Page 43 of The Madness Within

“Burn in hell.”

“I already live there,” he whispered. “I just redecorated.”

He turned to leave, and just before the door closed, he added, “Eat. Rest. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Click.

Gone.

I sat back, breathing like I’d run a marathon. My legs were shaky, my skin hot, my thighs pressing together for reasons I refused to name.

Later that night, he returned.

No knocking this time. Just the sound of the lock turning and the door creaking open.

“Didn’t eat?” he asked.

I said nothing.

He walked in, holding a different tray. This one had soup, bread, and something that looked like it belonged in a Michelin-starred restaurant.

“This is homemade,” he offered.

“Did you bleed someone into it?”

“Not this time.”

I glared. “Chivalry’s dead.”

He smirked. “I buried it myself.”

He sat the tray down on the nightstand with clinical precision. “You’ve been asleep for nearly two days. No poison. No drugs. Just… exhaustion.”

“Probably from being dragged across rooftops like a goddamn corpse.”

“I saved your life.”

“You kidnapped me.”

“Both can be true.”

He stepped closer. My spine stiffened.

“I didn’t hurt you,” he said, quieter this time. “You saw what I am. What I do. I should’ve ended this the moment your eyes met mine.”

“Why didn’t you?”

He didn’t answer. Not directly.

“You’re too curious for your own good,” he murmured. “Dangerous.”

I stood then, slow and deliberate. “You want to know what else is dangerous? Leaving clues.”

His brows lifted.

“Obsidian,” I said. “Smooth. Iridescent. I’ve found them. All tucked somewhere near your work.”

He went still. Not shocked. Not angry.

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