And it’s something I desperately want.

At this realization the trembling in my legs intensifies until I’m sinking to the floor, unable to stand. With my back pressed against the wall, I wrap my arms around my legs and rest my chin on my knees, praying for some unknown entity to hear me. To rescue me from Ghost.

And myself.

I don’t know how long I sit there, curled on the floor as Ghost’s promise envelops me, fills me with a sense of worth I can’t ignore. It’s wrong, and so many levels of fucked-up, but in the quiet corners of my mind, it feels right.

It’s what I’ve been missing.

Eventually, I take a shuddering breath and push to my feet, swaying before steadying myself. My body is weak, hollowed out by the intensity of everything he’s revealing in me.

My steps to the bedroom are slow and heavy. Reaching into my dresser, I pull out a worn pair of pajamas, soft cotton that offers a bit of comfort. I change without thinking, the movements mechanical, as if dressing in something familiar might soothe me a little.

I flick my eyes to the window, noting the sun shining brightly between the closed blinds. It’s not even noon, but I can’t imagine interacting with anyone while successfully pretending to be the collected, put-together person I’ve always been. Instead, I crawl under the blankets with a sigh.

My body sinks into the mattress, my muscles finally loosening. I stare at the ceiling until my gaze drifts across the room, catching on the small stuffed elephant sitting on my dresser. Its faded fur and beady eyes are a reminder of another time.

A reminder of what I’ve lost.

After getting to my feet, I retrieve the item and hug it to my chest, fighting tears of both exhaustion and sorrow. I return to the bed and tuck the elephant under the covers, and then lightly squeeze its worn body.

A wave of nostalgia washes over me as I remember my father giving it to me, his smile warm when he placed it in my waiting arms. I was so young then, barely able to comprehend the world around me, let alone the complexities of safety and danger. Life and death.

My parents, both humanitarians, had taken me to Africa, a journey filled with purpose and hope, even if I was too young to understand its significance. I remember the smell of the sun-baked earth, the kindness of the people they helped, along with the laughter and stories they shared under starlit skies.

They were so full of goodness. And yet, despite all their compassion, they couldn’t shield me from fate: their unexpected deaths, followed by the void they left behind.

“An elephant never forgets.” My dad smiles in my memory. “So never forget how much we love you.”

“I wish I could forget,” I whisper in the emptiness. “Maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much.”

A tear slips down my cheek. I hastily wipe it away, but another appears. I squeeze the stuffed elephant tighter and bury my face in its fur, clutching this small remnant of them until past and present collide.

Until my parents’ love is a distant memory and Ghost’s obsession for me is all that remains.

CHAPTER 24

Geneva is a worthy adversary.

It’s been a week since she last visited or texted me back. Seven days of silence, no matter how many different numbers I use to contact her, or how many provoking messages I send.

It’s fucking frustrating. But I admire the strength of her resistance.

After she confronted me over Mason’s death, I thought I’d pushed too hard. Dug too deep. But Geneva, however rattled, didn’t break.

Even so, it’s time for a change in strategy.

I sit up on my bed at the sound of footsteps approaching. The gait is distinct, a familiar cadence with a subtle drag every third step. There’s a slight hitch in the rhythm that most wouldn’t notice.

Ah, the perks of being a genius.

Duncan Carr is his name, the guard that drags his left foot. I clocked that when I first arrived and stored that tidbit of information, along with every other observation I’ve made about this place and the men inside it.

The uneven gait is the result of an old injury, most likely picked up on the job. Carr tries to hide the discomfort, but every time he steps down on it, the skin around his mouth tightens. All it would take is one well-placed kick and he’d go down faster than a prostitute getting on her knees for a dollar.

Most people don’t understand just how much they reveal in the smallest, unguarded moments of their lives.

Carr appears outside my cell a moment later. The package in his hands is at odds with the masculinity of this place and the man holding it. The box is a pure white, decorated with a Bordeaux-colored ribbon that’s gathered into a large, voluminous bow on top. To complete the look, there’s an ivory card, snuggled underneath the strips of silk.

“You have a package,” Carr says.

I offer a lascivious grin. “Oh, boy, do I.”

“Not that kind of package, you pervert.”

“Rude.”

The guard lifts the box. “This one.”

When I make no move to retrieve the delivered item, Carr frowns. “What is this anyway? You going to tell me?”

I shrug, taking on a neutral expression. “That depends… Are you going to come with me to deliver it?”

Carr grips the box a little too hard. The ribbon flutters with the movement, the deep Bordeaux bow absurdly out of place against the backdrop of cold metal and grim concrete.

He frowns. “Deliver it?”

“I didn’t stutter.”

“You think this is funny?” he asks, a thread of nervousness weaving its way into his tone.

“Funny?” I give him my best wide-eyed innocent look. “Not at all, Officer Carr. Just trying to gauge how far your job description extends. Carrying my little gift all the way to its intended recipient? That’s above and beyond the call of duty, don’t you think?”

He shifts his weight, the faint drag of his left foot betraying him once again. “Your recipient better be in this prison, or I’ll—”

I shoot to my feet. “Or you’ll what?”

Carr jerks back at my sudden movement, his eyes widening with alarm. Before he can fully process the idea of me threatening him, I rush to the door with a speed that makes him suck in a breath of disbelief. The sound of my palms slapping metal as I grip the bars is sharp and his gaze snaps to my hands.

A costly mistake.

“Or you’ll what?” I repeat, my voice low, dangerous, curling around him like a noose.

When he shifts his weight, his focus still on my hands, I lift and extend my leg through the bars. The sole of my boot now rests against his left shin, right below the knee on the spot where his old wound lingers, an unspoken weakness.

The second I apply pressure, his composure shatters. Carr’s face twists in pain, and he stumbles back, the box in his hands nearly slipping from his grip.

“Be careful,” I say, my tone laced with amusement as he struggles to right himself. “Wouldn’t want you to drop that. It’s fragile, you know.”

Carr’s breathing quickens, his shoulders heaving as he regains his balance, but the damage is done. He’s not looking at me with the usual disdain, but with something deeper. Fear. Not the kind that keeps you up at night, but the kind that makes you piss yourself before you start sobbing.

“Do you really believe you have authority over me?” I tilt my head. “Do you think these bars will protect you? That I can’t get to you whenever I want? I wouldn’t make that mistake again, if I were you.”

Carr doesn’t acknowledge my threat with a verbal response, but the nod he gives me is enough. His submission has been acquired.