Chapter 19
SAGE
The first thing I noticed was the cold.
It wasn’t just the sharp bite of the air; it was the way it seeped into my skin, the metal restraints digging into my wrists, sending a dull ache up my arms with every failed attempt to move.
My ankles were bound too tight and unyielding.
My legs ached from the strain of sitting too long in one position. There was no slack in the bindings.
No mercy.
I forced myself to take a breath, shallow and ragged, as my head pounded in an unforgiving drumbeat that throbbed behind my eyes. Whatever they’d drugged me with was still there, clinging to the edges of my consciousness like a stubborn fog I couldn’t outrun.
For a moment, I stayed still.
Counting the beats of my heart.
Listening. Assessing.
The sound of my own pulse echoed in my ears until, slowly, I became aware of another sound.
Breathing.
Steady. Calm. Controlled.
I forced my eyes open, the dim light stinging until I blinked away the blur.
The room was plain but brutal in its simplicity.
Cement floors, stained with something I didn’t want to think about.
Exposed pipes lining the ceiling. The smell of damp earth, old stone, and metal thickened the air, turning every inhale into a fight.
And then I saw my captor.
Castor.
He was only a few feet away, his back to me, rolling his shoulders as though he were working out the kinks from a long day.
No urgency. No concern.
Just... waiting.
I watched him in silence, keeping my body still despite the rising panic building in my chest.
There was no point in struggling. Not yet.
That’s when I noticed it.
A mark.
Ink-black and vicious, at the base of his neck where his hair tapered close to his skin. At first, it was just a pattern, but as my gaze sharpened, something ancient stirred in my mind.
Recognition.
It wasn’t just ink.
It wasn’t art.
It was a symbol.
And something about it felt very wrong.
The shape of it, like something meant to seal something in. Or keep something out. I didn’t know how I knew that.
But I knew.
It wasn’t merely decoration.
It was a brand and something about it felt familiar. Like something I had forgotten.
My pulse spiked, and the restraints bit deeper into my skin as I involuntarily pulled against them.
The scrape of the chair leg dragged across the concrete, echoing sharp through the room.
Castor moved.
He turned toward me slowly, like he already knew I was awake. Like he’d been waiting for the moment I opened my eyes and realized the depth of where I was.
His expression was relaxed, easy.
Almost amused.
“I was wondering when you’d wake up.” He finally said, his voice was silk over glass, smooth but sharp enough to cut.
I stared at him, keeping my breathing even as I fought to swallow against the dryness in my throat.
I didn’t answer.
He smiled lazily, but knowing and took a slow step closer, crouching low until he was eye-level with me.
He rested his forearms on his knees like this was a casual conversation. Like I wasn’t tied to a chair in a concrete room that stank of rust and rot.
“Say something,” he coaxed. “You’ve got that look.”
He said it like I was a puzzle. Like he enjoyed watching me struggle to find the answers.
I clenched my jaw, before I relented, “Where am I?”
My voice came out cracked and hoarse, but steady.
“Somewhere safe.” He replied simply, his grin deepened, like it was a private joke he wasn’t going to share.
I tugged at the restraints again, making the chains rattle, “Doesn’t feel safe to me.”
That earned a soft chuckle, before he spoke again, “That depends on how you look at it. But regardless, you have information we need, so your safety is most dependent on how you answer them.”
The memories of before I woke up here, came flooding back in a rush—the music pounding at the House of Music, the heat of the crowd, Castor behind me, the sharp sting at my neck... And then nothing.
That’s when I connected the dots.
He drugged me and dragged me here.
All for some ‘information’?
I wasn’t buying it.
“Information?” I scoffed. “You didn’t think to just ask?”
The accusation slipped out before I could stop it.
Castor tilted his head, his gaze flickering, “Would you have obliged?”
I didn’t answer.
Because we both knew the truth.
His smile thinned as he stated, “Exactly.”
My gaze flicked again to the base of his neck.
To the mark.
And this time, he noticed.
“You keep looking at something, sweetheart,” he said, voice lower now. Knowing. “What is it?”
I licked my lips and tasted copper as I spoke, “What’s on the back of your neck?”
A pause.
The air in the room changed.
Shifted.
Like the wind before a storm.
For the first time, Castor’s easy expression faltered. It was subtle—there and gone in an instant—but I caught it.
“That’s an interesting question,” he said slowly, like he was choosing every word with care.
“I’ve seen it before,” I said.
The truth settled heavy on my tongue.
His gaze darkened, “Have you now?”
I nodded.
But I didn’t say where.
Because I still didn’t know.
Because the memory of it was buried deep, clawing at the edges of my mind but refusing to take shape.
Castor stood abruptly, running a hand through his hair as he exhaled. “Well,” he said. “That’s unfortunate.”
Ice slithered down my spine, as I forced myself to ask, “Why?”
The word was a whisper.
He turned back toward me slowly, smiling, but his eyes were flat. Empty, as he answered, “Because it means you’re asking the wrong questions.”
I swallowed hard, the weight of his meaning settling cold and brutal in my chest.
He stepped closer, leaned in until his breath was hot against my ear, “Be careful what you look for, sweetheart. You might not like what you find.”
The door creaked open.
I flinched, instinct ripping through me.
And then I saw him.
Reich.
His presence filled the room instantly.
Cold. Heavy. Icy steel wrapped in the shape of a man.
He moved without hurry, every step calculated and predatory.
For a split second, I wanted to believe I was safe.
That he was here to fix whatever this was.
But when the light caught the back of his neck, my stomach dropped through the floor.
The same mark.
Identical.
Branding him as something I didn’t understand, but I knew enough to be terrified.
His eyes raked over me slowly, as if taking inventory of what was his.
“How’s my wildflower?” He finally said, his voice was low, smooth. Dripping with something dark and indulgent.
Something almost cruel.
I couldn’t stop the scoff that broke from my throat, “You’re insane.”
Reich smiled but it wasn’t kind.
“You have no idea.” He responded.
And in his eyes, I saw it.
He wanted me to know how much further he could take this if I pushed just enough.
My voice cracked, desperation slipping through before I could stop it, “I’m sorry,” I choked out. “I didn’t mean to invade your property. I didn’t mean—”
He lifted his hand, flicking his fingers.
And I stopped.
Like I didn’t have a choice, though I knew I did.
He leaned against the doorframe, casual and relaxed but his eyes were a storm.
Cold, brutal and merciless.
“I warned you,” he said.
The panic clawed harder now, rising like bile in my throat, as I tried to plead, “I’ll leave! I won’t come back! Just—just let me go!”
Reich sighed like I was boring him and then he pushed off the doorframe, slow and deliberate.
Moving toward me like a wave I couldn’t outrun.
I pressed back into the chair, chains rattling.
And then his hand was on me.
Not rough, but firm.
His knuckles grazed my cheek before his palm settled there, warm and grounding in the worst possible way.
He crouched until we were eye level, his gaze locked on mine, unblinking. “You think I brought you here to hurt you?”
The question was soft.
Dangerous.
“I...” I tried to speak but I shook my head because I didn’t know the answer.
His thumb stroked across my cheek. Gentle.
Too gentle.
“I brought you here to keep you safe.” His tone didn’t change but I felt the weight of those words all the way to my core.
A whimper slipped past my lips.
He heard it.
And his smirk returned. “Shhh,” he murmured. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
His voice was soft. Deceptively soothing.
Wrapping around me like silk.
And all I could think was—liar.
As he left me alone in the darkness.