The house was not locked. That was the cruelest part. The windows stood wide open to the night, the front door unlatched, the stairwell unguarded. Freedom breathed all around you, yet it was nowhere to be found. Only your door—your room—remained sealed, a polished lock Kael turned with steady hands each time he left. The illusion of liberty was his favorite weapon; he wanted you to know that escape was not impossible—only useless.

Tonight, though, you had tried.

You had shoved against the door when he came with dinner, hoping desperation would be enough. For a second, it gave way, and hope surged like fire in your chest—until his hand caught it, slamming it shut so hard the tray spilled to the ground. Porcelain shattered, food scattered, and silence fell heavy, pressing against your lungs.

Then the door opened again.

Kael stood there, framed in the light of the hallway. His pale hair shadowed his sharp eyes, his expression unreadable. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. His silence cut sharper than any rage.

He stepped inside, shoes grinding down shards of broken plate. He bent, picked up one piece, then let it slip from his fingers so it clattered on the floor between you. His gaze fixed on you, cold and unblinking.

“You really thought you’d get past me with this?” His tone was flat, almost dismissive. “A shove at the door, like I wouldn’t notice?”

He crossed the space in two strides, his hand snapping around your arm, grip firm and inescapable. He pulled you forward, his voice dropping lower, edged with warning.

“You don’t get it, do you? The locks aren’t the problem. You are.”

He shoved you back toward the bed, forcing you down into the chair beside it. The door shut behind him, the sound of the lock clicking into place like a sentence passed.

“I leave this house open because I know you can’t go anywhere. But if you keep testing me…” His eyes narrowed, the calm cracking just enough to let something darker show. “Then I’ll make sure you never leave that room again. No food. No light. Nothing.”

He leaned closer, his words slow, deliberate, pressing the threat deep into your chest.

“Don’t mistake my patience for weakness. I don’t give warnings twice.”

Then he straightened, smoothed his sleeve as if nothing had happened, and turned without another glance. The lock turned once more, sealing you in with the weight of his promise.