Chapter 27
TWENTY-SEVEN
VIOLET
Sleep struggled to find me after my conversation with Lykos. We’d exposed parts of ourselves that we hid for a long time, and that type of release would always come with a steep drop. All I could do was slide under the blankets and stare at the ceiling.
After Lykos walked me to my room, he kissed my cheek good night. It was an innocent touch of his lips against my skin, yet it made my entire body tremble.
Did I wish he had tried something more?
Maybe, but I was determined not to be the other woman, so it left us between a rock and a hard place. Lykos must have sensed it too.
My thoughts returned to his voice, the way he hadn’t judged me, despite how much I knew it had to pain him. He shared how lost in his own pain he’d been back then, and still he was able to find compassion. That spoke volumes.
But compassion did not untangle the knot I was now trapped in, and I couldn’t stand to be in my room a moment longer. The walls felt too close, and before I fully decided what to do, my feet already carried me out of the bedroom.
The hallway was dim and my feet silent against the floor as I made my way toward the far staircase. The one that led toward Amara. To the woman who tried to kill my daughter and Dimitros.
I told myself I only wanted to talk, but it was a lie. I wanted to eliminate the threat to my daughter, but I didn’t know if I was brave enough—or strong enough—to go through with my plan.
My heart rate climbed with each step until I reached the top floor, the wood creaking under my weight.
I found the same two guards in their regular spots. This time they didn’t try to stop me. Instead, one of them just got up, unlocked the door and motioned for me to open it.
I hesitated at the door, my hand hovering a moment before knocking. I didn’t expect an answer, so I pushed inside.
The curtains were drawn, blocking out the moon, but the window must have been open because they danced in the breeze.
My eyes slowly drifted across the room. The neatly made bed.
The nightstand with a book, a cross, and table lamp.
It was clean and pristine, void of any knickknacks.
I assumed to ensure Amara wouldn’t hurt herself.
And then I spotted her, sitting behind a curtain. Her knees were pulled to her chest and her dark hair fell loosely down her shoulders, partially obscuring her face.
I shut the door behind me and sat on the floor, my back pressed against the door to keep my distance.
“Hello, Amara,” I started. “My name is Dr. Freud.”
There was no response, but I didn’t really expect one. Nothing was ever that easy when first starting sessions with a new patient. Though I had ulterior motives, didn’t I?
I let out a shuddering breath, scared to find out what I was capable of.
“I’m here to try to understand you,” I continued, my voice steady despite the unease crawling up my spine. “I just… I need to understand.”
She didn’t look at me. In fact, she didn’t even move. It was unnerving how still she was. It was as if she had withdrawn so deeply into herself that the world outside her body no longer existed.
I swallowed, trying again.
“Can you tell me your feelings related to Dimitros and Aria?” I asked, the lump in my throat growing. “Did you mean to hurt them?”
Still, she gave me nothing. No glance. No reaction. Just the thick silence that seemed to stretch indefinitely.
“I think you had dreams and goals before… everything,” I added quietly.
That earned the smallest reaction.
It was so subtle I almost missed the way her shoulders tightened.
Hope sparked within me. Maybe I could help her and protect the others at the same time.
“Do you want to tell me what they were?” I pressed gently. “I promise I won’t judge.”
She turned and her hair fell away, exposing part of her face.
Her eyes found me, distant and hollow with a hint of something wild.
She looked to be in her mid-forties, though time hadn’t settled on her so much as worn her down in uneven, quiet ways.
Her dark hair, I imagine once thick and lustrous, now fell in loose, unkempt waves around a face that still held the bones of something striking, high cheekbones, a strong Grecian nose, and full lips that had gone dry and pale.
There was an unmistakable Greek beauty to her, something classical and almost statuesque, but it had been hollowed, thinned by neglect; her frame slight, collarbones sharp beneath skin that had lost its warmth.
Her eyes, deep and dark, were the most jarring—too bright, too restless, flickering as if chasing things no one else could see, carrying a quiet, unpredictable wildness that made it hard to tell where her thoughts truly lived.
And yet, I could see that she once was the kind of beauty that didn’t beg for attention but commanded it effortlessly, making it all the more haunting to see what remained now.
Every instinct within me urged caution, but the doctor in me demanded answers.
“Please,” I said, softer. “Say something.”
But whatever emotion had surfaced vanished just as quickly and she shot me a manic smile that sent chills up my spine. Then her gaze drifted past me as if I had ceased to exist, plunging us back into silence.