The courtyard fell into silence.
Even the wind stilled as Kael processed the words.
"She's not alone," the guard repeated, almost in a whisper.
Naya stood rooted beside him, her chest rising slowly with each breath. She didn't blink. She didn't move. Her mind raced too fast for her body to catch up.
Kael didn't shout. Didn't panic.
He turned slowly toward the estate. "Lock the lower gates. Double the guards. Clear the east wing."
"But, sir—"
Kael's voice dropped. "Now."
The guard bolted.
Naya finally found her voice. "She escaped last night."
"Yes," Kael replied.
"She could've disappeared. Started a new life. But instead she's…" Her voice trailed off.
"Coming back," Kael finished. "Because I taught her how to hold a grudge."
⸻
The estate buzzed with tension. Guards with rifles moved through the hallways like shadows. Windows were barred. The watchtower light swept faster and sharper.
Still, Naya felt no safer.
She stood in her room, staring at her reflection. Her fingers clutched the hem of her black shirt as her mind tried to untangle everything.
Mira was free.
And instead of running, she was returning.
With help.
Why?
Because revenge isn't about freedom.
It's about making someone pay.
And Kael—he was the one who made them bleed. One by one. Quietly. Systematically. Maybe even with a twisted kind of love.
Celeste.
Mira.
And now… her.
⸻
Leo came knocking just before dusk.
His eyes darted behind her, scanning for anyone else. "I don't have long."
"What do you want?" she asked.
He handed her a folded note. "Found this in the north fence post. Hidden. Wrapped in cloth."
Naya unfolded it slowly.
No greeting. No name. Just four words, scribbled in familiar, wild handwriting:
Don't trust the inside.
Her stomach sank. "Mira?"
Leo nodded. "She risked being seen just to plant that. Whatever she knows… it's bigger than just Kael."
Naya looked up at him. "You're 'inside,' too."
His jaw clenched. "And I haven't trusted myself in a long time."
He turned to leave, then stopped.
"One more thing," he said. "Don't go near the west greenhouse. Kael's been locking it at night."
"Why?" she asked.
But Leo was already gone.
⸻
By nightfall, Kael was nowhere to be found.
The house dimmed. Quieted.
And Naya, heart pounding, headed to the west greenhouse.
⸻
The moonlight made everything silver. She crept past sleeping guards, ducked under a metal arch, and found herself at the edge of the greenhouse.
It loomed like a glass tomb.
She checked the lock.
It was sealed. Heavy. Cold.
But the side panel—one of the glass panes—was cracked open. Just enough.
She slipped inside.
The air was warm, wet, and earthy. The scent of rotting flowers and iron clung to everything. The plants looked untouched, wild with overgrowth. But in the center of the greenhouse, there was something that didn't belong.
A chair.
Bolted to the floor.
Straps at the arms.
Bloodstains at the base.
Her mouth went dry.
This wasn't a greenhouse.
It was a holding room.
Or worse—
A confession room.
And just beside it, half-covered by a tarp, was a wooden box.
She stepped closer and peeled it back.
Inside was a set of videotapes.
Each labeled.
Celeste. Mira. Junia. Auri.
And—
Naya.
⸻
She dropped to her knees, stomach twisting.
Kael had filmed them.
Watched them.
Studied every reaction.
Every breakdown.
Every scream.
Even before she arrived, he'd known she would end up here. This was the last stop in his cycle. His game. His kingdom of obedience.
She stood, gripping the tape with her name on it.
Then—footsteps.
Not soft. Not careful.
Heavy.
Coming closer.
⸻
Naya darted behind the chair, heart in her throat, watching the figure step through the cracked glass pane.
Kael.
He didn't even check to see if someone was inside. He walked straight to the chair, dropped a small black box beside it, and sat.
Lit a cigarette.
His face was tired. Not cruel. Not angry.
Just… tired.
He stared at the chair as if it had once held something sacred.
"Celeste," he said softly.
Naya didn't breathe.
"She said love was supposed to free people," Kael murmured, voice low. "But she never understood the kind of love I was offering."
He closed his eyes. "Mira never learned either."
Naya gripped the tape tighter. Her chest ached. The way he said their names. The quiet reverence. As if he mourned them. As if he blamed them for not surviving.
"You always run," he whispered. "But not her. Not this one."
Naya knew he meant her.
⸻
He stood and walked to the corner.
Unlocked a cabinet.
Pulled out another tape.
Blank.
He scrawled something on the label.
She squinted through the shadows.
And read it.
Final Session – Naya.
Her blood froze.
Kael turned to leave, the tape in one hand, cigarette in the other.
But before he stepped out, he paused.
His head tilted.
And his eyes scanned the dark.
Then he smiled.
Not a wide one.
Just the smallest curve of suspicion.
As if he knew.
As if he'd known all along.
"Naya," he said quietly to the shadows, "you were always meant to see this."
And then he was gone.
⸻
She didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
Until the silence returned.
Then she stepped out, holding the old tape in one hand… and her own blank one in the other.
Her fingers clenched them both.
The past.
And the future.
She had seen what happened to the others.
But her story wasn't going to end in a chair bolted to the floor.
Not if she burned the whole damn greenhouse down first.