Brielle’s POV
The ceiling above me was sterile white, the kind you only see in hospitals or interrogation rooms. The kind of white that hums with silence, that makes every breath feel too loud. I blinked slowly, the lingering weight of sedation dragging against my lashes. Everything hurt, but it was the quiet that gnawed at me the most.
Not the quiet of danger, but the stillness after it.
My wrists ached. Even though the restraints were long gone, their memory clung to my skin like bruises made of ghosts. I shifted on the stiff mattress, muscles groaning in protest, but what a relief to feel pain. Pain meant I was alive. Pain meant Fiona hadn’t won.
A soft knock broke through the haze.
Gregory stepped inside with a tray in his hands—tea, toast, and something that looked suspiciously l
