Page 372 of Good Boys Don’t Bite

“I know.”

“If they have a weapon—”

“I know.”

“If I tell you to run—”

“No.”

Elliot’s jaw tightened. Ronan stepped closer.

“Be good for me.”

Everything inside Elliot stopped. The phrase hit differently. Not sexual. Not Saint. Not approval. A request. From Ronan. Choose restraint. Choose me. Choose yourself. Elliot looked at him. Ronan touched his cheek.

“Come back with me.”

His throat tightened.

“I will.”

“Promise.”

Elliot closed his eyes. Then opened them.

“I promise.”

Ronan nodded.

“Good boy.”

Saint could have the words. They did not have the meaning. Elliot understood that now. They entered together. The building smelled like mold, dust, and lake water. Their footsteps echoed through the corridor. Old posters hung crooked along the walls. Freshwater ecology. Wetland preservation. Student research from years ago. Normal academic debris around something completely abnormal. Elliot knew the route. Left. Stairs. Observation wing. Ronan stayed beside him. Not behind. Good. They reached the final corridor. Light glowed beneath the observation-room door. Elliot stopped. Ronan’s hand touched his lower back. Ready? Elliot nodded. They opened it. Rebecca stood behind glass. Other side of the observation chamber. Hands bound. Alive. Her eyes widened.

“Elliot!”

He moved. Ronan grabbed his hoodie.

“Wait.”

Rebecca shook her head violently.

“DON’T.”

Elliot froze. A speaker crackled overhead. Then Saint’s voice filled the room. Not distorted this time. Male. Warm. Familiar somehow.

“Hello, Elliot.”

His blood went cold. Ronan looked toward him. Elliot stared at the speaker. He knew that voice. Not from real life. From nowhere. And everywhere. He had never heard Saint speak. But something about the cadence matched the messages so perfectly his body recognized it before his brain did.

“Let her go.”

Saint laughed softly.

“Still demanding.”

“Show yourself.”

“Soon.”