Shattered Minds

Chapter 23

MAEVE

Caleb stirs beside me, his arm tightening around my waist. I press my lips together and breathe through my nose, silent, waiting for the shift.

Is this the moment? I’ve never witnessed his change before. Does it hurt Caleb? Or is he just lost somewhere inside his own head, banging at the locked door for someone to let him out?

I can’t imagine how that feels.

His arm loosens again, and his breathing shifts—slower, heavier, more controlled. I stay perfectly still, barely breathing, as the steady rhythm of his chest falters. His body jerks, and his head tilts slightly, jaw clenching.

The change is subtle, yet unmistakable. It’s in the set of his mouth. The tension in his shoulders. It’s in the way his entire presence shifts, growing darker, more dangerous. Even the warmth of his skin seems to intensify, radiating an almost palpable heat that seeps into my bones.

And he hasn’t even opened his eyes yet. As if by instinct, the air in the room electrifies, crackling with an unseen energy, like the very molecules around us are holding their breath, waiting for the inevitable.

My heart hammers, pounding my ribcage with such force, I fear it might burst. Maybe I should touch him, anchor him to this moment. But that would be a mistake.

Something primal, an instinctive wariness whispers in the depths of my mind. “Do it at your own risk.”

It knows the danger that lies dormant in the man beside me. But lately, danger is the only thing keeping me alive.

Stillness creeps over me, the hairs on my arms standing on end. A breathless second passes.

Asher opens his eyes, sharper than Caleb’s, more focused. They land on me immediately. His lips curve up into a slow, deliberate smirk, and he shifts onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow.

“You’re awake,” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair from my forehead, his voice smooth, teasing. “Waiting for me, Little Shadow? How flattering.”

I clutch the sheet under my chin as though it might shield me from him.

But it’s pointless. Asher doesn’t play by anyone’s rules.

I know that better than anyone. He’s been playing with me since the moment I stepped into Caleb’s clinic.

He runs a finger down the centre of my neck. “What do we have here?” He moves fast, straddling me in a single motion, his hands caging me in on either side.

His proximity steals the air from my lungs. Yet . . . I can’t bring myself to move.

He sits up, exposing his toned chest—the same one I had my hands on only hours earlier—and the sheet pools around my waist.

Cool air skates over my bare skin, and a breathless moan escapes my lips. I know he sees me, my breasts, exposed in the dim moonlight filtering in through the sheer curtain. Goosebumps break out over my skin as his gaze drags over me, lingering just long enough to burn, though his expression gives nothing away.

Asher isn’t Caleb. He’s not looking at me with tenderness or hesitation. But more like a predator studying its next meal, his hazel eyes darker and filled with something I can’t name.

“We really should stop meeting like this,” he says, narrowing his eyes. “I might start thinking you enjoy waking up to me.”

“Maybe I wanted to talk to you.” I swallow hard, my voice catching somewhere between my lungs and my throat.

Asher lifts his eyebrows slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before it’s replaced with that same look of amusement. “Oh? And here I thought you were afraid of me.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” I say, the lie bitter on my tongue.

The truth is, I’m petrified. Not of him. Just of the way he makes my body hum. Just as it is right now.

Can he feel it? That undercurrent of something alive thrumming beneath the surface. It’s primal, a need I don’t want to admit to.

He chuckles, the sound dark and intimate, as though he can see through every facade I’ve ever built. “Liar.” His lips curve into a grin. “But I’ll indulge you. For now.”

I force myself to meet his gaze, even as my pulse races, and I so badly want to cover myself up from his imposing stare. What’s happening to me? The way he’s looking at me, like he already owns me, it’s hard to contain myself when every cell inside my body breathes just for him.

Lifting my chin, I keep my composure. “You wanted another name. I have one.”

Asher leans closer, his warm breath dancing over my face. “Do you, now? That’s very thoughtful of you.”

It’s not like he gave me a choice.

I nod, reaching for the sticky note I’d tucked under the pillow earlier when Caleb fell asleep. I’d hoped Asher would make himself known.

I hold it out to him, my hand betraying me by trembling. The brush of his fingers against mine as he takes the note from me, has me stifling a whimper.

My god. I hate that he can summon this reaction with a single touch. My body doesn’t just betray me. It offers itself up.

I just had sex with this body, but not this man. There’s an enormous difference. I’m more exposed under his gaze than beneath Caleb’s touch.

Asher runs his eyes over the note. “Dr. Arthur Sterling. Lead researcher. Retired. Last known address.” He sits up straighter, his muscles rippling with barely contained darkness, his nakedness now in full view.

His arousal is impossible to ignore. Yet, he doesn’t seem at all bothered by it. In fact, his smugness oozes from his pores, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.

I squeeze my thighs together, heat flooding my body. This isn’t how I expected this encounter to go, yet here we are. The monster and the prey.

He has me right where he wants me. Beneath him.

And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t get a thrill from the way he pins me down without lifting a finger. He could take whatever he wanted right now.

I’d let him.

Asher hums his approval, the vibration rolling off him in slow, sensual waves. It skates over my skin, hardening my nipples.

“You’ve been busy.” He drags his eyes up my torso, ever so slowly. “Maybe I shouldn’t underestimate you.”

His eyes flick to mine again, and the intensity there makes it impossible to breathe. Heat blooms under my skin, alive and electric. He could crush me without a second thought. Snuff me out like I’m nothing but a mere speck of dust.

With a tilt of his head, he studies me, narrowing his eyes as they land on my chest. A low rumble vibrates through his own, and he leans closer until our noses are mere centimetres apart.

My entire body locks up.

Is he . . . going to kiss me? Or strangle me? He could do both . . . at the same time.

Asher’s hand lingers just above my skin, his fingers curling slightly, his jaw tightening, as though he’s debating whether to touch me.

Or destroy me.

Then, without a word, he scrambles from the bed, and darts across the room. With his back to me, his breathing is heavy, his shoulders rising and falling, muscles tightening under his bronze skin.

Muttering under his breath, he yanks on a pair of sweatpants.

It doesn’t matter which personality inhabits that body. The view still makes my mouth water.

“Are you happy now?” I say, the words falling from my mouth before my brain rethinks them.

He turns his head, giving me his side profile. “You’ve earned your place. For now,” he murmurs, tucking the note into the pocket of his sweatpants. “Be ready tomorrow night. We’ll pay the good doctor a visit.”

I sit up, pulling the sheet with me, my fingers twisting into the soft fabric. “Wait. What? That wasn’t the deal we had, Asher.”

He turns fully. “Is that right?” He taps a finger to his chin, and frowns, lost in his own thoughts, as though he’s trying to recall our conversation only days ago. “You see,” he says, dropping his hands to his sides. “If you want what’s in my head, it’s going to cost more than breadcrumbs.”

Of course. I sell him my soul, and he raises the price. It was never going to be enough. Not for him. Not for me.

Caleb warned me he was a manipulator.

Still, there’s that pull, like gravity bending around him. Like my lungs forget they were ever meant for air. I can’t seem to do anything but nod.

He stalks towards me and kneels beside the bed. “We’re going to see just how far your shadows stretch, Maeve.” He tugs the sheet down again and runs the tip of a finger down my side, skimming over my breast, my waist. “You might find they’re deeper than you think.”

My skin ignites, a breathy whimper escaping my lips. The weight of his presence presses down on me, but I hold his gaze, daring him to make the first move.

“Are you going to tell me what you plan to do?” I say, surprising even myself with the strength in my voice.

He tilts his head, considering me for a moment before straightening again, his silhouette a dark shadow hovering over me.

“Now where’s the fun in that?” He makes his way to the door, and pauses, glancing over his shoulder. “Get some rest. You’ll need it.”

With that, he slips into the shadows of the hallway like a ghost, leaving me alone in the now cold, empty room.

I guess I should get used to that—Caleb disappearing along with Asher. It’s not like I can keep one and not the other.

Should I go after him?

I sink back into the mattress, rubbing my eyes. That’s probably my worst idea yet.

The silence is deafening, but my thoughts have never been louder, spiralling into a chaotic whirlwind of fear and something else entirely.

I should hate him, despise everything he stands for. But as I lie here, breathing in the scent of Caleb against the cool sheets, Asher’s imprint still hangs heavy in the air. There’s no way I can deny the truth.

I’m drawn to his darkness.

And what’s worse? A part of me doesn’t want to escape it.

Because maybe, just maybe I’m meant to follow him into the dark.

* * *

I pace the front of my house, gnawing on a thumbnail. The chill of the night air sticks to my clammy skin, but it does nothing to combat the heat racing through my body.

Weeks ago, I was a harmless journalist chasing leads.

Now?

Now I’m a murderer consorting with a psychopathic serial killer. I don’t even know who I am anymore.

I glance at my phone, the screen the only light in the pitch black. Where the hell is he? I rub my forehead, my leg bouncing.

Maybe he forgot. Or maybe . . . he never woke up and Caleb is sleeping right now, totally oblivious to my betrayal.

Yes, I want answers. I want them all to pay for what they did. But this? Conspiring with Asher? Am I really going to stoop so low?

Asher isn’t like Caleb. He’s not caring, or soft. He’s cruel, manipulative. So why can’t I say no to him?

And more importantly, why haven’t I been able to stop thinking about him all day?

The clouds part, allowing a sliver of moonlight to peek through. It elongates the shadows of the trees surrounding my house into grasping, skeletal fingers. The breeze shifts, a whiff of something rotten lingering like a stain.

A chill runs down my spine, but it has nothing to do with the cold. It’s the same feeling I got from the orphanage. From the dank walls and peeling paint of the solitary rooms, to the stark white clinical halls, the acrid smell of bleach barely masking years of neglect and abuse.

Bile rises in my throat, and I press a hand to my chest.

I’m safe. I’m home.

Headlights sweep across the house, and I freeze. An engine growls, splitting the silence as the Charger prowls up the dirt driveway, coming to a stop in front of the porch.

Asher steps out, all lean muscle and predatory grace. His eyes, cold and calculating, find mine in the darkness.

A smirk plays at the corners of his lips. “Ready for some fun, Little Shadow?” he says, his voice a menacing purr.

He’s as smooth as sin. You’d never know what simmers beneath.

I nod and race to the car, letting my legs carry me while my mind scrambles to find the surface. It’s all I can do. I can’t trust my voice not to betray me, and the moment I open the door, it’s like stepping off a cliff, my stomach dropping, my heart lodging somewhere in my throat. I suck in a deep breath.

Oh well, here’s to hoping my death is quick and painless.

With one last glance at my house, I slide into the passenger seat, the leather cool against my skin. Asher’s cologne—woodsy and something darker—lingers in the air, calming my racing heart, if only slightly.

I’m doing this.

Caleb will never forgive me.

I study Asher’s profile as we drive through the empty streets. His jaw is clenched, eyes focused intently on the road ahead.

The streetlights flicker across his face in rhythmic patterns, highlighting the sharp angles of his cheekbones and the dangerous glint in his eyes. Tension has his body coiled tight, like a lion ready to strike.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s anxious. But I do know better than to assign such a feeling to this man. It’s not anxiety I’m sensing, it’s something much more dangerous. He’s enjoying this, thriving off the fear radiating off me in waves.

Asher is in his element, and I’m about to be dragged into his den.

I turn my gaze to the town rushing past, a blur of neon lights and shadows.

“Sterling will be at The Black Lantern,” Asher says, his voice cutting through the silence.

My throat tightens. I’m not even going to bother asking him how he knows that.

“That’s where we’re going?” I say, eyeing him.

He glances at me out of the corner of his eye, a slight smirk on his face. “Don’t look so glum, Maeve. I need you sharp tonight.”

“So, what’s the plan? Corner him at the bar. Lure him out. Gut him in the street.” I scoff at the ridiculousness of it all.

Asher’s smirk widens into a full grin. “See? You’re not just a pretty face.”

My mouth drops open, and I stare at him for a long moment. Asher isn’t stupid enough to do anything in public.

Right?

“Surely, you’re kidding?” My voice wavers, betraying the calm exterior I’m attempting to portray. “What if someone sees us?”

“Sees you , Little Shadow.” He taps the tip of my nose, his tone infuriatingly calm. “That’s the point. We need him distracted, and nothing clouds judgement faster than lust.”

My stomach somersaults and a chill floods my limbs. “So, I’m the bait? How do you know he’ll even go for me? I might not be his type.”

I sink into the seat, the leather squeaking under the pressure of my body, and cross my arms over my chest.

Asher’s eyes find mine. “Oh, you’re his type, don’t you worry your pretty little head about that. It’s why you’re the perfect bait.” Licking his lips, he gestures to my body. “Look at you. Sterling won’t be able to resist.” His gaze drags over me, devouring me. “But don’t worry”— he flicks his focus to the road ahead once again—“I’ll be right there. Watching.”

Goosebumps break out over my skin, and I rub my arms to ease the sudden iciness in the air.

It’s not Dr. Sterling I’m worried about.

Asher slows the car as we approach our destination and pulls up outside a seedy bar on the outskirts of town. He kills the engine, plunging us into silence broken only by the distant thrum of bass from inside the bar.

I stare at the neon sign flickering above us, the eerie red glow sprawling across the cracked pavement.

I’ve changed my mind. I can’t do this.

Asher faces me, possibly sensing my inner turmoil. My palms are slick. My pulse won’t settle. I’m shaking, but I force myself not to look away.

“Breathe, Maeve,” he says, sinking down so we’re eye level. “I won’t let you out of my sight. Remember”—his fingers ghost along my jaw—“he likes them young and scared.” He studies my face, his gaze flicking briefly over my trembling hands, then back up to my eyes. “Can you be a good girl and play the part?”

For him, I’ll do anything. Especially when he looks at me like that. Like I’m the most sacred thing in the world.

I swallow hard and nod.

His eyes darken as he runs a thumb over my bottom lip, tugging slightly. “Perfect.”

The word is soft. Almost reverent. But it doesn’t feel like praise. It feels like ownership.

With that, he exits the car in one fluid motion. I follow on unsteady legs, quickening my pace to catch up to him.

The night air is thick with the promise of rain, carrying the stench of stale beer and cigarettes. We get closer to the entrance, and muffled laughter beckons me to step inside its innocent bubble.

Instinctively, I wrap my arms around my waist. My only armour. Asher’s gaze sharpens on my face, like he’s reading every fear etched into the lines. He leans in slightly, his hand finding the small of my back, guiding me toward the bar’s entrance. The simple act is possessive, a reminder of our shared purpose.

The door creaks open, releasing a wave of smoke and sweat. Neon beer signs cast sickly hues across weathered faces.

“There.” Asher nods to the far corner, where an older gentleman—Dr. Arthur Sterling—hunches over the bar like a vulture. “Show time Little Shadow.” His hand tightens around my hip, silent fury coiling beneath his skin.

My face heats. This is it. No going back now.

Asher leans closer, his breath warm against my ear. “Make him want you the way Caleb does. It’s safer for you that way.”

I frown. What does he mean by that statement? The way Caleb does ?

Another conversation, perhaps.

I swallow, forcing my lips into a lazy smile, and shift my weight like I’m already drunk. With a slight nod at Asher, I sway towards the bar like a girl who’s had one too many and wants to be wanted.

Lonely. Vulnerable. Exactly what he wants.

Sterling’s gaze locks onto me immediately, his flat eyes raking over my body with undisguised hunger, while Asher slides onto the stool beside him like he owns the place.

Calm. Patient. His presence gains the attention of several women. A flick of cleavage from a brunette and my hands fist at my sides. Heat rises up my neck before I even register the thought.

“He’s mine.”

God, what is wrong with me?

I slept with Caleb. But it’s Asher they’re looking at. That shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t. Yet, it does. The thought of another woman putting their hands on him . . .

I blink rapidly, sinking back into character. Asher orders a drink, his eyes never leaving me, not even when the brunette two stools down leans towards him, pressing her breasts against the bar.

Wow, she really is desperate.

But she doesn’t exist to him. Only I do. And that alone gives me the courage to keep moving.

I linger nearby, pretending to study the grimy drink menu while casting furtive glances Dr. Sterling’s way.

Honestly, I can’t believe I’m doing this. The man is a dinosaur. My fingers tremble as I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, a calculated move to draw attention to my delicate features.

Shifting his weight, Dr. Sterling glances around the room. He’s testing, waiting to see if I belong to someone else. Only he doesn’t glance to the man beside him. That’s his first mistake.

I let my eyes drift up to his, and I bite my lip. His eyebrows shoot up, and he stands, smoothing down his crumpled dress shirt under his suit jacket. Another quick glance around, and he throws back the rest of the whiskey in his glass.

Slowly, he moves towards me, rubbing his hands over his navy slacks.

Oh god. Here we go.

Don’t run, don’t run, don’t run.

He slides onto the stool beside me, and leans in. “You don’t look like you belong here,” he slurs, eyes dropping to my chest. “You sure you’re old enough to be in a place like this?”

Is he fucking serious?

I’m twenty-six arsehole, not a child.

I force a shy smile, letting my eyes dart nervously around the room. “I . . . I’m just waiting for someone. They were supposed to meet me here, but . . .” I shrug. “I think I’ve been stood up.”

Dr. Sterling snakes out a hand, his calloused fingers brushing my arm. A chill skates through me, but I force a giggle, even as acid burns its way up my throat.

“Well, sweetheart, why don’t you let me buy you a drink?” His eyes aren’t unlike the ones I’ve seen in that place.

Blank. Entitled. Predatory.

Asher catches my attention, a silent signal passing between us. My body is in tune with his, each micro-expression telling me it’s working.

I nod timidly, placing a hand on Dr. Sterling’s arm. “Okay. That sounds nice.”

A smile breaks out on his face, wrinkling the grey-tinged skin around his hollow eyes. “You got it, sweetheart,” he says, puffing out his chest like I’m a prize to claim.

The weight of his gaze sits heavily on my breasts, even as he orders a round of drinks.

He’s not hiding it. He wants me helpless.

I keep a smile on my face and lean in, letting my knee brush his. I want to scrub my skin raw. But I shift closer anyway, the sour stench of his sweat sinking into my nostrils.

The night wears on, a blur of cheap whiskey and false laughter. Dr. Sterling’s hand grows bolder with each drink, wandering from my arm to my knee, then higher still. I giggle and squirm, the perfect picture of innocence tainted by alcohol and attention.

Through the haze of cigarette smoke and dim neon light, every part of me knows Asher’s watching. Not just to protect me. He’s measuring me. Judging. Seeing how far I’ll go.

He’s a shadow at the edge of the room. His beer sits untouched, a prop in the predator’s performance. To the crowd, he’s just another patron, blending seamlessly into the chaos. But to me, he’s a tightly coiled storm, and it’s only a matter of time before he unleashes his power.

As last call approaches, Dr. Sterling leans in close, his breath hot against my ear. His fingers dig into my thigh with just enough pressure to bruise.

“Why don’t we get out of here, sweetheart? I’ve got a nice, quiet place we can go.” His smile is all teeth and entitlement.

God, he’s so gross.

I feign hesitation, twisting my lips to the side as if considering his offer. “I . . . I don’t know. I shouldn’t . . .”

His hand tightens on my thigh, his eyes glassy with lust and liquor. “Come on, sweet girl. I’ll take good care of you.”

I glance towards Asher, catching the almost imperceptible nod.

It’s time.

With the sweetest smile I can muster, I nod. “Okay.” I bite my bottom lip, dragging my teeth over it. “Just for a little while.”

That’s all the time Asher needs.

* * *

Dr. Sterling’s house looms at the end of a gravel driveway, its warped Victorian frame dilapidated by time and rot. One shutter hangs by a single rusted hinge, creaking in the breeze like a warning. The paint peels in long, curling strips, exposing weather-worn boards that look brittle enough to snap under the slightest of breezes.

The older man pushes the front door open, a wrinkled hand on the small of my back as though I might bolt at any second—I contemplated it the entire drive here.

The door groans, a wave of stagnant air wafting over me. It’s warm and choking and filled with the scent of mildew, stale whiskey, and something akin to desperation.

I hold my breath and place one foot in front of the other. Inside isn’t much better. The walls are yellowed with age and nicotine, and the light from a dusty lamp casts crawling shadows across the faded carpet.

The filth coats everything, just like the guilt I keep trying to scrub off my soul. Sterling doesn’t seem to notice it. Or maybe he’s just stopped seeing it.

He drops his keys into a chipped glass ashtray and tosses his blazer over a chair that’s already drowning in clutter.

Somewhere deeper in the house, a slow, rhythmic creak echoes, as if the place itself is breathing.

“Make yourself comfortable, sweetheart,” he says, gesturing towards a couch that might’ve once been green.

Now it’s threadbare and stained, the fabric worn and wrinkled like old skin.

My stomach clenches. Every instinct tells me not to sit. But I do, perching myself on the edge, like prey waiting for the trap to spring.

“Nice place,” I say, the lie almost dying on my tongue. “Do you live here alone?”

Sterling’s eyes glint in the dim light as he pours himself a generous glass of amber liquid. “Just me and my demons, child,” he says, the words wrapping around his tongue like something sour.

He chuckles, sinking into a worn armchair across from me, and loosening his tie.

I’m sure there are plenty of demons in this man’s artillery.

He rakes his gaze over me, undressing me with his eyes. “You’re very beautiful,” he says, lifting the glass to his thin lips. “Why would you agree to come home with an old fool like me? I’m sure you get plenty of offers from nice young men your age.”

Nice young men?

Nice isn’t exactly the word I’d use for Asher. Even Caleb. With them, nice is tame, safe.

And they are neither of those things.

“Not really,” I say, lifting a shoulder. “I keep to myself mostly.” I force my hands to remain still in my lap, fighting the urge to wipe away his lingering touch.

He nods, contemplating. “You remind me of someone.” The whiskey swirls in the glass with his movements. “A girl I knew long ago. She had that same innocent look about her.” His tone is almost sad, regretful, as though the thought of this young girl brings him pain.

Is this why he brought me here?

He wants to unpack his regret about a girl he likely abused.

A floorboard groans. Sterling flinches. Heat crawls over me. Time seems to hesitate. Then Asher steps from the shadows, calm and lethal.

He prowls through the darkness, his eyes locking on mine. “Still living like a king, I see,” he says, brushing dust from a broken photo frame. “Fitting. Graves and ghosts suit you.”

Dr. Sterling whirls around, whiskey sloshing onto the worn grey carpet. His face drains of colour as he takes in Asher’s imposing figure, backlit by the dim hallway.

“No, you . . . you’re . . .” He shakes his head, as though he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. “It can’t be.” His eyes dart between Asher and me. “What is the meaning of this?”

Asher nods, giving me permission to speak.

I rise slowly from the couch, the girl I once was peeling away with every step. My innocence shattered years ago, it’s only now I’m realising it. I don’t even flinch.

The ease with which I fall into this role disturbs me more than Sterling ever could. I should feel shame.

Instead, I feel power.

“We have some questions for you, Dr. Sterling,” I say, my voice steady despite the tremor in my hands. “About Thornhaven Orphanage.”

The old man’s eyes widen, and he swallows hard. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He reaches low for something, hand grasping.

My gaze flicks to the space beneath the chair. A glint of metal. Is that a gun?

Before I can react, Asher moves fast, twisting Dr. Sterling’s arm behind his back. The old man cries out, and the hidden revolver thumps onto the floor, sliding across the carpet.

Silence follows, tension charging the room.

“Now, now, Arthur,” Asher says, his voice low and calm. “Let’s not make this more unpleasant than it needs to be.”

Dr. Sterling’s face contorts in agony, his breathing quick, shallow. This frail old man bears little resemblance to the monsters from my nightmares.

But he has answers I need to pry from him, and my determination hardens once more.

“You best start talking,” I say, stepping closer, the floor creaking beneath my feet. “About what you did to us. I had a friend, Bethany. Did you know her?”

He shakes his head. “Child, you don’t understand what you’re asking. Those records . . . they’re dangerous. They’ll bring ruin to us all.” Dr. Sterling’s voice trembles as he speaks the words, his fear wrapping around him, and squeezing like a snake would its meal.

“Maeve, my love,” Asher murmurs, gesturing to his duffel bag resting on the floor at his feet. “Would you be so kind as to set up.”

My breath catches. Not at the command, but at the way he says my name, like I already belong to him. And maybe I do.

He watches me move, his gaze heavy. Not with judgement. With pride.

I unzip the duffel, my hands remaining calm, steady, my movements as practiced as buttering toast, as though I’ve done this plenty of times before. That frightens me more than anything inside the bag.

“The leather pouch,” Asher says, pointing to a tan coloured pouch resting on the very top of an arsenal of tools. “Set it on the coffee table.”

“Oh god, please,” Dr. Sterling chokes out, while I arrange the pouch on the table. “What you’re asking for . . . I can’t give it to you.”

Asher’s grip tightens around the old man’s arm. “We’ll see.” He gestures to the tools now lying on the nearby table. “Maeve, if you’ll do the honours.”

I stare at the innocence of the pliers, a simple tool, yet a weapon in its own right.

This isn’t right. I’m not this person. Or am I?

Asher’s eyes meet mine, a silent encouragement in their depths, and he nods almost imperceptibly, almost like he’s giving me permission.

“Don’t forget why we’re here.” His voice cuts through the fog of my hesitation, low and commanding.

Memories rush in, and I can’t shove them away. It’s as though something is forcing my eyes open. It wants me to remember.

A slap that stung for days.

Muffled sobs in the night.

The metallic smell of blood on cold tile floors.

My fingers curl around the tool, the weight of it grounding me. Bethany’s face swims to the surface of my mind, her dark eyes wide with fear, as she whispered reassurances it would all be okay.

But it wasn’t okay. It never was.

Dr. Sterling whimpers, a pitiful sound that should disturb me. “Please,” he begs, “I was only following orders. I never meant?—”

“Liar!” Asher twists the man’s arm further. “You enjoyed every moment of our suffering.”

I approach slowly, the pliers heavy in my hand. Dr. Sterling’s grey-blue eyes widen, and he glances at the metal object glinting in the dim light. My hand shakes, but Asher’s steady gaze anchors me.

This isn’t just for Bethany, this is for him as well, for the pain he must have gone through at the hands of this man.

“Start with his fingernails,” Asher says, his voice eerily calm. “It’ll loosen his tongue.”

I swallow hard.

Can I really do this? This is methodical, calculated. Not impulsive in the way I took Dennis McCosky’s life.

Dust motes swirl in the moonlight seeping in from the window. Sweat seeps into Dr. Sterling’s dress shirt. His eyes search mine, begging. All simple, everyday occurrences, but together they form a disturbing picture.

The pliers remain seated innocently in my hand. A hand I don’t recognise.

It’s almost as though I’ve slipped behind my own eyes, watching from somewhere cold and detached while someone else moves my body. Similar to how I felt back at McCosky’s house—Bethany’s hand guiding mine, or her voice threading through my skull.

“I-I can’t,” I whisper, my arm dropping to my side, my shoulders sagging.

Asher whips a hand out, his fingers digging into my cheeks. “Don’t flinch now,” he says, thumb pressing harder into my flesh. “Remember Bethany. Think of how she bled so you wouldn’t. This is for her, Little Shadow. And for you.”

My grip tightens around the pliers.

Her kind dark eyes, the way she would comfort me and tell me everything was going to be alright.

The fire in my chest spreads, consuming me. I’ve been twisting myself into knots and attempting to unravel them one by one.

But what if I’m supposed to be tangled, to be messy? To curl myself inside Asher, inside Caleb.

“You’re right,” I say, stepping closer to Dr. Sterling.

Asher holds the old man’s arm out to me. Beads of sweat drip down his wrinkled brow, and the smell of stale whiskey on his breath almost makes me choke.

His eyes dart between me and Asher, wild and unfocused. “Please. I’ll talk. Just don’t?—”

I clamp the pliers down on his index fingernail, and tug . . . slowly . . . steadily. A strangled cry escapes the old man’s lips, the nail peeling away from the flesh with a sickening, wet snap. The sound lodges in my throat like glass, bile creeping up the back of my tongue, souring everything.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I turn away. But I don’t let go.

Dr. Sterling howls, the sound rippling through the room, and bouncing off the walls. But it’s the sound inside my head that’s louder. It’s the sound of something breaking.

I stare down at the pliers in my hand, slick with blood.

Have I finally crossed a line I can’t come back from? And what will Caleb think of me when he finds out?

Asher places a hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently, and I snap my focus to him. “Good,” he murmurs. “Now, let’s get you some answers.”

He turns to Dr. Sterling, whose sobs have turned into pitiful whimpers. “Where are the files? The ones that show what you did to Bethany?”

Sterling shakes his head weakly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says through his sniffling. “They would never allow me access to those files.”

Asher’s eyes narrow. “Wrong answer.” He nods to me. “Maeve, the lighter.”

My muscles lock in place. But then I see her. Bethany’s face in my mind. My sweet Bethany, who never made it out. My hand steadies as I reach for the lighter in the pouch.

The metal is cool against my palm, and I snap it open, the flame dancing to life. The glow casts flickering shadows across Dr. Sterling’s contorted face.

Electricity zaps through me, dark and intoxicating, as though I’m only just coming to life.

Did Asher—Bethany—look like that when he performed his experiments on them? Terrified and pissing themselves?

Asher takes the lighter, his fingers brushing mine. He leans in close to Dr. Sterling, his voice a deadly whisper. “Last chance. Where are the files?”

Dr. Sterling squeezes his lips together, remaining silent.

“Okay. Have it your way.” Asher holds the flame to the man’s forearm, unblinking, as though he’s merely toasting bread.

The stench of burning flesh coils in my throat, and Sterling’s screams scrape across my skin like sandpaper.

“Stop!” He sobs, pointing to the closed door at the back of the room with a trembling hand. “In my office, there’s a false bottom in the top desk drawer. There are files hidden there. But they’re not what you want.” He looks at me, his eyes bloodshot. “You don’t remember, do you?”

“Remember what?”

Asher snaps his fingers, gaining my attention. His eyes dart to the closed door behind us. “Maeve, go check. I’ll keep our dear Arthur company.”

I frown. What did Dr. Sterling mean by me not remembering?

Exhaling, I move towards the back of the room. There’s no point arguing with Asher. It won’t do either of us any good.

The door to Dr. Sterling’s office is unlocked, and I slip inside, keeping my footsteps light. Moonlight streams in through stained glass, painting the room in muted colours. I rifle through the desk drawer, my fingers trembling with anticipation. I find the false bottom, and my heart races.

The files are there, just as he said. Yellowed pages filled with names, dates, sordid details.

My eyes widen as I scan the contents. More names of children I knew at the orphanage fill each page. Bethany must be on one of these pages. She didn’t just disappear, she was real.

Ethan’s mum didn’t even put a dent in the minefield of Pinnacle’s experimentation. I tuck the folder under my arm and dart of out of the room, my footsteps hurried.

Asher’s eyes lock onto mine. Searching. Measuring. “Well?” He raises an eyebrow.

I nod once, the folder clutched tight against my chest.

A slow, wicked grin spreads across his face. “Good girl.” He turns back to Dr. Sterling, who’s slumped in the chair, sweat, snot and tears dripping down his face. “Now, Arthur,” he says, plucking a scalpel from the table and twirling it between his fingers like an afterthought. “One more thing.” He waves me over. “Come here, Maeve.”

My feet carry me forward of their own accord, drawn by some primal magnetism I can’t explain. I stop beside him, beside the snivelling wreck of a man who once terrorised so many of us.

Asher presses the scalpel into my palm, his fingers closing over mine, cool and steady. “This is yours.”

My heart crashes into my ribcage, my chest tightening. “He already told us?—”

Asher presses a finger to my lips. “This isn’t about information,” he says. “Not anymore.” He leans close, his warm breath brushing over the shell of my ear. “It’s about choice.”

Choice?

I’ve already made my choice, haven’t I? Long before tonight. Long before him.

The old man squeezes his eyes shut, tears leaking from the corners. “Oh god . . . I was just following orders. They said it was for the greater good.”

Asher’s laugh is bitter, brittle, like it could snap at the seams. “The greater good. How noble of you, Arthur.”

Dr. Sterling slumps in his chair, chest heaving, breathing ragged. “I didn’t know,” he chokes out. “I never meant—” He clamps his mouth shut, shaking his head.

It’s no use begging for his life. He must sense this.

And I agree. Asher and I aren’t walking out of here until the old man is no longer breathing. His fate was sealed the moment he decided to torture innocent children.

Asher’s hand still covers mine, and his breath brushes my cheek. “Take it back,” he murmurs, his other hand gripping my hip, igniting every cell in my body. “Take everything they stole.”

My fingers tighten around the scalpel, and the world narrows to the space between us.

Arthur Sterling is a liar. He knew what he was doing when he left his mark on all of us.

Caleb’s invisible scars.

Asher’s torment.

And myself. The girl who was thrown into Thornhaven Orphanage, soft and still hopeful. And the woman who crawled out in pieces.

A guttural cry rips through me, and I drive the blade into the soft spot just below his ribs, angled upward. Straight to the heart.

Sterling’s body convulses, a strangled gasp tearing from his lips, wet and sharp. Blood pools around the blade, warm and slick against my fingers.

His eyes lock on mine, pleading. For mercy. For forgiveness.

He’ll get neither.

“See?” Asher says, his voice low, lips brushing against the side of my neck. “You’re a natural.”

My focus remains on the sensation of Asher’s body at my back, his steady heartbeat, his darkness dancing with mine.

The old man’s eyes are glassy, unfocused, and his chest barely rises with each shallow breath.

A pang of guilt infiltrates my chest, but I shove it down, burying it with every other horror I’ve witnessed in my life. Not now. That’s future Maeve’s problem.

A strangled choke fills the air, the colour draining from Sterling’s face, slow and inevitable, until he’s nothing more than a hollow shell slumped in the chair.

The house falls silent, nothing left but the sound of my breath and the shadow of what I’ve become.

Asher cups my face, this thumb smearing something warm across my cheek. “You did well,” he says. “You’re not their victim anymore.”

This is the moment I should feel sick. Where I should collapse under the weight of what I’ve done.

Instead, I feel light.

Empty.