Page 235 of Mine Again
“If you think you can make me doubt Luca, you’ll never succeed.”
I stack the photos neatly, return them to the folder, and place it in the center of the table like an accusation. Not of Luca’s guilt, but of Hale’s manipulation. Then I turn my back on it.
Like a current under my skin, I start shaking again. I rub my palms down my thighs, but it does nothing. This isn’t fear. It’s adrenaline burning off. My body is learning the signs.
In the bathroom, I let the tap run until the water turns icy. I splash my face, watching droplets trace down my jaw and fall into the basin. Gripping the counter, I whisper into the mirror.
“I trust you, Luca.”
Then I pause, meet my own gaze, and murmur even softer, “And I trust myself to know when I’m being played.”
I close my eyes and press a towel to my face, the cotton muffling my words.
“But hurry the hell up and rescue me, Luca. Hale’s games are wearing me down.”
Chapter Ninety
Isabella
The next morning, when Gerard arrives to escort me to breakfast, he doesn’t take the usual path. Instead, we wind through a different hallway. Immediate unease settles low in my stomach.
What now? What has Hale concocted?
Has he realized his mind games aren’t breaking me, and now he’s planning a different escalation? Is he going to toss me into some dungeon and gloat over the torment it would cause both Luca and me? Or worse, is he trying to seduce me with that sickening charm of his?
With him, anything is possible. That’s the problem. You have to be prepared for every eventuality, and I’m not sure I am. But I’ll be damned if I let him see that, or how scared I really am.
The hallway we follow is lined with glass display cases, each one showing off relics of violence. Suits of chain mail and rust-flecked helmets, morning stars with spiked heads, battle-axes with blades broad enough to split a man in two, and long spears tipped with iron.
Gleaming polished swords lie side by side with the dark handles of antique rifles, their barrels worn but lovingly preserved. Nothing modern, nothing practical for today, just trophies of bygone eras.
Our footsteps echo against the glass, the sound unnervingly loud in the hush.
Interesting, isn’t it? The man so devoted to digital warfare collects weapons from centuries gone. It fits his eccentric nature, yet to me, it only reveals his insecurities.
It seems to me he needs the weight of history behind him to prove his own power, maybe to convince himself he belongs among the legends of the past.
Pathetic.
We pass more glass cases, my attention catching on Hale’s collection of bows. I slow on instinct, wishing I could stop and take it all in.
There’s a towering English longbow, simple and elegant in its deadly reach. Beside it, a recurve with carved tips that bend back toward the string, powerful and efficient. A composite bow of layered horn and sinew pressed into dark wood, the kind ancient hunters once carried.
There’s even a short horseman’s bow, compact and curved, built for speed and close combat. Quivers hang behind the glass, filled with arrows fletched with different-colored feathers.
My fingers twitch at my sides, wishing I could trace the curves and strings. But Gerard doesn’t linger, urging me on with his presence alone.
He stops at a door and swings it open, revealing a small sitting room bathed in golden morning light. Sun pours through tall windows, warming the pale walls.
It’s inviting, almost cozy, the kind of space that should ease nerves. But mine don’t ease at all. Comfort here seems like camouflage, and I don’t trust it.
Gerard gestures me forward, and I step inside, braced for whatever trap this might be.
Hale is there, of course.
Sitting at an ornate antique desk, he’s surrounded by three glowing screens, his hands moving quickly across his laptop keys. His face is taut with concentration, his jaw locked, a shadow pinching the cornersof his mouth.
Something is happening.
