Morning light streamed through the tall windows of my study, casting golden patterns across the polished surface of my desk. I ran my fingers along the edge of the account ledger, focusing on the sensation of the paper beneath my touch rather than the numbers that blurred before my eyes.

  My attention drifted to the bedroom door at the side of the room. Joy had fallen asleep there after breakfast, curled on her side atop the covers.

  I'd been attempting to review the last month's shipping manifests for nearly an hour. The figures refused to settle in my mind. Sighing, I set down my pen and pushed back from the desk.

  The floorboards whispered beneath my feet as I crossed to the bedroom door. I opened the door, just enough to glimpse inside. Joy hadn't moved. Her breathing remained deep and even, one hand tucked beneath her cheek, the other curled loosely, protectively, at her throat.. The sight anchored something in me that had been adrift since her return.

  She looked peaceful now. The haunted expression that had shadowed her eyes since Marcelo had faded somewhat in sleep. I watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest for several heartbeats before quietly pulling the door nearly closed again.

  Returning to my desk, I rolled my shoulders and forced my attention back to the ledgers. Work had always been my refuge from uncertainty. The language of numbers and transactions remained constant even when everything else shifted beneath my feet.

  A soft knock at the study door broke through my fragile concentration.

  "Enter," I called, setting down my pen.

  The door creaked open slowly, revealing the slight figure of a young Naerithi girl. Nalah. I hadn't expected to see her so soon after her return from Wynford's.

  "Mr. Velez," she said, remaining at the threshold. Her voice was small but steady. "May I speak with you?"

  "Of course." I smiled, gesturing to the chair across from my desk. "Please, come in."

  She stepped into the room, closing the door behind her with a soft click. I noticed how much healthier she looked than when she'd first been brought to the estate—her skin had regained some of its natural shimmer, though fading bruises still marked her arms.

  "I wanted to thank you," she said, folding her hands in her lap. "For letting me stay. For sending me to Wynford's to heal."

  "You're welcome here for as long as you need," I replied, leaning back in my chair. "How are you finding everything?"

  "It's different. From his house." Her hands fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve. "Cleaner. Quieter."

  "I imagine it is." I watched as her gaze wandered around the room. "Are your quarters comfortable?"

  She nodded, that small jerky motion that reminded me she was still far from healed in ways that weren't physical. "Yes. It's the first time I've had my own room."

  As Nalah continued to survey the study, her eyes lingered on the bookshelves. She rose and walked over to them, running one fingertip along the spines without looking at the titles.

  "I never learned to read," she said absently. "Master Levanth said I wouldn't need to."

  "Perhaps Selwyn could teach you. He taught several of the household staff."

  Her lips twitched in what might have been an attempt at a smile. "He was nice to me. In the stables."

  She moved to my desk now, eyes fixing on the silver letter opener that gleamed beside the ledger. "This is pretty," she said, reaching toward it.

  "It was my father's," I said, a faint unease beginning to stir.

  "Master has one like it," she said. "He uses it to..." She paused, her eyes flickering to the side briefly. "Open letters at breakfast."

  That hesitation raised the hair on the back of my neck. It reminded me of how Joy would pause and redirect when concealing something painful. Nalah's fingers twitched toward the letter opener, and suddenly the pieces fell into place.

  "Did he hurt you with something like this, Nalah?" I asked softly.

  Her expression emptied, like a candle being snuffed out. "He's always watching. Always waiting for me to make him proud."

  The air in the room felt wrong suddenly, too thick, too still. I rose slowly from my chair, maintaining the distance between us.

  "Nalah…whatever he told you to do, you don't have to—"

  "I DO!" she shrieked, and in one fluid motion, she snatched the letter opener from the desk.

  I reacted instinctively, jerking backward as she lunged. The blade caught my forearm, slicing through fabric and skin with surprising ease. A line of fire bloomed where it passed.

  "I have to please him," she sobbed, shifting her grip on the improvised weapon. "I don't want to hurt anymore. He promised it would stop if I did this."

  Blood soaked through my shirtsleeve, but I barely registered the pain. My focus narrowed to the silver blade in her trembling hand and the resignation in her eyes.

  "Nalah, listen to me. He's not here. He can't hurt you anymore." I kept my voice steady despite the hammering of my heart. "Put down the knife."

  Her face contorted. "He's always here. Even when he's not, he's still inside my head."

  She lunged again. I sidestepped, grabbing for her wrist as she passed. My fingers closed around thin bone, but she twisted with unexpected strength, breaking free. My desk chair crashed to the floor as I stumbled against it.

  "HELP!" I shouted toward the open hallway door. "SOMEONE!"

  Nalah circled back, the letter opener held before her. Blood, mine, smeared the blade. Her eyes weren't focused on me but on something beyond, something only she could see.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  "He said you had to die," she whispered. "You and your brother. For taking what's his."

  She sprang forward again. This time I caught her wrist properly, twisting until she cried out. Still, she didn't drop the weapon. Instead, she clawed at my face with her free hand, nails scraping along my jaw.

  "Nalah, stop!" I commanded, using the tone that had intimidated business rivals and arena fighters alike. It had no effect on her.

  We grappled awkwardly, her small frame masking surprising strength born of desperation. The letter opener came dangerously close to my throat before I managed to force her arm wide. She bit my hand viciously, and my grip faltered.

  The door to the bedroom slammed open. Joy stood in the doorway, her hair disheveled from sleep, her eyes wide and alert. She assessed the situation in an instant.

  "Nalah!" she called sharply.

  The girl froze at the sound of Joy's voice, the letter opener suspended mid-strike. She turned slowly, her expression shifting from rage to something approaching recognition.

  "Joy?" Her voice sounded younger suddenly, her focus momentarily shattered.

  "Put it down," Joy said, stepping into the room. Her movements were cautious but firm. "Whatever he told you to do, it's a lie."

  Nalah's arm trembled violently. "I can't stop. He's in my head."

  Joy moved closer, her eyes never leaving Nalah's face. "I know. I felt it too. Like he's watching even when he's not there."

  "He says if I don't do this, he'll burn me again." Nalah's voice cracked. "Over and over until I learn."

  I remained perfectly still, watching as Joy inched closer to the girl.

  "He made me do things too," Joy continued. "Terrible things. But his voice in your head isn't real. It's just a memory."

  "It’s real," Nalah whispered. "He’s standing right behind me. Watching."

  Joy nodded slowly. "I understand. After what he did to me, I feel him too. Every time I close my eyes."

  Nalah's grip on the letter opener loosened slightly. "How did you make it stop?"

  "I didn't. Not completely." Joy's honesty seemed to reach Nalah in a way that false reassurances wouldn't have. "But I found people who helped me remember who I was before him. People like Jacobi. Like Selwyn."

  She gestured toward me without taking her eyes off Nalah. "They're not what he told you they are."

  Nalah glanced at me, uncertainty flickering across her face. "He said they'd hurt me too. That all humans are the same."

  "Some are," Joy acknowledged. "But not these ones."

  For a moment, hope flickered in Nalah's eyes. The letter opener lowered a fraction.

  "He said if I killed them, he would let me come home. That he would forgive me." Tears streamed down her face now. "That I could stop running."

  "There's nothing to forgive," Joy said, her voice gentle but firm. "And you are home. Here. With people who want to protect you."

  "But he's still out there," Nalah whispered. "He'll find me again. He'll know I failed."

  Joy reached out slowly, palm up. "Give me the knife, Nalah. Let us help you."

  The girl looked down at the bloodied letter opener in her hand, then back at Joy's outstretched palm. Something in her expression cleared, like clouds parting to reveal blue sky. She nodded once.

  "I'm sorry." Her gaze fixed on me rather than Joy. The regret in her eyes was unmistakable.

  Then, with a movement too quick to intercept, Nalah turned the blade toward herself and drove it upward beneath her ribs.

  There was no dramatic cry, no theatrical gesture. Just a small gasp of surprise, as if she hadn't expected it to hurt quite so much. The letter opener slipped from her fingers as she staggered backward.

  I lunged forward, catching her as she collapsed. Her slight body felt impossibly light in my arms. Warm blood soaked through my already damaged shirt, spreading too quickly.

  Joy's scream tore through the room. She dropped to her knees beside us, hands pressing desperately against the wound.

  "No, no, no," she chanted, her fingers slick with blood. "Nalah, stay with us. HELP! SOMEONE HELP US!"

  Nalah's eyes found mine, startlingly clear now. "Tell Delia I'm sorry," she whispered.

  "You hold on," I ordered, my voice rough. "That's an order, Nalah. Hold on."

  A small, sad smile touched her lips and her gaze shifted to Joy.

  Her body convulsed once, twice. Blood bubbled at the corner of her mouth. Joy continued to press against the wound, but the determined set of her jaw was crumbling, giving way to desperation.

  Footsteps pounded in the hallway. Selwyn appeared in the doorway, Delia close behind him. Their expressions shifted from confusion to horror as they took in the scene.

  "Get help," I barked. "NOW!"

  Delia turned and ran, her retreating footsteps echoing down the corridor. Selwyn dropped to his knees beside us, his injured arm hanging uselessly at his side as he reached for Nalah with his good hand.

  "What happened?" he demanded, pressing his fingers to her throat.

  "Marcelo," Joy said, the single word heavy with hatred and grief. "He got into her head. Like he tried to do to me."

  Nalah's eyelids fluttered. Her breathing came in short, wet gasps. Each one seemed to require more effort than the last.

  "We've got you," I told her, though I knew it was a lie. The wound was too deep, the blood loss too severe. "You're safe now."

  Her lips moved, forming words without sound. I leaned closer, straining to hear.

  "Free," she whispered, so faintly I almost missed it.

  Then she went still in my arms.

  Joy made a sound I'd never heard before—half sob, half scream. She continued pressing against the wound even as Nalah's head lolled lifelessly against my chest. Selwyn gently tried to pull Joy's hands away, but she shook him off violently.

  "No," she insisted. "No, she can't. She CAN'T."

  I met Selwyn's eyes over Joy's bowed head. The grief in his expression mirrored my own. With my free hand, I reached for Joy's shoulder.

  "She's gone," I said quietly.

  Joy looked up at me, her eyes wild with grief and rage. Blood smeared her cheeks where she'd brushed hair from her face. "She was just a child," she whispered.

  I had no answer for that. None that mattered.

  Footsteps sounded in the hallway again. Delia returned, breathless and panicked. One look at our faces told her she was too late.

  “I sent Leonard for her, but—"

  Her voice broke off as she took in Nalah's still form. Delia made a strangled sound and stumbled backward until she hit the wall. She slid down it slowly, her eyes never leaving Nalah's still form.

  "She just came to thank you," she whispered. "She was fine at the stables. She was fine."

  Joy rose suddenly, backing away from us. Her hands left bloody prints on her white nightgown. Her breathing came in short, sharp gasps.

  "This is what he does," she said, her voice hollow. "He destroys. He takes. And we just... we just keep letting him."

  Before any of us could respond, she turned and bolted from the room. Selwyn started after her, but I caught his arm.

  "Let her go," I said. "Give her a moment."

  His expression hardened. "So she can do what, exactly? The last time she was this upset, I ended up with a knife in my shoulder."

  I released his arm. "Then go. But be careful."

  As Selwyn left in pursuit of Joy, I gently laid Nalah's body on the floor. I closed her eyes with my fingertips, arranging her limbs with as much dignity as I could manage.

  I stood slowly, blood soaking my shirt and trousers. The cut on my arm throbbed distantly, but it seemed trivial now compared to the scene before me.

  "What do we do?" Delia asked from her position against the wall. Her face was streaked with tears.

  I looked down at Nalah's small, still form. At the blood pooling beneath her. At the letter opener that had taken her life—a life Marcelo had already stolen long before the blade pierced her flesh.

  "We find him," I said, my voice hard even to my own ears. "And we end this."