Chapter Three
The First Time
Silas took my hand.
It was a simple gesture—no chains, no commands—but somehow it felt like surrender. Or maybe something worse. Need.
He led me from the ink-stained studio, through a nondescript door in the back wall. No sign. No warning. Just heavy black wood and a soundproof seal.
Inside, the room looked nothing like the rest of the shop.
The floor was hardwood, aged and scuffed with long-forgotten scratches. There was a wide black couch near the wall, a leather ottoman, and a large mirror that spanned the full height of the opposite wall.
The only light came from an industrial lamp overhead—dim and golden, casting shadows that flickered like secrets.
Silas closed the door behind us with a soft click.
His eyes never left me.
“You can say stop anyt
