Liora's Pov
The phone kept ringing.
Each tone felt like a hammer against my ribs...
I held the device to my ear, waiting for his voice. Waiting for the monster to explain why I was locked in a room like a piece of evidence...
Pick up. Pick up, you coward.
The line went dead.
No voicemail. No answer. Just a cold, digital click.
I stared at the screen. He didn't even care enough to tell me no.
Suddenly, I heard the lock turn.
I scrambled to my feet, dropping the phone into my pocket.
The heavy doors swung open.
It wasn't Darian.
It was a woman who looked like she was made of iron and vinegar. Her hair was a tight, grey knot. Her eyes were like two cold coins.
Behind her stood the two statue maids from the night before.
They were carrying empty plastic bins.
"I am Mrs. Gable," the woman said. Her voice was sharp. It cut through the quiet. "The head of the household."
"You locked me in," I snapped. My heart was still hammering.
"The West Wing is secure for your safety," she said. She didn't even blink. "Now, step aside. We are here for the intake."
The maids pushed past me. They didn't ask and didn't even bother to say excuse me.
They just went straight for the pile of my old clothes on the bathroom floor.
The pink uniform. My socks. Everything.
"What are you doing?" I lunged toward them.
"Discarding the waste," Mrs. Gable said. "Mr. Volkov was clear. Nothing from the outside enters this ecosystem. It is a bio-risk."
"It's just clothes!" I shouted.
They threw the pink dress into a bin. It looked pathetic. It looked like a dead skin.
Then they moved toward the bed. Toward my father's satchel.
Not that. Not that.
My brain screamed. I felt a cold chill wash over me.
I stumbled toward the nightstand. My hands were shaking.
The journal was sitting right there. It was wide open.
I grabbed it and shoved it under the heavy silk duvet.
I did it just as one of the maids reached for the satchel.
"Wait!" I recoiled, grabbing the bag first.
I pulled out a thick, navy blue sweater. It was old. The elbows were thin. It smelled like peppermint and old books.
It was my father's favorite.
"You can't have this," I said. I clutched it to my chest.
Mrs. Gable stepped closer. She smelled like bleach.
"That is a rag, Miss Hayes," she said. "It is unhygienic. Give it to me."
"No."
"Sentimental value is a weakness in this house," Gable said. She reached out. Her fingers were like claws. "It clutters the mind. Mr. Volkov wants you focused."
"I don't care what he wants!"
I lunged away from her and backed into the corner, clutching the wool.
It was the only thing I had left that felt like love...
The maids stopped and looked at Mrs Gable.
"Mr. Volkov did say she could keep the bag," one whispered.
Gable's eyes narrowed. She looked at the sweater. She looked at me like I was a bug she wanted to squash.
"The bag. Not the filth inside it."
"He said everything in the bag stays!" I lied. I hoped Xavier hadn't told her the truth.
Gable stared at me for a long time. The silence was violent.
"Keep your rag for now," she spat. "But if I see it outside this room, it goes in the incinerator."
She turned to the maids. "Finish the purge. Search the drawers. Anything not issued by the Volkov Estate is to be burned."
They tore through the room. They checked the closet. They checked the bathroom.
I sat on the edge of the bed, my heart in my throat.
The journal was inches away from their hands.
Don't look. Don't look under the blanket.
I felt sick. If they took the journal, I would have nothing.
They finished with the bins. The room felt even emptier now.
"Lunch is at twelve," Gable said. She walked to the door. "Do not be late again. The schedule is not a suggestion."
They walked out. The door clicked.
Locked again.
I waited until their footsteps faded.
I lunged for the duvet and pulled the journal out.
I hugged it along with the sweater. I was shaking so hard I couldn't breathe.
They're going to take everything.
I realized then that Darian didn't just want a baby.
He wanted a blank slate.
He wanted to erase Liora Hayes until there was nothing left but a body.
I walked to the window and looked at the wire.
I felt a sudden, sharp realization.
I wasn't just staying here to save my mother.
I was staying here to survive him.
The phone in my pocket buzzed.
A text message.
Darian: I am busy.Follow the schedule.
I stared at the words.
My grip tightened on the journal.
I wasn't going to be a blank slate...
I was going to be his worst nightmare.
I looked at the navy blue sweater. I pulled it on over my expensive grey one.
It was too big. It was ugly. It was "waste."
But it was mine.
I looked back at the door.
I needed a plan. I needed to know what the Obsidian Circle was.
And I needed to find a way to make Darian Volkov look me in the eye when I talked.
The sun went behind a cloud. The room turned grey.
I sat on the floor, hidden from the camera by the bed, and opened the journal to the last page.
There was a name written there.
Someone my father knew.
Someone who might still be alive.
