Ellios woke up abruptly, breath hitching as his eyes flew open.
The first thing he saw was an unfamiliar ceiling.
That alone was enough to send a surge of panic through his body. His heart slammed violently against his ribs, every muscle tensing as old instincts roared awake. He pushed himself upright in bed, fingers digging into the sheets as his gaze darted around the room.
Where am I?
For a brief, terrifying moment, his mind jumped to the most familiar conclusion.
Kidnapped.
It wouldn't be the first time.
When he had still been inexperienced—still learning how cruel the business world could be—it had happened more times than he could count. Locked rooms, forced disappearances, sudden "lessons" disguised as discipline.
And more often than not, it was his own blood that did it to him. The Blades liked to remind him where he stood, how easily he could be taken, controlled, erased.
Ellios swallowed hard and forced himself to breathe.
Slowly. Carefully.
He looked again, this time with intention instead of fear.
The room was large, but not cold.
The walls were painted in muted, warm tones. Sunlight filtered in through heavy curtains, casting a soft glow over polished wooden floors. The bed beneath him was absurdly comfortable, the sheets high quality, clean, and faintly scented—something herbal and calming.
There were bookshelves along one wall, not decorative but clearly used. A small table by the window held a teacup that had gone cold.
No restraints. No guards. No hidden cameras that he could immediately sense.
This didn't feel like a cage.
It felt… lived in.
Welcoming.
Ellios let out a slow breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
"Not a kidnapping," he murmured to himself.
At least, not the kind he knew too well.
He stood up from the bed, steady on his feet, which surprised him.
No dizziness, no weakness. His body felt rested—too rested, almost—as if he had slept deeply and without interruption.
That was when memory began to return.
The restaurant.
The quiet conversation.
Hastur.
His hands clenched at his sides as the last clear moment replayed in his mind: sitting across from Hastur, heart racing, desperately trying to sound composed while everything inside him was unraveling.
I would like for us to keep our distance, Mr. Hastur.
The memory hurt more than he expected.
Ellios pressed a hand against his chest. The ache there was dull but persistent, like something bruised.
He had meant those words. He had needed to say them. For his sister. For his safety. For Hastur's.
Still, that didn't stop the pain.
He took a few steps around the room, grounding himself, trying to ignore how vividly he could remember Hastur's eyes when he said it—how something unreadable had flashed through them.
A faint sound reached his ears.
Footsteps.
Ellios froze.
The sound wasn't rushed or cautious. It was steady. Confident.
Each step deliberate, as though whoever approached had nothing to fear from what lay beyond the door.
His heart began to race again, faster this time, heat rising to his face for reasons he refused to acknowledge.
The door opened.
And just like that, whatever calm he had managed to gather vanished.
Hastur stood there.
Those eyes.
That emotionless, sculpted face.
Those unmistakable yellow pants.
Ellios's breath caught in his throat.
It was as if the air itself shifted the moment Hastur entered the room.
His presence was overwhelming—not loud, not aggressive, but absolute. Ellios's heart pounded wildly, traitorously fast, and no matter how much he tried to steady himself, his body reacted before his mind could intervene.
Hastur closed the door behind him and crossed the room without hesitation.
Before Ellios could speak, before he could even properly process what he was feeling, Hastur lifted a hand and placed it gently against Ellios's forehead.
The touch was cool.
Ellios stiffened—and then, without meaning to, leaned into it.
Hastur's brows furrowed slightly.
"The fever is gone," Hastur said quietly.
Ellios blinked, confusion breaking through his panic. "Fever?"
He searched his own body, his memories. He hadn't felt sick. No chills, no pain, no warning signs.
"I don't think I was sick," Ellios said slowly.
Hastur didn't answer right away.
Ellios studied him closely. Hastur's face was as impeccable as ever, controlled and unreadable—but the slight tension between his brows told a different story. Concern. Real concern.
That unsettled Ellios more than anger ever could.
Maybe… maybe he really had been sick.
Or maybe his body had simply reacted to the chaos inside him. To fear. To longing. To everything Hastur stirred within him.
Ellios exhaled, forcing his racing heart to slow.
"What happened?" he asked quietly. "Where am I?"
"You fainted," Hastur replied.
Ellios winced, embarrassment flooding him. "I… fainted?"
"A doctor said it was shock," Hastur continued. "You needed rest. I brought you here."
"This is…?" Ellios hesitated.
"My room," Hastur said.
Ellios felt heat creep up his neck.
"I'm sorry," he said, lowering his gaze. "I didn't mean to cause trouble. I must have… overreacted."
"You did not," Hastur said immediately.
Ellios looked up again, startled by the firmness in his tone.
Still, something felt wrong. A faint unease coiled in his chest, refusing to settle.
"What about Gabriel?" Ellios asked suddenly.
The name left his mouth sharper than he intended.
Hastur paused.
Ellios clenched his fists. "He would never let me be taken anywhere without him. Never. So why did he allow it?"
Hastur moved to the chair near the bed and sat down, his movements unhurried. Then, to Ellios's shock, he reached out and took Ellios's hands in his own. Bringing him to sit next to him.
Ellios stiffened again.
Hastur's grip was firm but not painful. Grounding. Intentional. His thumbs pressed lightly against Ellios's palms, warmth seeping into him despite his resistance.
He remembered what Hastur told him that day. About the connection between them. Is this the connection?
Hastur looked directly into his eyes.
"That is because," Hastur said calmly, "I stole you."
Ellios's breath hitched.
"…What?"
"I stole you," Hastur repeated, his voice low and even. "From Gabriel."
Ellios stared at him, disbelief and fear tangling together.
"From your guards," Hastur continued.
Ellios's heart thundered.
"From the whole world."
Silence filled the room, heavy and suffocating.