The world blurred the moment Gideon’s men dragged her across the gravel, but Isla forced herself to stay conscious—pain was information, and information meant survival.
The air in Gideon’s compound was colder than Sebastian’s mansion, sharper, filled with the metallic scent of weapons and something darker—fear that had dried on the walls years before she arrived.
They pushed her into a dim bedroom. The lock clicked behind her.
For a moment, she let herself sag against the bedframe.
Then she saw it.
A faint smear of residue on the doorknob—chalky white, almost invisible unless light hit at an angle. She brushed it with her fingertip. The sting came instantly, like static biting into her skin.
Poison.
Not enough to kill, but enough to warn.
Enough to remind her she was prey.
Her heartbeat steadied.
Not prey. Not anymore.
Footsteps. Heavy. Familiar.
Gideon.
The door opened, and he filled the frame like a shadow that had grown teeth.
“Sebastian never understood you,” he said, eyes sliding over her like she was a weapon he planned to assemble. “But I do. You don’t break. You adapt.”
He stepped closer, invading her space the way a storm invades the sky.
“Try not to disappoint me.”
He lifted a hand as if to brush her face.
Isla stepped back before he touched her—calculated, not panicked.
His smile sharpened.
“Good. You’re learning.”
The door locked behind him again.
But this time, she didn’t collapse.
She tore the sheet from the bed, ripped a seam, created a makeshift glove. If they wanted to lace surfaces with poison, she would stop touching surfaces entirely.
If they wanted silence, she would listen harder.
If they wanted obedience, she would give them the illusion of it.
The next morning, she was allowed into the garden.
Allowed.
Observed.
Leashed without visible chains.
Gideon’s soldiers watched her from every corner.
She knelt beside a line of pale blue flowers—harebells, delicate but resilient enough to grow between rocks. Their stems trembled under her breath, but they didn’t bow.
“I figured you’d end up here.”
Isla turned.
Celestine stood with her arms crossed, wearing a sardonic smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Her wrists bore faint rope burns. Her posture was defiant, but her voice was rough with exhaustion.
“You’re Sebastian’s runaway, right?” Celestine asked. “The one Gideon took because he likes breaking things his brother already cracked?”
Isla kept her voice steady. “And you?”
“Smart enough not to answer questions out loud.” Celestine leaned closer, whispering. “They drug the food. Not every meal—but enough that you forget which one to fear.”
The warning settled like a stone in Isla’s stomach.
Noted.
Storing it.
Using it.
Celestine straightened, louder now.
“Pick the dead petals. Gideon likes order.”
A performance. A cover.
Isla nodded and lowered her head, pretending to obey while plucking blossoms with hands that trembled only when no one was watching.
That night, Gideon returned.
“Celestine says you worked well today,” he murmured, circling her the way a general circles a soldier he plans to recruit—or destroy.
“Obedience looks good on you.”
Isla forced herself to meet his gaze.
“Obedience isn’t the same as loyalty.”
He paused.
Then he laughed—low and dangerous.
“You really are wasted on my brother.”
His fingers grazed her chin, forcing her to look up.
“I know you’re planning something,” he whispered. “I want to see how far you think you’ll get.”
The door slammed. Locks engaged.
But when the footsteps faded, Isla finally exhaled.
Not because she felt safe.
Because he’d just confirmed it.
He didn’t see her as a threat.
He saw her as entertainment.
And that blindness was the first advantage she’d had in weeks.
Midnight.
Celestine tapped twice on the wall from her adjoining room—soft, coded.
Isla tapped back.
The beginning of an alliance.
The beginning of a plan.
Isla pressed her palm to the cold windowpane.
The glass chilled her skin, but beneath it, the garden remained—her map, her sanctuary, her battleground.
If freedom required patience, she would wait.
If survival required cunning, she would calculate.
If escape required becoming someone dangerous—
So be it.
The girl they tried to poison was gone.
The woman who would outwit them was waking up.