“I’d rather die,” I whispered, my voice ragged from disuse, but steady.

  Their laughter exploded again, too loud, too bright. They thought it was funny. Thought I was bluffing.

  Thought they’d already won.

  But they didn’t understand.

  They couldn’t see it.

  I was still alive.

  Even here. Even now.

  And I’d hold onto that until my last breath.

  They didn’t ask me to watch.

  I sat curled in the corner of the room, my chain stretched just short of the bed, my body pressed into the wall like I could disappear into it. Like maybe if I stayed quiet enough, small enough, I could become invisible.

  But nothing hid me from what they were doing.

  Magnus lay sprawled across the silk-draped mattress, his wives draped over him like silk themselves—slow and sinuous and smiling. Their laughter echoed off the high walls, soft and poisonous. Candlelight flickered across their skin, casting gold over everything except me.

  They touched him like they worshipped him. Worshipped what he could do to them. And he gave it back with cruel delight, like it was a performance meant just for me.

  I stared at the floor.

  I could hear them—the gasps, the murmurs, the shifting of sheets. The sound of flesh meeting flesh, over and over.

  I couldn’t cover my ears.

  I couldn’t close my eyes forever.

  So I stayed still. Silent. Let the sound of them crash against me like waves, trying to erode whatever pieces of myself I had left.

  I didn’t cry.

  I didn’t make a sound.

  Once, one of the wives looked at me over his shoulder, her expression smug and soft, like a queen on a throne I’d never deserve.

  “Poor thing,” she purred. “She doesn’t know what she’s missing.”

  They laughed.

  And I swallowed the bile rising in my throat and pressed my forehead to the wall. I imagined the stone was cold enough to burn. I imagined it was all that kept me here.

  I didn’t know how long it lasted.

  Time didn’t pass in this room. It stalled. It stretched. It curled around me like smoke and smothered me with every sound from that bed.

  But still—I didn’t look.

  Not once.

  Because if I was going to survive this, I needed to stay focused. Even if no one else ever saw it. Even if they stripped everything else away.

  They could touch each other.

  But they couldn’t touch me.

  “Everly,” he drawled, my name coiled in his mouth like a rope. “You ever even been touched?”

  I said nothing. Not a blink. Not a breath.

  He stepped farther inside, leaning against the frame like this was all some casual conversation. The candlelight caught the angles of his face, sharp and too smooth—like something carved by hands that hated beauty.

  “I could show you,” he said, tone soft like honey poured over poison. “Give you the same pleasure.”

  The words slithered over my skin. I flinched before I could stop myself.

  He noticed.

  Magnus chuckled low in his throat, like he’d found a new game to play. “What’s wrong, angel? You don’t want to feel good?” He crossed the room in slow, measured steps, stopping just short of the bed. “Tell me about that husband of yours—the one you’re saving yourself for.”

  His voice was soaked in mockery.

  I sat up slightly, letting my back straighten, my chin lift.

  My heart pounded, but I met his gaze like I meant it. “He’s more of a man than you’ll ever be.”

  The air shifted.

  Magnus stared at me for a long moment—surprised, maybe. Or amused. Or something darker. Then he threw his head back and laughed.

  It was sharp. Hollow. The kind of sound that echoed like a door slamming shut behind you.

  “Pathetic,” he muttered, shaking his head. The word struck like a slap, but I held my ground. I refused to shrink for him.

  He leaned down slowly, invading my space, his voice barely above a whisper. “You think that loyalty’s gonna save you? You think it makes you strong?”

  I didn’t answer.

  Not because I didn’t have words.

  But because I wouldn’t waste them on someone who couldn’t understand.

  He lingered for another heartbeat—just long enough to let the threat simmer—before straightening and walking away, like he hadn’t just tried to break something sacred.

  I sat with my back pressed to the wall, knees drawn to my chest, the chain at my ankle digging in every time I shifted. My heart thudded in my chest—loud, steady, too alive for this place.

  Magnus poured himself a drink at the gilded sideboard, the amber liquid catching the light like liquid gold. The sound of glass against glass rang out—clean and sharp. Everything in this place gleamed like it had something to prove.

  His wives fluttered around him like moths drawn to rot, their laughter spilling through the room like something sweet gone sour. It filled every corner. Made the air feel too thick to breathe.

  “Tomorrow’s the big day,” Magnus said, swirling the drink like it was something holy. His voice practically hummed with excitement. “When the last of the cattle leave the pen.”

  Cattle.

  That was what we were to him.

  Not girls. Not people. Not souls.

  Just livestock.

  The wives raised their glasses in unison, toasting to his cruelty like it was something beautiful. Their smiles were all teeth. Their eyes glittered with something too sharp to be joy.

  I didn’t flinch. Didn’t speak.

  But I felt the dread coil tighter in my gut.

  He kept talking—about buyers, loyalty, the “legacy” he was building with blood and shackles. The way he spoke made it sound like he thought he was doing something noble.

  Every word scraped against my skin.

  And then—his gaze shifted.

  To me.

  He looked at me the way one might glance at a trophy waiting to be mounted. Nothing more than a promise he hadn’t claimed yet.

  “Once the others are gone,” he said, too casual, like we were talking about dinner plans. “You’re mine. Officially.”

  My stomach turned.

  No more pretending. No more waiting. That was what he meant.

  He took a step closer, sipping from his glass with the satisfaction of a man who thought the world would never say no to him.

  “We’ll have a wedding,” he added, voice lower now, silkier. “And then I’ll break you in.”

  His wives burst into laughter—loud, bright, wrong. The sound bounced off velvet curtains and gold trim, wrapping the room in a mockery of celebration.

  One of them raised her glass toward me, eyes gleaming. “To our new sister,” she said sweetly, with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

  My fingers curled into fists. I kept my chin up. I didn’t give them anything.

  And no matter what happened to me, I wouldn’t.

  The door shut behind them with a final thud, and their laughter—sweet and venomous—faded like perfume in the air. What lingered was worse: the silence they left in their wake. It wasn’t peaceful. It was empty.

  I sat on the edge of the bed a moment longer, velvet brushing against the backs of my legs like it wanted to consume me. The warmth from their bodies still clung to the sheets, and I felt it pressing in around me—echoes of cruelty in silk and skin and poison laughter.

  I slid off the mattress slowly, the chain at my ankle scraping softly as I moved. The floor was cold. Honest. The stone didn’t pretend to comfort me.

  It welcomed the weight of me like it knew I needed somewhere solid to break.

  I curled into myself, knees to chest, arms around my shins. The gown I wore was torn at the hem, stiff in places from blood I wasn’t ready to think about. I pressed my face into my knees and let the darkness blur around the edges of my vision.

  Magnus’s voice still echoed through my mind.

  Once the others are gone, you’re mine.

  I clenched my teeth against the memory. Against the fear crawling back up my throat.

  My breath hitched.

  And I whispered.

  “Please…”

  My voice cracked.

  “If You’re there…”

  It was barely more than a breath. A thread of sound in a room filled with silence and gold and ghosts.

  “If You’re anything at all…”

  I didn’t even know who I was talking to. God. Myself. The girl I used to be. The man I still prayed was out there, fighting toward me through fire and ruin.

  “Don’t let me lose myself.”

  The words spilled out and hung there.

  No answer.

  No warmth.

  But I kept going.

  “I don’t want to be what he says. I don’t want to belong to him.”

  Tears threatened, but I blinked them back. I couldn’t afford to fall apart. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

  “Help me remember who I am,” I whispered, curling tighter. “Please.”

  I thought of Walton—of his rough hands and the way he looked at me like I was still whole. I thought of my sister. Of the hymns we used to sing when we thought the world could still be saved.

  I didn't know who she was now, but then? She was everything.

  “Don’t let me forget love.”

  Silence pressed in again, cold and indifferent.

  But I’d spoken the words.

  And maybe that was enough.

  Just for tonight.

  Chapter 8

  Walton

  I stepped through the gates like I belonged there.

  The doors groaned open behind me, ushering me into a world so dressed in luxury it made my teeth ache. Dark silk clung to my shoulders, tailored to fit like armor, but it felt more like a noose. The leather across my legs was polished, the boots too clean. I looked like the kind of man I used to kill.

  And I hated every second of it.

  The air smelled like rosewater and greed. Laughter spilled from manicured mouths as men and women in gold-threaded suits circled around one another like jackals dressed as royalty.

  I walked among ‘em easy, quiet. No one looked twice.

  To them, I was just another bidder—another soul eager to purchase someone else’s suffering.

  If Everly saw me like this… hell, I hoped she knew I hadn’t gone soft. That all this silk was just camouflage wrapped around a matchstick heart.

  I clenched my jaw to keep the snarl down. Every part of me wanted to rip this costume off, draw steel, and turn this palace to ash.

  But I couldn’t—not yet.

  Silence stayed close. Couldn’t risk bringing her fully in, not with eyes everywhere. She’d wait for my signal—she always did. Smart creature.

  “Keep your eyes sharp,” I muttered low enough for only her to hear. “If this damn suit makes it to sunrise, I’ve done somethin’ wrong.”

  My lips twitched.

  Didn’t smile much these days, but the thought helped.

  Because underneath this pretense, underneath all the cologne and candlelight and bullshit, I was still the one bringing judgment.

  Magnus Rex had turned this place into his kingdom. Silk sheets, velvet walls, gold-dipped sin hangin’ from every damn chandelier. But he built it all on chains. On blood. On girls like her.

  And somewhere in this gilded nightmare, he had her.

  Every step I took deeper into his lair was a countdown.

  Not to violence.

  To deliverance.

  Tonight wasn’t about infiltrating.

  It was about taking back what was mine.

  And when the mask dropped—when the silk tore, when the walls came crashing down—Magnus was going to learn that some monsters don’t walk in shadows.

  They come dressed for the auction.

  And they burn everything they touch.

  I moved through the crowd like smoke—unseen, unbothered, unnoticed. I was just a shadow with a heartbeat.

  Everywhere I looked, the room gleamed with rot—jewels too big, gowns too tight, smiles too sharp. The air stank of perfume and sweat and old blood masked by wine. A hundred conversations buzzed in my ears, empty as the eyes of the girls they led past us.

  They paraded ‘em like livestock.

  Chains glittered in the light like jewelry.

  Eyes down. Shoulders bare. Souls somewhere far away.

  I kept my fists clenched tight at my sides. If I didn’t, I’d start cutting.

  I took a seat among the rest of the wolves, muscles coiled tight beneath this ridiculous suit. Every man beside me looked like he was born for this—the posture, the leering, the hunger.

  Me?

  I was here for one thing.

  Her.

  I scanned the room, every heartbeat pounding like a war drum in my chest.

  She wasn’t on the floor.

  She wasn’t in the pens

  She wasn’t anywhere.

  The panic came in cold, crawling up the back of my neck like a whisper I didn’t want to hear.

  Don’t you dare be gone.

  Not again.

  I leaned forward in my seat, elbows on my knees, eyes moving like a blade across the crowd. Looking for a flicker of green. A flash of copper. A shape that didn’t belong in this hell.

  Everly had to be here.

  Magnus wouldn’t let a treasure like her out of sight. Not when he could show her off. Not when he could profit.

  The auctioneer swaggered up onto the platform, dripping silk and sleaze. Looked like he hadn’t touched dirt in years.

  “Welcome, esteemed guests!” he called out, arms raised like a man about to bless a congregation. “Tonight, we offer an exquisite collection for your bidding pleasure.”

  I didn’t look at him.

  Didn’t care about his speech.

  My eyes were still on the doors.

  Still on the shadows.

  Still searching.

  They brought out a girl.

  Not her.

  Just another soul strung up in lace and fear.

  The bids started—numbers thrown like bullets—but none of it touched me.

  Where are you, angel?

  The silence in me was louder than the crowd. My gut twisted tighter with every second that passed. Every breath dragged like rust through my lungs.

  If she wasn’t here…

  If she was already gone…

  I didn’t let the thought finish.

  Couldn’t.

  Because if I did⁠—

  —I wouldn’t make it to the end of the night without bringing this whole place down around us.

  I sank into the shadows near the back of the auction hall; the suit clinging to me like a second skin I wanted to shed. Every stitch felt wrong. Too clean. Too quiet. It wasn’t mine.

  The auctioneer’s voice cut through the air like a rusted blade—slick, practiced, just performative enough to hide the stench beneath his words.

  He gestured with a flourish, and another girl was led onto the stage.

  She was small. Pale. Her eyes were wide and flicking around like a bird looking for a way out of a cage. Her feet shuffled slow across the polished floor. The collar around her neck gleamed like a curse.

  My gut twisted.

  They were parading her like livestock. The lights made her tremble. Every twitch of her hands, every step she took—was all choreographed humiliation.

  “Two thousand demon shards!” someone barked near me.

  “Three!” another shouted behind him.

  The murmurs rose like a storm swell—greedy, breathless. A crowd drunk on power and sin. They stared at her like she was meat, and I swear I felt my molars grind.

  I wanted to draw steel. Wanted to turn the room to ash. But I couldn’t—not yet.

  And it wasn’t just her pain that made my blood boil.

  It was Everly’s absence.

  Still no sign of her.

  My heart kicked against my ribs, loud enough I swore someone could hear it. I scanned every inch of the platform, the balconies, the curtained doors where the next girl might come from.

  Nothing.

  Where the hell are you, Ev?

  What if I’d come too late? What if Rex moved her again, slipped her through my fingers while I was busy cutting down his convoy?

  My jaw tightened. Breath hitched. Mind spiraled.

  I ground my nails into my palms until pain sparked behind my eyes and brought me back to center.

  “Stay sharp,” I whispered low, only for myself. “You got this far, Cooper. Don’t fall apart now.”

  Another girl stepped out—older. Maybe seventeen, with long dark hair and fear curled into every movement. The crowd reacted the way they always did. Numbers flew. Smiles sharpened.

  “Four thousand!”

  I clenched my teeth. Every bid was a scream. Every price tag another reminder of the stakes. And the whole time… no Everly.

  But I felt her. Somewhere in the bones of this place, she was here. I knew it.

  The room dimmed as they brought out the next girl—more silk, more skin, more of the same.

  And still none of it mattered.

  Because she wasn’t her.

  And until I saw her green eyes cut through this godforsaken dark, I wasn’t breathing right.

  I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, jaw set like stone.

  Where are you, angel?

  Because the second I see you?

  It’s over.

  For all of them.

  The lights shifted. Harsh. Blinding. Too clean for a place this filthy.

  A hush rolled through the crowd like a ripple through still water. The kind of silence that meant everyone felt something coming. I leaned forward, elbows braced on my knees, heart slamming against my ribs hard enough to rattle bone.

  The auctioneer stammered, words catching in his throat like he suddenly realized he wasn’t the most dangerous man in the room.

  And then he arrived.

  Magnus Rex stepped into the hall like a god descending—draped in black and gold, robes moving like shadow around him. His wives flanked him like war trophies, each one beautiful in a way that felt cruel. They smiled like they’d tasted blood and wanted more.