Page 56 of Silent Oaths
Theodoreleans in, his breath warm against my ear. “Youcan try to hate us all you want, little siren,” he whispers, his voice a velvet knife, “but your body begs for us.”
Maxwellchuckles darkly, his eyes gleaming. “Andwe love watching you fall apart.”
21
THEODORE
Shehasn’t left her room in over a week,Theo.Wefucking broke her,”Julianargues.
Itwirl in my chair untilI’mfacing the office windows.Beyondthe glass, the courtyard stretches out, nothing but empty space where the mansion once stood.Ahollow grave.
Julian’svoice grates against my brain—not because he’s wrong, but becauseI’vebeen thinking the same thing.Isabelhasn’t stepped foot outside her room since the night we cornered her in the living room.Shehasn’t screamed at us, hasn’t thrown things, hasn’t even tried to fight.Silenceisn’t like her.TheIsabelwe took was loud, reckless, clawing for freedom with everything she had.
ThisIsabelis a ghost.
Maxwellis slouched on the couch, flipping a knife between his fingers with a lazy expression. “You’reacting like we should feel bad about it.”
Julianshoots him a glare. “Youdon’t?”
Maxwellhums, pressing the flat of the blade to his mouth in mock thought. “Ifeel… unsettled.”Hesmirks. “Thatcounts for something, right?”
Julianturns back to me. “Weneed to do something.”
Idrum my fingers against the desk, weighing my options.
Pushingup from my seat,Irun a hand through my hair and walk out of the office, tugging at my sweater to release the invisible wrinkles.
Thesound of quiet sobs seeps through the wooden door whenIget toIsabel’sroom.Iexhale slowly, pressing my palm against the doorframe.
She’sbreaking.
Ishould let her.Itwould make things a lot easier for us.
Instead,Ido the one thingIshouldn’t.
“Isabel.”
Thecrying cuts off abruptly, butIknow she’s still there, just beyond this door.Ican picture her curled up in bed, arms wrapped around herself, eyes red and swollen.Thethought unsettles me.
It’sthe same position she has been in since she stumbled back into this room after our littlegroup activity.
Thehidden camera tucked into the corner of the ceiling shows me everything.Howshe barely moves, how she stares blankly at the wall for hours, how she only drags herself out of bed when necessary.It’slike the fight in her has been drained, her fire reduced to dying embers.
Andfor some reason, it makes my stomach twist in a wayIdon’t fucking like.
Ilean against the door, voice quieter. “Youcan talk to me.”
Abitter laugh. “Talkto you?”Hervoice is hoarse, like she hasn’t used it in days. “Whatcould we possibly talk about,Theodore?”
Ihesitate before answering. “Whateveryou want.”
Silence.
Then, softer, “Letme go.”
Amuscle in my jaw ticks.Iclose my eyes.
She’sthe only person who could ask me that and almost get away with it.
