53. Ruairi
Ruairi
The light overhead flickers once before plunging me back into darkness. I exhale sharply, pressing my hands against my thighs, trying to anchor myself with something solid, something real, as the void stretches around me.
I don’t know how long I’ve been down here days, maybe.
Weeks. It’s been long enough that my body no longer flinches at the sudden shifts between light and dark.
Long enough that the cycles have begun to blend together, stretching time into something shapeless.
Long enough, that exhaustion seeps into my bones, dragging at the edges of my mind.
They’re trying to break me.
I know that.
What’s worse is Aoife orchestrated this.
I’ve spent every moment in this pit trying to reconcile what she’s done. Trying to piece together how my own twin, the person who was supposed to stand by my side no matter what could betray me like this.
She set the trap.
She gave the order.
And then she abandoned me here.
Not once has she come to face me.
Not to explain. Not to justify.
The guards come and go, shoving scraps at me just enough to keep me breathing, too little to keep me strong. But Aoife remains absent. And somehow, her silence cuts deeper than any blade.
A door groans open above, the iron hinges creaking against the silence. My head snaps up, muscles coiling as I hear the steady click of heels against the stone.
Finally.
A shadow moves above the grate, and then my sister steps into view.
She looks down at me with the same cold expression she wore the night she drugged me and put me in this God-forsaken pit.
I stumble to my feet, muscles stiff from disuse. Anger lashes through me like a second wind. “You finally decided to show your face.” My voice is hoarse, rough from too many days of silence. “Tired of hiding behind O’Sullivan’s men?”
She doesn’t rise to the bait. Instead, she remains quiet, studying me like she’s assessing the damage.
“Are you ready to talk?” she asks, her voice infuriatingly calm.
“That depends. Are you ready to tell me what the fuck you think you’re doing?”
She doesn’t answer. Instead, she steps forward, lifting her hand. I hear it before I see it. The sound of something shifting, the scrape of metal against stone.
And then a rope begins to lower.
My body goes rigid as I track its slow descent. It sways slightly in the dim light, thick and sturdy, just within reach but not quite low enough to grasp without jumping.
I look back up at Aoife, my blood running cold as I realize what this is.
She’s giving me an opportunity. A false one. An illusion of salvation. The idea that I could escape if only I reached far enough or climbed high enough.
This isn’t an offer. It’s a test.
I meet her gaze, and for the first time since this started, I see something darker in her expression.
Not regret. Not guilt.
Conviction.
A quiet, unshakable certainty, like she’s already decided how this ends. Like she believes she’ll win.
And that terrifies me more than anything else.
I grit my teeth, forcing my voice to remain steady. “What is this, Aoife?”
She crosses her arms, her nails tapping against her sleeve. “A choice.”
My breath comes slow, controlled. “A choice,” I repeat.
“You can climb if you want. Try your best to escape.” She pauses. “Or you can agree to what I’m offering you.”
I glance at the rope again, at the way it sways just out of reach.
And I understand. This isn’t about me climbing out. This is about seeing how far I’ll go before she cuts the rope. My own flesh and blood is dangling hope in front of me to see how desperate I really am.
I step closer, staring up at her.
“You think this is going to change my mind?” I hurl the words upward, my voice cracking under the strain. “You think this will make me bend?”
Aoife’s expression doesn’t waver. “I think you have a decision to make.”
I let out a slow breath, my jaw ticking as I roll my shoulders back.
I don’t reach for the rope. I don’t move at all.
Instead, I hold her gaze and say, “You should’ve just killed me, Evie. Because after this, there’s no coming back.”
She turns to leave, but I step forward, my voice cutting through the space between us.
"You better hope I die in here," I snarl. "Because if I get out, when I get out, I’m coming for you."
She pauses just long enough for hope to claw its way up my throat. I almost believe she’ll turn back. But she doesn’t. Her heels strike the stone, each step hammering the coffin closed.
The lights cut out, ripping her from me, drowning everything in darkness.
I stand in the black, reaching for a rope I can no longer see. For a salvation that was never mine.
And I wait.
For the darkness to take me whole.