Archer's grip was iron, steering her through a gallery of silent wealth. He released her inside a chamber of restrained opulence.
Nora recoiled, eyes already scanning for exits. "What do you want?"
"You," he said, the word absolute. "Here. Mine."
She laughed, sharp and hollow. "Delusional."
He moved—a blur of controlled motion. One hand pinned her wrists above her head. The other traced the line of her hip through the tactical gear. A traitorous shiver answered his touch.
"You'll beg for me," he breathed against her ear.
She spat a curse, straining against immovable force.
He released her abruptly, adjusting his cuff. "Dream of this." The door sealed behind him with a hydraulic hiss.
No keypad. No handle. A tomb.
Her gaze fell on the ornate fireplace. She wrenched the grating free with a shriek of metal.
Dust and darkness. She crawled through the tight passage, dropping silently into a utility corridor.
A guard rounded the corner. Three seconds. A strike. A collapse. She took his weapon.
The second door. Mark, chained to a pipe, looked up, bruised and shocked.
"Nora—?"
"Quiet. Move." She broke the lock, pulling him up.
They made it three steps.
Lights blasted on, brutal and sudden.Archer stood ahead, flanked by armed men. His face held no surprise. Only cold, perfect fury.
The air crackled with tension as Alexander Archer's voice cut through the silence. "A spectacular show," he said, "I'd applaud..." His eyes narrowed on her protective stance toward Mark. "...if your choice of destination weren't so disappointing."
Nora tightened her grip. "Let us go."
He moved with unnatural speed. The weapon clattered to the marble floor as he pulled her against the unyielding wall of his chest. A slight nod to his guards. "The immersion chamber for our guest."
She struggled against his iron grasp. "Don't you dare—"
Mark's desperate cries faded into the distance as he was dragged away.
Archer's lips brushed her ear. "Every attempt to flee will be paid for with his suffering. The choice is yours."
He signaled the guards with a barely perceptible gesture. "The sterile suite. No compromises." His penetrating gaze held hers. "This time, I'll be watching."
As they escorted her out, she glanced back. Beneath the arctic fury in his eyes, something raw and wounded flickered—gone before she could comprehend it.
The new chamber was a masterpiece of confinement: sound-absorbing walls, a seamless door mechanism. No vulnerabilities. No possibilities.
Alone, Nora steadied her breathing. Archer was a paradox—a fusion of threat and unspoken promise. Most disquieting was the haunting familiarity, the undeniable certainty that their paths had crossed in some forgotten past.