There was no sunlight. No clock. No sense of time passing. The endless stillness gnawed at her nerves until even her own breathing sounded too loud.

She curled up on the bed and began counting silently in her head.

One, two…

Sixteen thousand three hundred…

By the time she reached twenty thousand, the faint click of the door made her freeze. Her eyes shot toward the sound.

Atticus entered, carrying a tray. The smell of hot food drifted through the room, rich and warm against the cold air.

Clarissa clenched her hands together but didn’t move.

He set the tray down, then came straight to her, pulling her into his arms as though it were the most natural thing in the world. He buried his face in her hair and inhaled deeply. “Did you miss me?”

Clarissa hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “What… what time is it?”

Atticus smiled faintly. “Does it matter?”

Her stomach tightened. She wanted to scream at him, to demand answers, but reason kept her still. Atticus was the only person she could talk to—and the only one who might, eventually, let his guard down. She couldn’t afford to push him too far.

So she forced a small, careful smile and leaned against his chest. “It matters to me. I can’t do anything here. And when you’re not around… it’s so boring.”

Her soft tone brushed against something deep inside him. Even knowing she was probably pretending, he still felt his defenses melt.

He held her tighter, voice trembling with emotion. “Clarissa, you haven’t talked to me like this in so long. You don’t know how happy that makes me.”

She looked up at his face and saw the faint smile tugging at his lips. Her chest tightened painfully. When she looked away, her fingers dug into her arm, the sting of pain helping her stay calm, reminding her to think.

Atticus lifted her chin and kissed her forehead. “Stay here a little longer. Once I’ve made arrangements, I’ll take you somewhere else. Somewhere better, alright?”

Clarissa forced herself to meet his gaze. “What arrangements?”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” he said, his eyes dark with meaning.

She didn’t press further. “Alright,” she whispered, “I’ll wait. But… can you at least tell me how Delilah is? I’m really worried about her.”

The warmth in his expression vanished instantly. His jaw tensed, and Clarissa’s pulse spiked.

Before she could react, he pulled her against him again, his voice low. “She’s fine. I promise I won’t hurt innocent people.”

Relief had barely touched her before his tone shifted, quieter, colder. “But you don’t need to see them anymore.”

Clarissa stiffened. “What… what do you mean?”

Atticus smiled faintly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. His voice was gentle, but his words weren’t. “If it weren’t for them, you never would have left me. So from now on, I’ll keep you where I can see you. Always.”

“Atticus, you—” she started, but his lips silenced her before she could finish.

Clarissa froze, her heart pounding as his mouth claimed hers. Fear and helplessness twisted inside her, but she didn’t fight back.

When he finally pulled away, she was breathing hard, her chest rising and falling against his.

“Clarissa,” he whispered, eyes dark and intent, “I’ll take you somewhere far away. Just you and me. No one else will ever come between us again.”

Clarissa stared at him, speechless. Was this what he wanted—to cut her off from the entire world?

Her body trembled. “But… what about Grandpa? And Phoenix? You can’t just—”

“Don’t worry about them,” Atticus interrupted softly. “Grandfather would live well. And as for the others…” His smile sharpened, the warmth fading from his eyes. He took her hand, their fingers intertwining.

“You only need me.”

Clarissa’s pulse hammered in her ears. His hand was warm—hers were ice-cold.

“Why are your hands so cold?” he murmured, pressing her fingers to his lips. “Don’t worry, I’ll warm them for you.”

He looked at her, the hint of madness in his gaze masked by tenderness. “Just hold on a little longer, Clarissa. Once I’ve got everything ready… everything will be perfect.”

Clarissa lifted her gaze and met Atticus’s eyes. The look he gave her was searing—hungry, unrelenting—like he could burn her down to the bones just by staring.

A shiver ran down her spine. This wasn’t love anymore; it was fixation, raw and consuming.

“Atticus,” she said quietly, “do you even know what you’re doing?”

“Of course I do.” He brushed a kiss against her hair, his tone soft and strange. “Why? Don’t you want to be with me? You said you loved me. You said forever.”

“I did,” she whispered, “but—”

“I don’t want to hear it!” The calm in his voice cracked. His expression hardened, the warmth in his eyes turning to fire.

He grabbed her, holding too tight, his breath hot against her cheek. “Do you remember what I told you, Clarissa? Promises mean nothing without consequences. You broke yours—so now you pay the price.”

His voice rose, anger fraying at the edges. “Why did you leave me? Because I’m not that obedient little brother anymore? Because you finally saw who I am?” His eyes flickered with hurt and fury all at once. “How could you be so cruel?”

Clarissa’s lips trembled, but no sound came out. She had said those words once—long ago.

This wasn’t the love she had once believed in. Love, to her, had been something tender, equal, built on trust. Not this—this cage dressed up as devotion.

At first, Atticus’s care had felt like shelter. He’d handled everything for her; she hadn’t had to lift a finger or make a choice. It had been so easy to drift, to depend on him.

But looking back, the sweetness had teeth. Every kindness had come with invisible strings, until she could no longer tell where she ended and he began.

When she discovered that he’d hidden the truth about her mother’s death—destroying evidence just to keep her by his side—the ground beneath her had shattered. The man she loved, the one she’d trusted most, had crossed a line that could never be uncrossed.

She could forgive his temper, even his pride. But not the lies. Not the control. Love couldn’t cost her freedom.

Clarissa took a slow breath, forcing herself to stay composed. She looked at the hand gripping her waist, hesitated, then gently covered it with her own.

Atticus blinked, surprised. “Clarissa…”

“I’m hungry,” she said softly.

For a moment, his expression melted. “Then let’s eat. I made your favorites.”

He lifted her effortlessly and set her at the table. While she ate in silence, he watched her with the quiet intensity of someone who’d forgotten how to look away.

“Won’t you eat too?” she asked.

“No,” he said, smiling faintly. “I just want to watch you.”

She managed a small, weary smile. “Everything you cook tastes good, Atticus.”

The simple praise lit something in his chest. When she set her chopsticks down, he scooped her up again.

“Finished?” he murmured.

Clarissa nodded.

“Then rest,” he said, lowering her onto the bed.

For a second she braced herself—but instead of what she feared, he only pulled the blanket over her and whispered against her hair, “Sleep.”

Relief washed through her. She closed her eyes and obeyed.

He must have slipped calming herbs into the soup, because the moment Clarissa’s head touched the pillow, the exhaustion she’d been fighting finally dragged her under.

When she woke the next morning, Atticus was gone. He obviously—had reapplied the ointment, and the lingering pain was replaced by a cool, numbing relief.

For a while, she drifted in and out of sleep, the hours melting into one another until she could no longer tell how much time had passed.

When she finally rose and washed up, breakfast was waiting on the table, still warm.

It smelled delicious, but Clarissa barely managed a bite of each dish. Her stomach felt hollow, but her mind was heavier. If not for the thought of keeping her strength up, she wouldn’t have been able to eat at all.

After forcing herself to finish, she sat back on the bed and tried once more to count the seconds, the minutes—anything to keep herself from unraveling. But she lost track halfway through, her mind fogging until sleep claimed her again.

When Atticus came in, the first thing he saw was the untouched food and Clarissa curled up on the bed.

A flicker of emotion crossed his eyes. He set down what he was carrying and moved to her side.

The soft sound of his footsteps made Clarissa stir. She opened her eyes just as Atticus bent down and lifted her effortlessly.

“You didn’t like breakfast?” His tone was gentle, but there was a quiet edge beneath it. “You barely ate.”

Clarissa shook her head. “I just didn’t have much of an appetite.”

“And now?”

She hesitated. “A little hungry. What did you make?”

His expression softened instantly. “Let’s find out.”

He carried her to the table, and Clarissa, suppressing the instinct to pull away, wrapped her arms around his neck. She could feel the tension in his shoulders ease at her compliance, and she allowed herself a small, measured breath of relief.

Atticus had prepared her favorite dishes again—different every day, always paired with some kind of herbal broth.

Clarissa ate slowly, quietly. Her eyes flicked toward him once or twice but she said nothing, finishing only half a bowl before setting her chopsticks down.

“You’re still eating so little,” he remarked.

Clarissa lowered her gaze. “Atticus… where are we going next?”

He looked at her sharply.

Under his intense stare, Clarissa forced herself to stay calm. Her heart raced, but her face remained unreadable.

Atticus’s lips curved slightly as he pulled her onto his lap. His long fingers toyed with a strand of her hair, twisting it lazily between his fingers. “Why ask all of a sudden?”

“I don’t want to stay here anymore,” Clarissa said softly. “There’s no sunlight. Every day feels the same. I just… want to leave.”

His gaze softened again. “You’re right. This place isn’t ideal. Just a few more days, Clarissa. Once everything’s ready, I’ll take you to our new home.”

A new home?

Clarissa froze for half a second, her pulse quickening. Before she could respond, his hand tightened slightly around her waist.

“You’re not happy?” he asked, his voice still calm, but his eyes darker now. “Didn’t you always say you wanted a place that belonged to just us?”

“If it were before,” she murmured, “I would have.”

“Nothing’s changed,” he interrupted. “It’s still you and me. That’s all that matters.”

Clarissa swallowed hard. He wasn’t listening anymore—he only wanted to hear what fit the world inside his head.

“I’m tired,” she said softly. “I want to rest.”

He said nothing this time, only loosened his hold and let her go.

After showering, Clarissa came out to find the dishes cleared away. Atticus sat on the bed, a book open in his hands.

She couldn’t tell what he was reading. But when he sensed her eyes on him, he looked up and smiled faintly, closing the book.

“Clarissa,” he said, voice low and warm, “come here.”