Chapter 25 I guess I’m Borrowing This
Silence is a weapon Alistair uses to control a room, but right now, it’s a weight in my own lungs that feels like it’s going to crush my ribs.
I’m sitting on the edge of the bed in the primary suite, my thumb hovering over Leo’s contact info. My heart is a frantic, trapped thing, slamming against the inside of my chest. I want to call. I want to tell him about the way Beatrice’s pupils shrunk when Alistair’s voice came over the speaker. I want to tell him that she knew information that she shouldn’t have known. All my instincts are telling me that Beatrice is behind all this. It’s a gut feeling I can’t shake away because I know I’m not wrong.
I should call him and let him know.
But I don’t. I pull my finger away from the screen and drop the phone onto the silver silk duvet.
The only thing I have is my suspicions and, at best, circumstantial evidence. I don’t have a single shred of proof. If I blurt out my suspicions now, Beatrice will just play the victim again. She’ll spin it as me trying to shift the blame for my own negligence. Worse, if she realizes the wolf is actually at her heels, she might panic. A panicked Beatrice is a woman who might decide that a missing child is a liability that needs to be permanently erased.
I have to wait. I have to trust that Alistair’s hacking—the sheer, terrifying power he has to bend the city’s infrastructure to his will—is going to lead him to her. And most importantly, lead us to Lily. I’m scared for the poor girl and what she might be going through right now.
I clench my fist. No matter the kind of vendetta Beatrice had against me, she should have never brought a young girl into this.
Alistair told me to stay in my lane. He told me he didn’t need a doctor. Those words are a stinging heat in the back of my throat. Every time I think about his plain look on his face and the way he said I couldn’t help, my resolve hardens. I’m not just a vessel. I’m not just a "healer" to be kept in a glass box.
If I can just find the right leverage, I can move the world. Or at least, I can move this house.
The phone that I flung on the bed a few minutes ago gives a sharp vibration. I snatch it up, expecting a call from Alistair or Leo. Instead, there’s a notification from an unknown number. No text. Just an image file.
I tap it. The image loads slowly, pixel by pixel, until the horror of it is clear.
It’s Lily. She’s huddled in a rusted, iron dog cage in a space that looks like an abandoned warehouse. The yellow of her dress is stained with grease and dust. Her face is a distorted mask of absolute terror, her small hands clutching the bars of the cage. Her eyes are wide, wet, and searching for a face that isn’t there.
The room feels suddenly five degrees hotter. A prickling heat starts at the base of my skull and rushes down my spine, turning my skin into a field of static. My jaw locks so tight I hear the bone creak. I don’t feel "scared" anymore. The fear has been burned out by a white, cold clarity. The metallic taste of blood from my bitten lip fills my mouth.
I scroll down. Below the photo is a single line of text.
One hour. The old refinery on Blackwood Road. Come alone. Tell Alistair or anyone, and the girl dies.
I don’t think. Thinking is for people who have time, and I have exactly fifty-eight minutes left.
I move with a frantic, rhythmic energy. I strip out of my dress and pull on a pair of black denim pants and a dark, long-sleeved shirt. I tie my hair back so tight it pulls at my scalp.
I need more than a lab coat for this. I head toward Alistair’s side of the room, my eyes scanning the heavy furniture. I start sifting through the drawers of his nightstand. It’s filled with the mundane things of a billionaire: a gold watch, a leather-bound notebook, a set of keys.
I move to the massive mahogany wardrobe in the corner. I’m digging through the pockets of his discarded suit jackets when my hand hits something cold and hard.
I pull it out. It’s a matte black semi-automatic pistol.
I stare at it for a second, my breath hitching in my throat. I’ve never held a gun in my life. The weight of it is staggering, a blunt reminder of the world Alistair lives in. A man who hacks municipal grids for fun probably doesn’t keep a water gun in his nightstand. He’s a wolf, and this is his tooth. One of many.
"I guess I’m borrowing this," I whisper to the empty room.
I tuck the pistol into the bottom of my bag, covering it with my medical notebook and a few vials of amber liquid. It feels like an anchor, pulling at my shoulder, but it’s the only bit of courage I have.
I sneak down the back stairs, my socks muffling the sound of my footsteps on the wood. I enter the kitchen, which is a blur of stainless steel and the smell of roasting garlic. Two of the staff are busy at the prep island. I keep my head down, grabbing an apple from a bowl and offering a small, distracted wave.
"The back exit is through the pantry, right?" I ask, my voice sounding remarkably normal even to my own ears. "I just need some air. The front foyer is a bit much today."
One of the cooks nods without looking up. "Through the double doors, Miss Emily. The staff taxi stands are just past the gatehouse. They stay on call for the deliveries."
I walk through the pantry, the cool air of the evening hitting my face as I step out onto the gravel path. I don’t look back at the house. I find one of the silver staff taxis idling near the service gate. I climb into the back, my hands clenching the straps of my bag.
"The old refinery on Blackwood Road," I say to the driver. "And please. I’m in a hurry."
Beatrice
I’m standing on the balcony, the evening breeze fluttering the silk of my robe. I watch the silver taxi pull away from the service gate. I can see the outline of a head in the back seat. Emily.
I let out a slow, satisfied breath that tastes like victory. She’s actually doing it. She’s actually stupid enough to think she can be the hero.
"Going to meet your fate, are you?" I mutter.
The hatred I feel for that girl is a living thing. It’s a knot in my stomach that only tightens every time I see Alistair look at her. She’s a nobody. A dropout. A stain on our legacy. And yet, she had the audacity to make Greyson strike me. She made the Old Madam look at me with doubt.
I turn to the two men standing in the shadows of the doorway behind me. They are my people. They don’t report to Alistair. They report to the hand that signs their checks.
"She’s gone," I say, my voice a low, sharp thread. "She’s heading to the refinery. Make sure she doesn’t come back. I want the child found by Alistair’s men after the girl is... handled. It should look like the kidnappers panicked when she arrived alone."
I want her gone. I want her name to be a curse in this house. I want Alistair to remember her only as the woman who nearly cost him his legacy.
"Do it now," I command. "And don’t leave anything behind."
Emily
The taxi smells like stale tobacco and lemon air freshener. I’m staring out the window, watching the manicured lawns of the Wolfe estate disappear, replaced by the jagged, industrial skyline of the city outskirts.
"Do you know the place?" I ask the driver.
He glances at me in the rearview mirror, his eyes bored and bloodshot. "The refinery? It’s been shut down for ten years, lady. It’s all rust and broken glass out there. Not the kind of place for a girl like you to be wandering around at sunset."
I pull out my phone and check the address online. It’s a remote, sparsely populated patch of land bordered by a salt marsh and the ruins of a shipping dock. There are no streetlights. No houses for three miles.
It’s an execution ground.
I can see the move Beatrice is making. If I die there, she can say I was part of the plot, and the kidnappers turned on me. She can say I was the one who brought Lily to the slaughter. My heart starts to hammer against my ribs again, but I force it down.
I reach into my bag and feel the cold, matte metal of Alistair’s pistol. I’ve spent my life studying the way the body works—how to heal it, how to stabilize it. Now, I have to think about the opposite.
I start to formulate a plan. I need to get to the cage. I need to get Lily out before they realize I’m not just a sacrificial lamb. I’m thinking about the layout of the refinery, trying to remember the grainy images from the map, when my phone begins to vibrate again.
It’s an incoming call.
I look at the screen. Unknown number. My thumb trembles as I reach for the green icon.
Who is calling me now? Is it the kidnapper changing the terms? Is it Alistair? Or is it the woman who just sent me to my death?
The car hits a pothole, jarring the bag against my hip. I take a deep breath, the scent of the salt marsh already beginning to fill the cabin through the vents. I hit the button and press the phone to my ear.
I don’t say a word. I just listen to the static on the other end, waiting for the voice that’s about to change everything.