I couldn't sleep. The ceiling of my bedroom remained stubbornly visible despite the late hour, its familiar patterns offering no comfort. My mind refused to quiet, filled with thoughts of Joy back in this house after everything she'd endured.

  The estate felt different now. The walls that had once represented safety now seemed permeable, vulnerable. Marcelo remained free somewhere beyond these grounds. The knowledge prickled at my skin, an irritant that wouldn't fade.

  I sat up, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. The wooden floor felt cool against my bare feet. A nearby clock ticked away the minutes, marking time in the darkness. Two hours past midnight, and sleep remained elusive.

  Just a quick check, I told myself. Just to make sure she was settling in alright.

  The hallway stretched empty before me, lit only by moonlight filtering through occasional windows. I moved quietly. The household slept around me, or at least pretended to. Somewhere in the east wing, Ross and Lilach had taken up residence. Guards patrolled the perimeter. Security measures that should have reassured me but didn't.

  When I reached Joy's door, I paused. What if she was already asleep? The thought of disturbing her rest sent guilt coursing through me. She needed to heal, to recover.

  But what if she was awake and alone with her thoughts? With her memories?

  My knuckles brushed the wood, a touch so light it barely made sound. I waited, listening for movement within. Nothing. I tried again, slightly firmer.

  Only silence answered.

  Something cold slithered through my stomach. A voice in my head whispered unwelcome possibilities: She'd fled again. Marcelo had somehow found a way in. The brand on her shoulder had become infected, and she'd collapsed, unable to call for help.

  I tested the handle. Unlocked. The door swung inward without a sound.

  Moonlight illuminated an empty bed, its covers undisturbed.

  "Joy?" I whispered her name to the darkness, knowing it wouldn't answer.

  The coldness in my stomach spread outward, freezing my limbs. My heartbeat accelerated until I felt it in my throat, a rapid flutter like trapped wings. I forced myself to breathe, to think logically.

  Her room showed no signs of struggle. The silver comb I'd given her rested on the dresser, catching moonlight. The clothes she'd worn earlier lay folded neatly on a chair. Her window remained locked from the inside. No reason to panic. Yet.

  But this was her first night back. Her first night in this house where she'd once felt safe, before Marcelo took that from her. Before she learned how vulnerable she truly was.

  I moved through the silent halls, my steps quickening despite my attempts to remain calm. Down the main staircase, each wooden step threatening to creak beneath my weight. The great hall stretched cavernous and empty, moonlight streaming through high windows to create islands of pale light on the marble floor.

  Had she gone outside? I checked the main doors. Locked and bolted, with no sign of disturbance. The library then? Joy sometimes sought comfort in books when sleep eluded her.

  Empty. The leather chairs sat unoccupied, the fireplace cold and dark.

  The kitchens? Also deserted, the cooking surfaces cleaned and polished for the night, not even a cup left out to suggest someone had sought a late drink.

  My pace increased with each empty room. All empty. All silent.

  By the time I returned to the grand staircase, my heart pounded so loudly I could hear little else. The controlled calm I normally prided myself on had abandoned me entirely, replaced by a mounting dread that threatened to overwhelm rational thought.

  Where was she? Had she perhaps sought out Ross or Lilach in the east wing? But why would she go to them rather than to me, when my room was closer to hers?

  Unless she hadn't gone willingly.

  The thought struck like a physical blow, stopping me mid-stride. If someone had taken her, if Marcelo had somehow infiltrated the estate despite our precautions…

  A noise from upstairs interrupted my spiraling thoughts. Something small: a door closing, perhaps, or a floorboard settling. So slight I might have imagined it.

  I took the stairs two at a time, no longer concerned about stealth. If Joy was in danger, seconds mattered more than silence.

  Unbidden, my mind replayed moments from our time on the mainland: Joy clawing at her skin when the liniment triggered memories of Marcelo. Joy asking me to read to her. Joy sleeping beside me, her trust a fragile, precious thing.

  The memory sharpened the edge of my fear. Where was she?

  I hadn't checked Jacobi's room.

  The thought struck like a physical blow. My brother had watched Joy closely since our return. His gaze following her movements across rooms. The slight tightening around his mouth when she stood near me. The calculated way he'd arranged our return to three separate sleeping quarters.

  The corridor to Jacobi's chambers stretched longer than I remembered. Each step required deliberate effort, as if walking through deep water. My brother's door stood wide open, a sight that stopped me in my tracks. Jacobi never left his door open.

  Pale light spilled into the hallway. I approached without sound, my footsteps silent against the wooden floor. I could see much of the room without even trying, a chest of drawers, the dying embers of a fire in the grate.

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  I stopped. This was Jacobi's private space. I had no right to intrude.

  The bed came fully into view. Joy lay beneath the covers, her white hair spread across the pillow in stark contrast to the dark bedding. Her face was turned away from me, but I recognized the curve of her shoulder, the rhythm of her breathing.

  Not alone. Not in danger. At least, not in the way I'd feared when I found her room empty.

  Jacobi reclined beside her, still fully clothed, lying atop the blankets rather than beneath them. A deliberate distance maintained, a boundary respected. His hand rested lightly on her upper arm, a casual point of contact.

  As I watched, Joy made a small sound in her sleep, her body tensing. A nightmare beginning to form. Jacobi's fingers tightened briefly on her arm, a gentle pressure. She settled almost immediately, returning to deeper sleep.

  The simple act of comfort twisted something inside me. The ease with which she responded to his touch. The unspoken communication between them. On the mainland at Ross's mansion, it had been my hand that soothed her nightmares. My voice that pulled her back from the edge of terror. My presence she'd sought when the darkness closed in.

  Jacobi's head turned toward the door, his eyes finding mine unerringly in the darkness. He'd known I was there.

  We stared at each other across the open doorway. Neither of us spoke. Neither of us moved. Joy slept between us, unaware of the silent exchange taking place.

  My heart hammered against my ribs, each beat painful. Nothing in Jacobi's gaze offered explanation or apology. Just that steady, watchful look I'd seen him use in business negotiations, revealing nothing while assessing everything.

  For a moment, I considered crossing the threshold. Asking what had happened. Whether Joy was alright. But the words died in my throat. What right did I have to question him in his own home, about a woman he legally owned?

  The mainland had allowed me to forget, briefly, the reality of our situation. There, in Ross's mansion, surrounded by Naerithi who recognized Joy as Tesh'ilia, the idea of ownership had faded. Here, it reasserted itself with brutal clarity.

  I should have expected this. Should have prepared for it. Instead, I'd allowed myself to believe that what had grown between Joy and me might transcend the boundaries of property and possession.

  Foolish. Na?ve.

  I should have felt anger. Betrayal. Jealousy. And perhaps those emotions did swirl somewhere beneath the surface. But what rose to prominence was something more complicated, recognition.

  My brother's eyes held no triumph, no possessiveness. Only a quiet acknowledgment. A shared understanding of what Joy had come to mean to both of us.

  I had known, intellectually, that Jacobi cared for her. I had seen the evidence in a hundred small ways, the expensive collar he'd purchased for her, the way he'd searched for her on the mainland, his rage when we'd found her in Marcelo's cellar.

  But seeing them together like this, in the vulnerability of near-sleep, revealed something different. Something deeper.

  Joy shifted, turning onto her side. Her face came into view, relaxed in sleep, free from the guarded expression she maintained while awake. In this unguarded moment, she looked younger, unburdened by trauma and duty. One hand tucked beneath her chin, fingers slightly curled.

  The sight struck me with unexpected force. My chest tightened as if hands physically squeezed my lungs. When had this happened? When had she become essential rather than interesting? When had her well-being started to matter more than my own?

  I thought of her in the bath after we'd rescued her, her eyes meeting mine across the steaming water. The naked vulnerability she'd shown me then had nothing to do with her unclothed body and everything to do with the trust implied in letting me see her broken.

  I remembered her words to me in the gardens at Ross's mansion: "I don't know how to be around people right now. Except you." The simplicity of the statement had warmed me then. Now it burned.

  Because she wasn't with me tonight. She was with Jacobi.

  I stepped back from the doorway, careful to make no sound. The scene burned itself into my memory. Of course Jacobi would assert his claim now that we were back at his estate. His territory. His rules. The mainland had offered Joy a temporary reprieve, a space where ownership lines blurred. But here, Jacobi was master of all he surveyed.

  Including Joy.

  Had he ordered her to his room? Used his position as owner to remind her of her place? The thought sickened me, even as another part of my mind rejected it. I'd seen how careful Jacobi had been with Joy since her rescue. How attentive to her needs.

  But power remained power. And on this estate, my brother held it all.

  The open door, though. That didn't fit. Jacobi never displayed his private affairs so openly. Was it a message intended for me? A deliberate show of dominance? Or something else I couldn't yet decipher?

  The rational part of my mind understood that Joy needed different things from different people. She'd said as much to me more than once. But here, in Jacobi's domain, would she still have choices?

  Understanding and accepting were different things. And understanding Jacobi's intentions seemed beyond my grasp.

  I retreated down the hallway, my earlier concern for Joy's safety replaced by a hollow feeling in my chest. Each step away from Jacobi's door seemed to require more effort than the last. My body wanted to turn back, to push open that door, to—

  I stopped myself. Joy wasn't something to be claimed. Her staying with Jacobi tonight didn't erase what had grown between us. It didn't negate the nights she'd spent in my arms, her breathing synchronized with mine as we both fought against darkness for different reasons.

  Back in my own room, I sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees, head bowed. The moon had shifted, altering the patterns of light on my floor. Time passing while I remained still.

  This house felt smaller suddenly. Insufficient to contain all that existed between the three of us. When had things become so complicated? When I'd handed Joy that silver comb in the market? When I'd held her as she clawed at her own skin? Or earlier, when I'd first recognized something in her that echoed the darkness I kept buried deep within myself?

  Marcelo's family crest burned into her flesh as a permanent mark of ownership. Her skin had blistered around it, angry and inflamed. The wound would scar badly, Clover had warned.

  Now Jacobi marked her in his own way. Less visible. Less violent. But a claim nonetheless.

  I'd promised Joy we would find Ellah together. That I would help her hunt Marcelo. Those promises felt suddenly tenuous, dependent on Jacobi's permission rather than Joy's and my shared resolve.

  My jaw ached from clenching it. I consciously relaxed the muscles, rolling my shoulders to release the tension that had built there. Anger wouldn't serve me now. Strategy might.

  Sleep remained impossible. I paced the confines of my room, the floorboards cool against my bare feet. Each turn brought me closer to a decision hardening like steel in my mind. The shadows along the walls seemed to deepen as the moon continued its journey across the night sky, casting the room in shifting patterns of darkness.

  This situation couldn't continue. Unspoken tensions and silent glances across doorways would only breed more resentment. We were grown men, not squabbling children. Jacobi might legally own Joy, but he didn't own the connection that had formed between her and me.

  I stopped at the window. The grounds stretched dark and silent below, guards moving like shadows along their patrol routes. The increased security measures provided no comfort, not when the threat I now faced came from within these walls rather than beyond them.

  Tomorrow. I would speak with Jacobi tomorrow. Lay everything bare between us. Joy deserved better than becoming a silent prize in a contest she hadn't asked to participate in. We would address this directly, as the businessmen we both claimed to be. Rational. Controlled.