The mansion looms against the night, cold and unyielding, like a beast lurking behind wrought–iron gates. Rows of towering stone columns line the front of the house, the long driveway stretching beneath them like a dark river. Every window is darkened by shadows, but I know each one holds a watchful eye, cameras stationed in strategic places, guards patrolling quietly across the sprawling grounds. The entire place is designed to intimidate, to remind anyone who steps onto this property that they’re walking into Tobias’s kingdom–and that once you’re in, there’s no getting out.
As Silas parks, I step out of the car, letting the chill of the night air settle over me as I stretch, scanning the mansion before looking back at the car. Silas opens the trunk, and we both half–expect her to come lunging out, kicking and screaming. But no. She’s asleep, curled up against the corner, her breathing shallow but steady, her head tilted back against the metal wall.
The moonlight catches on her, revealing the blood spattered across her face, the faint line of red where my blade grazed her stomach earlier. Her shirt is pulled up slightly, exposing a thin line of skin just above her waist, marked by the shallow cut. She’s so still, her face streaked with blood and sweat, her fists resting loosely, bruised from her earlier struggle.
Silas leans in, studying her for a second before lifting her out of the trunk, her small frame limp in his arms. “Strange, isn’t it?” he murmurs, his voice low. “A girl like this covered in blood. She looks…wrong.” He tilts his head, his expression almost amused. “Like she wandered into the wrong story.”
I stay silent, letting him carry her as we make our way up the stone steps. She looks out of place here, this girl with blood smeared across her cheeks, bruises blooming on her knuckles. There’s something raw about her, something that doesn’t fit with this world of polished marble and cold stone. But Tobias doesn’t care about things like that–he only cares about what she can do for him, what secrets she holds from the Crimson Circle.
The entryway opens up before us, vast and echoing, with high ceilings and marble floors that gleam under the chandelier’s dim light. The walls are lined with dark paintings and heavy, ornate furniture, shadows pooling in every corner, and Silas’s footsteps echo down the hall as he carries her deeper into the mansion, his voice low as he glances back at me.
“Did you know they’ve been forcing her into this life since she was a kid?” he mutters, barely loud enough for her sleeping form to hear. “Locked her up for hours to make her learn languages. Twenty of them, maybe more, just so she could be their translator.” He scoffs. “Doesn’t even look like she knows what’s coming, does she?”
I glance at her face, her expression caught somewhere between a frown and a fragile calm. She looks young, almost childlike, and for a moment, it’s strange to think of her locked away, learning the worst kinds of words to be spoken in every language.
Silas chuckles darkly. “Her father–heard he’s the worst of them. Doesn’t see her as a daughter, not even close. Just a pawn to be used and thrown away. Guess he raised her right for this kind of life, though, didn’t he?”
I don’t answer, keeping my gaze forward as we make our way down the hallway. It’s lined with heavy paintings, all of them dark landscapes, oceans, and forests, like Tobias collects only things that keep a sense of mystery, of distance. Silas walks confidently through the shadows, the girl’s head lolling against his shoulder. But just as he’s about to speak again, her eyes flutter open.
