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“If you won’t come with me, I’ll let Amara know where you are and wait until she gets here.”

“No.” I’m shaking my head again.

He smiles. “Then, let’s go?” He extends his hand but doesn’t touch me.

He waits a long moment, my gaze drifting between his outstretched hand and his face.

Arthur is six years older than me, strong enough to overpower me if he wanted to.

But ever since he started visiting our house, he’s never once looked at me like I’m a prey.

When he still doesn’t relent, I finally nod, though I make no move to take his hand.

He jerks his chin towards his car, and the moment I settle into the passenger seat, dread coils tightly in my stomach.

I made a mistake.

And it’s my fault.

FORTY-THREE

Sergei

Present

“She’s not here.” Alec hangs his head down as I glare, my gaze turning murderous.

“Fucking hell, why would you leave her alone?” Is all I can manage as I search the hospital, my voice breaking somewhere between rage and panic.

When I find Amara, she’s already sobbing, collapsing into herself, the truth spilling out only after I nearly choke it out of her.

I hate myself for that, for being too late, for not seeing it sooner, because I never pushed for therapy—I knew what it felt like, how it hollowed me out instead of helping me, and I couldn’t put her through that—but I also never gave her anything else, never gave her a way out.

“I don’t really think about future.”

I should’ve fucking known.

“I wish I could say I’d trade my childhood with yours but mine is just as bad if not worse.”

I didn’t pay attention to it because traumas cannot be compared, hers and mine, they are different but very much real.

Fuck. Fuck.

I should’ve seen her slipping and should’ve extended my hand, I should’ve hugged her tighter and worshipped her and begged her, given her a reason to stay.

“He got to her first.” Amara’s voice grates against my nerves, but I cannot kill her yet, she’s the only one with answers.

“I need a name.” I growl, my grip tightening until her face flushes red, her eyes rolling back as she starts to lose consciousness.

“Sergei, you’ll kill her. Stop.” Alina’s hand lands on my shoulder, and I let go easily, my grip loosening as Amara collapses back on her death bed like dead weight.

Alina mutters. “Punishment can wait.” Her voice stripped of its usual bite, because she knows—she knows she fucked up, the guilt etched across her face—but it does nothing to quiet the storm inside me.

Nothing to steady the rage clawing its way up my throat, because Elara is out there, in danger, and the mere thought of it shatters every ounce of calm I ever possessed, leaving behind only fear and the need to get to her before it’s too late.

“A-Austin Blake.” Amara gasps as she crumples, dragging in air. “He just took her…he’s going to—”

Austin Blake?