“I was seven when they gave me your file.”
Damien’s words broke the silence.
They had escaped the gas chamber—barely.
Subject Twelve had found a way out through a small air vent.
That they had crawled for what felt like all the time, lungs burning, hearts racing.
Now, they had been hiding in an antique, dusty apartment three blocks far from the Belmont estate.
Celeste sat on the floor. Her head was spinning—from the gas, from fear, from the truth.
“What?” she asked weakly.
Damien didn’t look at her. He stared at his hands.
“I need to tell you everything,” he said. “The real truth. No more half stories.”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“You need to,” he said softly. “Before we move forward. Before you trust me again.”
Celeste’s chest felt tight. She didn’t want more truth. Truth alwa
