Colson

The Cage Does Not Scare Me

Amaris POV

The cell was designed by someone who understood witches.

That much was obvious the moment I woke.

The walls weren’t just stone—they were layered with sigils etched so finely they hummed, a low, constant vibration that settled into my bones. Silver veining ran through the floor in precise geometric patterns, not enough to burn, just enough to remind. The air tasted thin, filtered, stripped of ambient magic until casting felt like trying to breathe underwater.

Efficient. Thoughtful.

Cruel.

I sat up slowly on the narrow bench that passed for furniture and tested the wards with the barest brush of my senses.

Nothing.

Not resistance. Not pain.

Absence.

They hadn’t bound my magic.

They’d isolated it.

“Well played,” I murmured to the empty cell.

A witch’s prison wasn’t meant to hurt—not immediately. It was meant to wait you out. To let doubt fester. To let desperation convince you to cooperate long before force became necessary.

They didn’t understand one crucial thing.

I had already chosen this.

Footsteps echoed down the corridor, unhurried, deliberate.

I didn’t bother looking up.

I knew who it was before the door even opened.

Ezra’s presence had always been unmistakable—like a pressure change in the air, the sense that something poisonous had just entered the room and expected to be welcomed.

The door slid open with a soft, reverent sound.

“I wondered how long it would take you to wake,” Ezra said pleasantly.

I lifted my gaze.

He looked… familiar.

Not unchanged—no, nothing as kind as that—but intact in a way that felt wrong. His dark suit was immaculate, his posture relaxed, his expression composed. Only the tattoos gave him away—ink curling up his neck in elaborate, intentional patterns.

Patterns that hadn’t been there before.

Because beneath them, I could see it.

A scar.

A thick, brutal line wrapping around his throat, disappearing beneath collar and ink alike.

Zane had done that.

I smiled.

“Well,” I said mildly, “you look better dead.”

Ezra’s lips twitched—not quite a smile.

“At least you’re still charming,” he replied. “I was worried captivity might dull you.”

He stepped farther into the room, and she followed him.

The witch.

The one who had taken me.

Lyssara stood at his side like a shadow that had learned how to wear skin. Her face was unchanged from the woman I had once known—once trusted—but her eyes were empty in a way that made my stomach tighten.

Not madness.

Choice.

That was always the most terrifying kind of evil.

“So,” I said calmly, folding my hands in my lap, “is this the part where you monologue, or do we pretend this is a negotiation?”

Ezra chuckled softly. “Straight to the point. I always admired that about you.”

“I doubt that,” I replied. “You preferred people who mistook your attention for approval.”

Lyssara’s gaze flicked toward me, sharp and cold. “You should be careful how you speak.”

I finally looked at her fully.

“Oh, Lyssara,” I said quietly. “If you wanted my fear, you should have come alone.”

Her jaw tightened.

Ezra lifted a hand, silencing her without looking. “Amaris,” he said, voice smoothing into something almost intimate, “let’s not waste time. You know why you’re here.”

“Yes,” I said. “And your game is pointless.”

That caught his attention.

He tilted his head. “Is it?”

“You will never have everything you need,” I continued evenly. “Not from me. Not for the spell you think you can force into existence.”

Ezra circled slowly, examining the wards with professional appreciation. “You underestimate the effectiveness of patience.”

“No,” I said. “You underestimate me.”

He stopped in front of me.

“You are the key,” he said. “Original blood. A living anchor. With you, the spell stabilizes. Without you—”

“—it fails catastrophically,” I finished for him. “Yes. I’m aware.”

A slow smile curved my lips.

“You should also be aware,” I added, “that being an anchor does not mean being obedient.”

Ezra studied me closely. “Pain has a way of persuading even the most stubborn minds.”

I laughed.

Actually laughed.

The sound echoed strangely in the cell, light and genuine and utterly out of place.

“Oh, Ezra,” I said. “You used and underestimated Colson for years. I’m not surprised you’d make the same mistake with me.”

His expression flickered.

Just a fraction.

I leaned forward slightly, eyes bright.

“You never understood him,” I continued. “You thought his usefulness was obedience. You thought loyalty came from fear.”

I shook my head.

“You once controlled what I consider some of the most powerful creatures to walk this world—and you failed to recognize their true potential.”

I paused deliberately.

“Instead, you played Kendrick’s little bitch.”

Lyssara inhaled sharply.

Ezra’s eyes darkened—but I wasn’t finished.

“And Sage?” I added casually. “She was under your nose for years. A nuisance human, right? Entertaining. Disposable. And you never discovered her true nature until it was far too late.”

I smiled sweetly.

“History suggests a pattern.”

Ezra recovered quickly. He always did.

“You’re stalling,” he said. “Waiting for Colson.”

“Of course I am,” I replied. “And unlike you, I trust my investment.”

He leaned closer. “You think he can stop this?”

“I know he can,” I said simply.

“And what if I stop him first?” Ezra asked.

My smile didn’t fade.

“You won’t.”

“Such confidence.”

“Such experience.”

Silence stretched between us, thick and electric.

Finally, Ezra straightened. “Keep her here,” he said to Lyssara. “We’ll speak again soon.”

He turned to leave, then paused at the door.

“For what it’s worth,” he added, “Colson always did enjoy playing both sides.”

I met his gaze steadily.

“And you always mistook adaptability for weakness,” I said. “That’s why you died the first time.”

Ezra’s smile vanished.

The door slid shut.

The cell fell quiet again.

I exhaled slowly, the composure I’d held finally loosening just enough to ache.

Colson.

I closed my eyes and pictured him—not as the monster he once was, not as the mask he would be forced to wear again, but as the man who had learned, painfully, how to care.

His journey would not be kind.

Time would test him. Memory would wound him. And the past would try to swallow him whole.

But Colson had always survived the darkest parts of himself.

And this time…

He wouldn’t be alone.

I rested my head back against the stone wall and allowed myself one quiet thought, carried on a whisper of hope.

Come back to me, I thought. And finish this.

The cage did not scare me.

What scared them…

…was that I had already let myself be taken.