Colson

The War Inside My Own

Colson POV

The door didn’t slam when Ezra left.

It never did.

It closed slowly. Deliberately. With the quiet certainty of something that did not need force to be obeyed.

That was always Ezra’s way.

Violence was easy. Violence was crude. Violence was what lesser predators relied on when they lacked confidence in their control. Ezra didn’t need violence to prove ownership.

He needed silence.

Silence did the work for him.

Silence allowed the mind to fill in the blanks.

Silence forced you to sit with yourself.

And right now…

Silence was tearing me apart.

I stood exactly where he had left me, in the center of the underground chamber, surrounded by flickering torchlight and iron and fear. The air was thick with it. Fear had weight. It pressed into my lungs, coated my tongue, crawled into the spaces between thought and instinct.

Behind me, the girls breathed in broken, fragile rhythms.

They were trying to be quiet.

Trying not to exist.

Trying not to remind the monster in the room that they were still alive.

Smart.

Pointless.

But smart.

I didn’t turn around.

Not yet.

Because I knew exactly what I would see if I did.

I would see four reminders of who I had been.

Not the man I was trying to become.

Not the man Amaris believed I could be.

The creature Ezra had made.

The creature I had allowed myself to become.

My fingers curled slowly at my sides.

Steady.

Calm.

Controlled.

No tremor.

No weakness.

If Ezra had stayed a second longer, he would’ve seen exactly what he expected to see.

His loyal monster.

His obedient weapon.

His Colson.

God, I hated how easy that had been.

I exhaled slowly, though I didn’t need to breathe.

The breath wasn’t for survival.

It was for control.

For grounding.

For reminding myself I was still here.

Still me.

Still—

Still what?

That question lingered longer than I liked.

Behind me, one of the girls let out a small, broken sound. Not quite a sob. Not quite a gasp. Something quieter. Something worse. The sound of someone trying to cry without permission.

I closed my eyes.

For centuries, that sound would’ve meant nothing to me.

Less than nothing.

It would’ve been background noise.

Ambiance.

Proof of power.

Proof of dominance.

Proof that I existed above consequence.

And tonight…

Tonight, it wasn’t nothing.

That was the problem.

That was the fracture Ezra had sensed.

I tilted my head back slowly, resting it against the cold stone wall behind me.

The chill didn’t bother me.

Cold was familiar.

Cold was honest.

Cold didn’t lie.

Unlike me.

I lifted my hand slowly, staring at it in the flickering torchlight.

The same hand that had dragged them here.

The same hand that had forced one of them into my grip.

The same hand that had held her still while I fed.

My fingers flexed once.

Strong.

Precise.

Capable.

I could still feel it.

Her pulse.

Her warmth.

The way her body had trembled beneath my touch.

The way her fear had sharpened every sensation.

The way instinct had surged forward, uninvited but unmistakable.

And worst of all—

The way a part of me had responded.

I laughed softly.

The sound hollow.

Dry.

“Fantastic,” I muttered.

“Absolutely fantastic.”

I dragged my hand down my face slowly, pressing my fingers into my eyes until the darkness behind them swallowed everything.

“You’re doing great, Colson,” I whispered.

“Really. Stellar performance.”

Sarcasm was easier than honesty.

Sarcasm didn’t require accountability.

Sarcasm didn’t force me to admit the truth.

The truth was simple.

Ezra was right.

Not about ownership.

Not about loyalty.

But about one thing.

That monster still existed.

Not buried.

Not dead.

Waiting.

Patient.

Ready.

It had slipped forward tonight without permission.

Without hesitation.

Without apology.

And part of me—

God help me—

Part of me had welcomed it.

That realization made something twist violently in my chest.

Not pain.

Not exactly.

Something worse.

Recognition.

I lowered my hand slowly.

Opened my eyes.

Turned.

Four pairs of eyes stared back at me.

Wide.

Red.

Terrified.

One of them had pressed herself so tightly into the corner of the cage that it looked like she was trying to merge with the wall itself. Another clutched her arm where I had grabbed her, her fingers digging into her own skin as if she could erase the memory through force.

They looked at me like I was death.

They weren’t wrong.

I tilted my head slightly.

Studied them.

Observed.

Detached.

The old instincts slid into place effortlessly.

Assessing weakness.

Measuring fear.

Calculating control.

I hated how natural it felt.

One of them whispered something.

“Please…”

The word barely existed.

A breath more than a voice.

Hope.

Fragile.

Useless.

I smirked faintly.

Not because I wanted to.

Because I remembered how.

Because Ezra would expect it.

Because survival demanded it.

“Relax,” I said softly.

My voice smooth.

Cold.

Convincing.

“I’m not going to kill you.”

Not yet.

Not unless I had to.

Not unless Ezra demanded it.

Not unless survival required it.

They didn’t believe me.

They shouldn’t.

I wouldn’t believe me either.

I stepped closer to the cage.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

They recoiled immediately.

Instinct.

Smart.

Useless.

I stopped just short of the bars, resting my hand casually against the cold iron.

“You’re still alive,” I continued quietly.

“Which means he’s still interested.”

Their breathing quickened.

They understood enough to know that wasn’t comfort.

That wasn’t mercy.

That was delay.

I leaned slightly closer.

“And trust me,” I added dryly, “when Ezra loses interest… you’d rather he didn’t.”

Dark humor.

Even now.

Even here.

God, I was an asshole.

I pushed away from the cage, turning my back on them again.

Because looking at them too long made it harder to breathe.

Not physically.

Emotionally.

Which was new.

Which was dangerous.

Which was unacceptable.

I rolled my shoulders slowly.

Forced the tension out.

Forced the monster back into position.

Because Ezra wasn’t done.

Because this was only the beginning.

Because the tests would get worse.

Harder.

More demanding.

He would push until something broke.

Either my loyalty.

Or my mask.

And if that mask broke—

I was dead.

Not quickly.

Not mercifully.

Ezra didn’t believe in mercy.

I walked toward the exit slowly, each step deliberate.

Controlled.

Confident.

The performance never stopped.

Not even when no one was watching.

Because monsters didn’t hesitate.

Monsters didn’t doubt.

Monsters didn’t feel.

I paused at the door.

My hand resting against the cold metal.

Behind me, the girls remained silent.

Watching.

Waiting.

Hoping.

I didn’t turn around again.

Because I couldn’t afford to.

Because every second I spent looking at them was another crack in the armor.

Another reminder of who I used to be.

Another temptation to become something else.

Something Ezra could not allow.

Something Ezra would destroy.

I smiled faintly to myself.

Cold.

Dark.

Convincing.

“Welcome back,” I whispered quietly.

Not to them.

To myself.

Because whether I liked it or not—

The monster was awake again.

And this time…

I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted him to go back to sleep.