Shadows flicker in the corner of the room.
At least, I could’ve sworn they did. But when my gaze snaps over, they’re perfectly still. I can’t see them move, but…Ifeelthem. They shift around the edges of the room, something dark and wrong responding to the panic curling in my chest.
The door opens, and they’re forgotten.
A man steps inside like he belongs here. Like everything here belongstohim.
In his forties maybe, composed, immaculate in a way that feels deliberate, not effortless. No wrinkles in his suit, not a strand of hair out of place. His gaze is immediately on me, intense and assessing, like he’s been waiting. Not for anything specific, just waiting forme.
He’s familiar, but I can’t seem to place him. However, something in me, something instinctive, goes still.
“You’re awake,” he says, his voice calm and measured, not surprised.
My throat feels like sandpaper when I speak. “Where am I?”
The man doesn’t answer right away, just steps further into the room, hands clasped behind his back as he studies me as though I’m data. Statistics. A result.
Eventually, he gives me an answer. “Bellrose Institute.”
Bellrose.
Cason.
“You’re Malcolm.”
I’ve only ever seen Cason’s uncle in photographs or from a distance. Up close, he’s exactly what I expected and nothing like it at the same time. He’s more severe, more controlled. He’s the man whose nephew I took, the man who I’m sure is going to show me the other side of the coin.
He doesn’t respond, but I don’t need him to.
“Why am I here?”
A faint smile touches the corners of his mouth, but there’s no warmth to it. “Because you belong to me now. As long as you’re the asset I’m hoping you’ll be.”
I don’t understand what the fuck he’s talking about or what the fuck that has to do withanyof this. So I try to rewind and go back to the beginning.
“I died.”
“You did.”
The confirmation hits harder than denial would have.
“And yet,” he continues smoothly. “Here you are. Thanks to me.”
I stare at him, trying to understand. Trying to piece together how the hell any of this has happened, why I’m not in a hospital. Why I’m even alive.
“Thanks to you orbecauseof you?” I ask, feeling like the distinction is important.
His lips twitch. “Both.”
Shadows shift again, more noticeable this time, a subtle darkening along the corners of the room. Like they’re listening. Like they’rereactingto him. Not to his movements like they should, but to his words.
He must see it too because interest flickers in his eyes. “Fascinating.”
I don’t like the way he says that. I don’t like any of this.
He steps closer to the side of the bed, just within reach, close enough that I could grab him. And maybe I would. Maybe I would choke the life out of him if only my body wasn’t still catching up to the fact that it’s alive.
Or if he wasn’t Cason’s uncle.
