Chapter 17
The sound of the lock engaging carried the finality of a coffin lid sealing shut. It was not just the door that closed. It was the last remaining illusion that I could still step back into the world I came from. The world of hospital corridors, ethical rules, and lives that followed predictable patterns had been burned to ash. I stood in the center of the sterile, fluorescent-lit room, my pulse hammering in my ears, facing a man who felt less like a human being and more like a force of nature.
Konstantin Volkov did not look like a prisoner. He looked like a king who had simply moved his throne to a smaller room.
“You are not leaving yet, Ella,” he said, his voice low and almost melodic, the kind that slipped under the skin rather than crashing into it. “We have not finished o
