The silence in the room was heavy, punctuated only by the occasional drip of water from the faucet in the bathroom. It had been five days since Marshall had confined me here, a small, stark room with nothing but a bed, a single window, and the bare necessities. The isolation was suffocating. No visitors, no food—only the water from the bathroom sink, which tasted faintly of rust. Even the maid who normally would have come to clean had stopped coming. I sat huddled in the corner, feeling the chill of the room seep into my bones. Every sound seemed magnified in the oppressive quiet, and I feared that if I made any noise, it would only draw more ire from Marshall.
My mind kept drifting back to the last conversation I had with Nico. The memory of his anguish, his voice breaking as he told me
