The forest swallowed her whole.
The air was thick with rain and fear.
Naiara ran barefoot, her feet sinking into the mud, branches scratching her skin like hungry claws.
Her heart pounded so hard it drowned out every other sound, the rustle of leaves, the distant roar of the sea, even her own voice, strangled in her throat.
She didn't know where she was going, only who she was running from.
Not Leo.
His twin.
The man who had lied to her, who had loved her pretending to be someone else.
The same face. The same voice. But inside… a monster.
Tears blended with the rain as she ran harder, scraping her arms, stumbling over roots.
Her mind was a storm, Leo's smile, Damian's hands, the truth tearing her apart.
"You lied to me…" she whispered between sobs, tripping again.
The ground was slick, the rain falling in sheets.
Then came the sound behind her, something moving between the trees.
Heavy. Steady.
Not him. Not Damian. Someone else.
She turned just in time to see a blinding beam of light slice through the darkness.
An engine. A vehicle.
One of the island's military transports.
She tried to change direction, but the mud gave way under her feet.
She slipped, trying to stand, when a cold, gloved hand grabbed her arm and yanked her back.
"Stop running, little one."
The voice wasn't Damian's. It was deeper, calmer, glacial. A tone that didn't need to raise itself to inspire terror.
The smell of leather and metal surrounded her. A slow, controlled breath.
Then a sharp blow to the back of her head and the world went dark.
When she opened her eyes again, everything was white. Too white.
The ceiling lights blinded her, forcing her to squint.
She was lying on a metal cot, her wrists bound to a bar above her head.
The rhythmic hum of an air vent marked time with her racing heartbeat.
The air smelled of disinfectant and burned plastic. Of captivity.
Instinctively, she tried to move, but the metal cuffs cut into her skin. She gasped, forcing herself not to panic.
Beyond a half-tinted glass wall, two men were watching her.
She recognized the first one instantly.
The Observer.
Her stomach clenched.
The second man froze her blood.
He sat composed, elegant, radiating the kind of calm that was more terrifying than violence. He wore a flawless grey suit, a spotless white shirt, no tie.
Every motion was deliberate, controlled.
He was beautiful. But that beauty was wrong, too perfect, too polished. Not the kind of beauty one desires.
The kind one fears.
His eyes, light grey, almost transparent, fixed on her.
Eyes that reflected no emotion. Only control.
He didn't look at her like a man looks at a woman.
He looked at her the way a collector studies a rare object.
The Observer spoke in a low, respectful tone:
"Sir, as you can see, the product has been retrieved in good condition."
Her breath hitched.
Product.
The man in grey rose slowly, hands in his pockets.
He crossed the room with quiet steps and entered through the reinforced door.
Each sound of his shoes echoed like a metronome in Naiara's skull.
He stopped in front of her, too close.
The scent of his cologne, wood and blood, made her sick.
With a slow, almost gentle motion, he reached for the hem of her shirt and lifted it.
The metal of his ring grazed her skin.
She froze.
His fingers traced the outline of her scar.
Light, deliberate, intimate, yet it felt like a blade.
His voice was soft, velvet over steel.
"I love scars," he murmured. "They make us unique."
A shiver tore through her. It wasn't admiration. It was possession.
A threat disguised as fascination.
He lowered her shirt with surgical precision, as if closing a file, and turned toward the Observer.
"Prepare the lower sector," he said, his tone smooth and cold. "I want the room ready within the hour. No cameras. No one enters without my permission."
"Yes, sir."
He paused, his eyes sliding back to Naiara.
"Make sure she's awake when I arrive," he added quietly. "I want to see the fear in her eyes."
M i n e.
He didn't say it aloud but she felt it. In the silence between his words. In the way he breathed her in.
Her blood turned to ice.
He adjusted his cuffs, glanced at his watch, and walked to the door with the grace of someone who owned time itself.
"See you soon, Naiara," he said, and disappeared beyond the door.
When the room fell silent again, Naiara realized she was trembling. Not from the cold. But from the terrible certainty that this time, no one was coming to save her.