he looked down at her, filthy and trembling on the barn floor—his little ghost, his secret sin. the plate landed at her feet with a loud clatter, scraps scattered like thrown offerings.

then he crouched, voice quiet—too quiet.

"you think i locked you in here because i hate you?" he murmured, eyes burning into hers. "no. i did it to remind you, that no one else will ever come for you. no one sees you but me. no one wants you but me. and that night, when you cried and begged behind that door. i listened to every sound. and i liked it."

he leaned closer, fingers brushing her chin, forcing her gaze to hold his.

"you can hate me. you can scream. but you will never belong to anyone else. not now. not ever. i'll make sure of that."

he stood, boots cracking against dirt, and turned—leaving the barn door open. just wide enough, just for her.