promise and something darker I don't want to name.
Heat floods through me—wrong, horrifying heat that pools low in my stomach even though his grip hurts, even though I'm terrified, even though this man held a gun to my head yesterday.
My nipples tighten against my uniform, and I pray he doesn't notice because this is insane, this is wrong, my body shouldn't be responding like this—
"But I like puzzles." His grip tightens, and his eyes drop to my mouth. "And you're both. A lying little puzzle I need to solve."
His thumb moves to my bottom lip, pressing down hard enough that I taste blood where it catches on my teeth. The pressure is rough. Claiming. And the heat in my stomach spreads, turns into something wet and shameful between my thighs.
No. No. No. I can’t be turned on, not for him—
"I'm going to figure you out." His voice is low and intimate and completely terrifying. "Every lie. Every secret. Every dark place you're hiding. And when I do—"
He releases me suddenly, stepping back like he didn't just have his hand on my face, like this is all perfectly normal.
He adjusts his cuffs with precise movements. "Goodnight, Valerie."
Then he walks away, leaving me standing in the hallway with my heart pounding, my face burning, and wetness between my thighs that makes me want to die from shame.
I make it back to my room before my legs give out completely.
