Dizziness. Bright lights. Pain. Thirst.
That was all Isolde felt when she opened her eyes. They fluttered, trying to adjust to the blinding light in the room. She stared at the ceiling and realized that she was underground. The overhead surgical lamp and the scattered medical instruments were enough of a clue.
Turning her head, she found Malric sitting on a folding metal chair beside her, looking worn out. Her usually tied-up hair was a mess, her eyes sunken, and the bags under them darker than ever. She looked like shit.
Malric pulled down her mask with a gloved hand and muttered, "You put me in a fucking impossible situation, Isolde. You almost dragged me to hell with you."
Hearing her voice and seeing her state, Isolde realized something: She had failed. Malric had saved her.
A wave of bitter disappointment crashed over her. She wanted to curse her, scream at her for bringing her back. She had been so fucking close. So damn close to death. And he'd pulled her back into this place, a place worse than hell itself. Or maybe this was hell.
Her head throbbed, her throat burned. Her neck was in excruciating pain. She couldn't even manage a single insult. Every time her throat muscles twitched, a sharp bolt of agony made her wince.
Malric noticed. She rubbed her temples and let out a long, exhausted sigh. "Stop moving so damn much. You nearly died, and I almost died with you. You won't be able to speak for a few days. You stabbed yourself deep, Isolde. You lost a shitload of blood. And when you collapsed, your head hit the floor."
She looked at her for a long moment before shaking her head in disbelief. "What the hell were you thinking? You thought killing yourself would fix everything? You almost got other people killed. If I hadn't managed to save your sorry ass, I'd be dead right now. Severin brought you here covered in blood and held a fucking gun to my head when you stopped breathing."
Malric kept going since she was the only one who could talk in that room. Isolde could do nothing but stare at her with dazed, half-lucid eyes.
"Don't ask me why the hell Severin was so desperate to keep you alive. I don't fucking know either. Honestly, when he dragged you in here drenched in blood, I thought he killed you and brought you here so I could harvest your organs, like all the other corpses I've had to cut open. But no. He pulled a fucking gun on me and swore he'd blow my head off if I couldn't bring you back."
Once again, Malric let out a heavy sigh. She looked like she hadn't rested and hadn't even allowed herself to breathe properly until Isolde opened her eyes.
The operating room door suddenly swung open. Severin stepped in, his hair wet and clothes freshly changed. Without a word, Malric stood and slipped out of the room, leaving the two of them alone.
Isolde's glare cut straight toward Severin. She was furious. Furious that he had ordered Malric to save her. She couldn't understand what the fuck was going on in his head.
Severin was the one who had said she was useless. Severin was the one who constantly said he wanted her dead but couldn't kill her himself because of Liraine. He was the one who said he'd find another way to get rid of her. That he'd torture her until she lost her fucking mind and ended her life with her own two hands.
And yet, when she finally did exactly what he wanted, he didn't let her die. Why? Why the hell had he stopped her? Why did he save her when she had finally gotten so close to escaping this goddamn hell?
Isolde wanted to scream at him. To curse him for dragging her back into this place when she'd already found the only way out. But she couldn't say a word. Her voice was gone. All she could do was stare at him with hatred boiling in her eyes.
Severin approached. His wet black hair hung down, clinging to his forehead, dripping water as he walked.
His jaw clenched tight. He wasn't the only one burning with rage in that room. Severin looked at her with that piercing stare, but it was different this time. His eyes weren't cold. They were blazing with fury.
It was the same look he'd given her when she was slipping out of consciousness when the blood poured from her throat. The same look he'd worn when he shouted curses at her before she faded into the dark.
"You really thought killing yourself would set you free?" Severin finally spoke, his voice low and cutting.
"You think I didn't know what you and Liraine were up to? Nothing happens in this place without me knowing." There was a pistol in Severin's hand, maybe the same one he used to threaten Malric, just like Malric had told her.
"You think I didn't know about the deal you made with Lucien?" he muttered, voice heavy, dark. He leaned down, bringing his lips close to her ear.
"I know everything, Isolde. I know all about your deal with Lucien. I know exactly how you and your mother got out of prison so easily, even though your mother should've been rotting in a cell for years. And yet, suddenly, she's free of all charges? Someone else took the fall? The family's former driver, bribed with money, just like Lucien bribed you with your mother's freedom."
"Lucien didn't send you here without a purpose. It wasn't about gathering evidence to take me down, because no one leaves this place with evidence, not in one piece, not alive. Lucien sent you here because your face looks like Renata's. That wasn't some fucking coincidence."
Severin pulled back just enough to look at her pale face. "Your face, looking so much like Renata's, was enough to get under my skin. Just enough to make me curious. Curious enough to dig. To learn your past. To realize how much alike we are. And Lucien, he knew that. He predicted everything. Planned it all out like a fucking puppet master. He pushed Maxen out of your reach so the only one left to save you from prison was him. So you'd end up right here, right next to me."
The sharp scent of mint lingered on Severin's breath as it hit Isolde's face. She blinked when water from his soaked hair fell onto her cheek.
"You piss me off," Severin growled. "You look too damn much like me, but you act like some pathetic little shit. You piss me off because you'd rather fucking die than do something useful with that miserable life of yours. And the one thing you really shouldn't do is piss me off."
"You don't get to die like that. Not looking like that, like some broken little girl. You don't get to die useless. At least be fucking useful once in your goddamn life before you drop dead." He lifted the gun in his hand and ran the barrel slowly across her cheek.
"If you die, I swear I'll be fucking furious. Furious that you wasted your life. And you know what I do when I'm mad?" he sneered, voice low and vicious.
"I'll pay a visit to your precious family. Your mother, the one you worked so hard to get out of prison? I'll drag her right back here and make her a fucking slave."
"Your little brother, the underage one? I'll make him a goddamn gigolo in this place." Isolde's eyes widened in horror. Severin grinned, loving it.
"And your half-sister, the pretty little bitch born from your father's affair? I'll put her on display. I'll make her whore herself out in Tiffara's place. With that pretty face and fuckable body of hers? She'll make me a fortune. And you?" He leaned in close.
"You'll rot. You'll die knowing your sacrifice meant nothing. Your fucked-up little family will suffer while you lie cold and useless in the ground." Isolde's body shook with rage. He was a monster. A heartless, sadistic piece of shit. He wouldn't even let her go in death. He'd chase her to hell.
Her eyes burned, but she couldn't scream at him. She couldn't curse him out. All she could do was cry silently and reach up with her trembling, IV-ridden hand to weakly grab at the collar of his shirt.
Severin grabbed her hand, still trembling, still pathetically weak, and shoved the gun into her grip. His cold gray eyes never left her tear-filled ones.
"That's why you don't get to fucking die," he said coldly. "You've got a job to do. The job Lucien gave you. You weren't sent here to dig up evidence. You are the weapon. Lucien sent you here to kill me. To take me down before I destroy your whole goddamn family and Lucien too with my own hands."
Severin guided the barrel of the gun, still in her hand, and pressed it to his head, right against his wet hair. "Do your fucking job, Isolde. Do what you came here to do. Kill me. If I don't die, you'll never be free. Isn't that what you want? Freedom?"
"Your death won't set you free—it'll only curse your family. The only thing that can free you… is my death. So do it, Isolde. Do it. Bring me down. Kill me with your own damn hands."
Isolde's finger trembled on the trigger. She hated him. She hated how cold, how cruel, how godless he was. Her index finger started to squeeze the trigger as her eyes shut tight. This was it. You don't get a second chance. Suppose she could kill him now. She'd gladly do it.
But no matter how often Isolde pulled the trigger, the gun didn't fire. No explosion. No blood. Just a cold, hollow click-click that echoed through the silence and made her snap her eyes open, realizing it was an empty gun.
That bastard.
Severin had played with her and toyed with her. Fury surged in Isolde's chest, burning hotter when she saw the smug smirk curling on Severin's lips.
"You really thought I'd just let you kill me that easily?" he sneered. "Sure, I told you to kill me, but that doesn't mean I'll make it easy for you. You'll have to earn it. You'll have to fight like hell to kill me. And I'll be right there in your way every step of the fucking road." He grabbed her wrist, sneering at the way she held the gun.
"You can't even hold a weapon properly," he scoffed. "Starting tomorrow, you're gonna learn how to use one. And I'll be the one teaching you."
His fingers moved from her wrist to her face, brushing against her cheekbone with that same twisted smirk.
"Maybe you'll try to shoot me during training," he said, almost amused. "If you've got the balls for it. Just remember, your only way out of here is my death. So don't you fucking give up. Kill me or I'll destroy every single person you've ever loved."
Then he stood tall again, grinning wide as he walked away, slicking his wet hair back with his fingers and leaving Isolde behind, drowning in frustration. Back to square fucking one.
It felt like Severin was yanking the thread of her life to watch her fall, pulling, letting go, slamming her down, and yanking her back again to break her one more time.
And in this twisted game…
Isolde knew. She was never meant to win.
…