12. Lilian
Lilian
T he two cars in front of me continue driving as I pull over to the side of the road and kill the headlights. Darkness surrounds me, and with it comes a sudden rush of fear.
I should go back to the dorm. I have no right to know or try to understand what is going on with Aries. I mean, up until last week, he had forgotten I existed. Now we are in this twisted game of cat and mouse, and I sure as hell don’t plan on being the mouse.
Hell. I can still taste him in the back of my throat and feel the way he used me. I’m scared—no—yes, I’m scared of him doing that to me again. Even as I think about it, I can’t get myself fully into the lie.
It hurt. It felt good. Dammit. Even if it’s the only way to get him, I want it.
Yet no matter how much I try to talk myself out of it, I can’t make myself turn the car around. The warehouse district looms ahead, abandoned buildings with broken windows standing alongside still-functioning facilities. He turns off the road and into a lot beside what used to be Northstar Pharmaceuticals.
I wait five minutes. Five minutes feels like a million years. Then I turn my headlights on and start driving. I turn into the industrial park and drive past the building, parking two blocks away behind a defunct shipping company.
Years of moving silently through our house to avoid unwanted concern have made me stealthier than anyone would guess. I’ve learned to regulate my breathing, to place each foot carefully in front of the other, and become invisible in plain sight.
I pull the lapels of my jacket tighter around my face to protect myself against the cool night air. Then I slide out of the car, my legs shaky. The evening air carries with it the scent of rust and abandonment. In the distance, I hear the occasional car passing by on the highway, but here, in this parking lot, it’s eerily quiet.
Each step I take is slow and easy. I try not to notice the way my pulse quickens as the building comes into view. It’s not the erratic rhythm my doctors always warn about, but the controlled tempo of someone who knows exactly what they’re doing.
For once, I’m not following doctors’ orders or my parents’ expectations.
Something about this moment is so exhilarating that for one fleeting second, I don’t want it to end.
The Northstar Pharmaceuticals warehouse rises like a shadowed fortress against the darkening sky. Unlike the truly abandoned buildings nearby, this one shows subtle signs of use—recently cleared loading areas, a security camera disguised as broken, and fresh tire tracks in the gravel.
I crouch behind a dumpster and get a good look at what I assume to be the entrance.
A square black box outside the door tells me I’ll need a code if I plan to get in or out of this place. Whatever the hell this place is.
Maybe the reasoning for Aries’s disappearance is inside this building? I creep closer, keeping to the shadows. The warehouse is massive—three stories of industrial concrete with rows of blacked-out windows. Each is sealed, except for a few on the ground floor that look like they’ve been recently replaced. The loading dock on the far side looks partially operational, its bay door lowered but not completely closed.
Bingo. My way in.
A light flickers on inside, visible through a sliver of uncovered window. I spot Aries’s silhouette as he moves across the space, purposeful and unhurried.
What’s the plan now?
I’m a terrible stalker because I didn’t even think of my next steps. Go inside, you idiot. My brain urges, but I hesitate to move for an instant. What if whatever I find inside changes everything? My fingers close around the inhaler in my pocket, then move to the pepper spray beside it. Both are symbols of different parts of myself: the vulnerable patient and the person I could be if I stopped accepting the limitations others place on me.
The real question isn’t what I should do—it’s who I want to be. The delicate flower my family has cultivated, or someone who takes risks when necessary.
Before I can second-guess myself any further, I move toward the loading dock, heart drumming a rhythm of fear and exhilaration in my chest. If I find nothing, I’ll leave and reconsider my options. But if I find something...
The gap beneath the loading dock door is just wide enough for someone of my slight build to slip through. Sinking down on my stomach, I take a deep breath and slowly army crawl beneath the door and into the unknown.
The concrete scrapes my stomach as I squeeze beneath the loading dock door. There’s a distinct change in air temperature between the outside and the warehouse, the warehouse air being cooler and carrying an undercurrent of disinfectant. Instinctively, I know this isn’t just a random warehouse.
I push into a crouching position and cling to the shadows, giving my eyes time to adjust to the dimness. The warehouse stretches before me, cavernous and compartmentalized. Most of it remains industrial storage space—stacked crates, abandoned shelving units, dust-covered equipment. To my left, ancient pharmaceutical machinery looms like sleeping beasts. To my right, rows of empty shelves disappear into darkness. Ahead, a shaft of light cuts across the concrete floor, showing me a route to somewhere deeper inside the building.
I move toward the light, keeping one hand against the wall. My footsteps make no sound—a skill perfected through years of midnight wanderings in our home, avoiding the creaking floorboard outside Mother’s room.
As I advance, the warehouse reveals its secrets. Not a hideout—a home. A strange, compartmentalized home built within the industrial shell.
Is Aries living here? It sure seems that way, but if so, why?
The first area I discover confirms this—a kitchen, modern and immaculate, carved out of the warehouse space with temporary walls. Stainless steel appliances gleam under recessed lighting. A coffee cup sits in the sink. There’s even a knife block with professional-grade cutlery resting on the counter.
Everything is organized with precision—cooking implements arranged by size, canned goods labeled and facing forward, a meal plan for the week magnetized to the refrigerator.
My confusion grows, and that strange feeling in my gut festers, eating away at my insides like acid. Warning bells go off in my head, but I ignore them and continue, moving deeper into the space, keeping close to the wall.
Twenty paces beyond the kitchen, another section emerges from the darkness—a living area with a leather sofa, television, and bookshelves. I pause at the edge, scanning the titles: tactical manuals, psychology textbooks, true crime. A dog-eared copy of “The Art of War” sits prominently on the coffee table.
Ahead is a bedroom, and I nearly gasp in shock. It’s not just functional but luxurious. A king-sized bed with black satin sheets. Artwork on the walls—abstract, violent splashes of red and black. The room looks nothing like the one at The Mill or back home. A large armoire stands open, revealing clothes—some are those I’ve seen Aries wear before, while a few others are darker and more utilitarian.
Is he a part of some undercover operation?
My head moves on a swivel as I take in all the details. I notice a nightstand with a framed photograph. It’s turned down. Why? That’s such an odd thing. Maybe it got knocked over by accident? Curiosity overcomes caution.
Three careful steps, and I’m close enough to lift it.
The photo shows two identical boys, perhaps seven years old, one arm wrapped around each other’s shoulders. It hits me...this is the same photo I found in his room. Matching faces, matching smiles.
Aries... and someone else. A twin brother? That’s impossible. Or is it?
I don’t know what to make of the photograph. All I know is something isn’t adding up. I know his brother died, but...he was a twin? Wait, I peer closer, and I see that these two look like the same boys in the picture I found at the Mill House. Twins? It can’t be true...
I set the photo down exactly as I found it while my mind whirls. The creaking of pipes catches my attention. A shower? Like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car, I freeze. I’ll be found if I don’t move. The sound came from somewhere deeper in the warehouse.
Move, Lilian. If he’s showering, he’ll be heading to the bedroom next.
I dart behind the armoire when I hear a set of heavy footsteps approaching.
My heartbeat quickens, and I focus my attention on controlling my breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Panic will only trigger an episode, and I can’t afford to have one of those right now. I watch between the cracks as Aries enters the room, a towel wrapped around his waist, water droplets gleaming on his skin.
A gasp threatens to escape my lips when I see the scars etched into his flesh.
Who hurt him? His back is a topography of old wounds—some surgical, others jagged and violent. Evidence of events that I know nothing about. What has Aries been doing? What kind of danger has he put himself in?
Logic tells me now is not the time to let my body react to his proximity, but I can’t help myself. I stare at him, unable to look away, my gaze moving over every inch of exposed flesh. The curve of his body, the tense set of his muscles, each sculpted from hard work. I ignore the way my core tightens with excitement.
He moves to a dresser and pulls out clothes. I sink a little deeper into the shadow of the armoire, calculating the distance to the door. Too far. Any movement would expose me, and I know damn well I wouldn’t be able to fight him off.
He drops the towel, and I look away, my cheeks burning.
When I build up the courage to look again, he’s dressed in athletic shorts. My breath catches in my throat at the sight of him.
Raw beauty and power.
As if he can sense my presence, he tilts his head to the side. His eyes scan the room, passing over my hiding spot once, then twice...
I hold my breath, my stomach tightening with anxiety. He’s going to find me and then tell our parents. I can feel the danger rippling across my skin. Before that can happen, his attention is taken elsewhere. Grabbing his phone off the bed, he peers down at the screen, frowning as if he sees something that has upset him.
Before I can wrap my head around it, he’s walking out of the room and into another.
Where is he going?
The sound of a treadmill whirring to life follows a second later. I exhale slowly and count to thirty in my head before tiptoeing from my hiding place.
The bedroom exit separates into two corridors—one heading toward the sound of the treadmill and another going a little deeper into the warehouse.
The direction I’m going to go is obvious, and it’s not near him. Going in the opposite direction, I slowly proceed down the hallway.
It feels different—colder, utilitarian. Like there were no attempts made at making this space comfortable. Motion-activated lights flicker on as I advance, and I notice a security camera that swivels above, its power light red. Disabled or fake? Who knows. I guess I don’t understand enough of what is going on here for him to need cameras.
At the end of the hallway is a steel door. The kind used to keep things out. Or in. I have this sudden urge to run toward it but don’t. I need to get as much intel on this place as I can, which means moving slowly, with calculation.
On the right is another room. I pause in the doorway and investigate what’s inside.
Electronics—computers, servers, surveillance equipment. Numerous screens display what looks like footage of Aries’s dorm, the mansion, and different locations all over campus.
Holy fucking shit. It doesn’t make sense, though.
Who is he watching and why?
This is elaborate and thought-out.
By the time I reach the end of the hall, I’m trembling. There’s an electronic lock with a keypad to the right of the door. The door is reinforced—heavier and more secure.
It has a small window with plexiglass in it. I have to stand on my tippy-toes to see inside, and as I push against the door and peer inside, I’m greeted with darkness. I grab my phone out of my pocket and activate the flashlight at its lowest setting. I don’t believe all that’s on the other side of that door is darkness.
No, a door like that is to keep someone in.
One quick look, then I’ll leave.
I press my face to the window, shining the light into the blackness.
The beam catches on an object…scratch that. It’s definitely a person. They’re huddled in the corner of a makeshift cell. Sweat beads against my brow, and I stare intently at the person. Oh god…did Aries kidnap someone?
Male. Thin. Head down on drawn-up knees.
Then it happens. He lifts his face toward the unexpected light and squints. Despite the beard, the hollowed cheeks, and the dark circles under his eyes—I’d know him anywhere.
Aries.
I don’t understand. If Aries was in the shower and now on the treadmill, then how can the man inside this cell be him as well? The puzzle pieces in my mind start to come together.
The photo, brothers, twins. Oh god. I gave my first BJ to Aries’s twin.
The man I’ve been stalking isn’t Aries. This is Aries, the man in this cell.
I can feel it, in my heart, in the depths of my stomach. Our eyes meet through the glass, and he blinks before shock and horror fill his eyes. He mouths something urgently—what looks like “run” or “go”— then shakes his head violently. In the distance, I notice the treadmill’s whirring abruptly stops.
It’s a warning. The sign telling me that it’s time to go.
I look back through the glass. The face I’ve known since childhood stares back at me, transformed by captivity. Aries’s usually perfect hair is matted and dirty. His cheeks are hollow, eyes sunken with exhaustion or dehydration or both. It doesn’t matter. Dirty, clean, exhausted, or on the brink of death, I’d recognize him anywhere.
I press my palm against the glass in a silent acknowledgment. He mirrors the gesture from inside, his own hand trembling.
Questions flood my mind. How long has he been here?
The cell is sparse—a cot, a toilet in the corner, a water bottle beside a half-eaten meal. No windows except this viewing portal. No visible way out except the heavy door with its electronic lock. He’s trapped.
He mouths words I can’t quite understand, but his desperation is clear. He points at me, then toward the exit, making a shooing motion.
Leave. Now.
Fuck. I should go—logically, I know this. But abandoning him feels impossible now that I know he’s here. The real Aries is imprisoned while an impostor walks free, wearing his life like a costume.
I hold up my phone, showing it to him through the glass. The blood drains from his face, making his ghostly complexion pasty. He gives his head a violent shake.
No calling for help? No police? I don’t understand.
He moves sluggishly toward the window, cupping his hands around his eyes so he can see me better. My eyes are glued to his lips, and the words that he speaks slowly so I can understand them.
“He’s. Dangerous.”
A pause.
“My. Brother.”
Brother? Aries sees understanding dawn on my face. He nods grimly, then continues his silent communication.
“Get. Out. Don’t. Tell. Anyone.”
Don’t tell anyone? How can I not?
His twin brother—a twin none of us knew existed—has him locked in a cell while perfectly impersonating him to the outside world. This isn’t just kidnapping; it’s identity theft on an unimaginable scale. I think about it for a minute. Does Mother know? Obviously, Richard had to know he had two sons, but does he know the second is alive?
I try to communicate back, mouthing, “Who is he?” while making a questioning gesture.
Aries glances nervously down the hallway behind me.
His lips form a single name:
“Arson.”
Arson. Like destruction. Like fire. A chill runs down my spine. What a fitting name.
He continues, “He’ll. Hurt. You.”
His eyes carry a level of urgency that cuts through my senses. Whatever history exists between these brothers, Aries genuinely fears for my safety. He presses his hand against the glass again, his expression soft, almost tender—an emotion I’ve never seen from him before.
“Please. Go.”
A booming sound echoes down the hall, coming from the direction of the treadmill—the clatter of a water bottle falling, or equipment being moved. It doesn’t matter because whatever it is, Aries senses my fear.
Panic flashes in his eyes. “RUN!”
And this time, I don’t hesitate.
I run .