3. Echo

Pain wakes me before the light does. It's a deep, dragging ache that pulls me up from whatever dark place I’d been floating in. Every muscle throbs, my wrists pulse with sharp pinpricks where the shackles dug in, my ribs feel bruised, and my throat burns from smoke and the screams I refused to give them. For a moment, I forget where I am. Then the mattress shifts under me. A mattress. Not stone, or dirt. Not the cold metal slats of a cage. My eyes snap open, and the world swims into view, revealing high vaulted ceilings, black marble walls veined with silver, a fire crackling in an ornate hearth, curtains drawn shut, and shadows that feel soft and warm. Memories crash back into me. The witches were dying, his voice, his hands, tearing the door off my cage like it weighed nothing. His face was leaning over mine. That awful, terrible moment when I lost consciousness in his arms.

I sit up too quickly and immediately regret it. My body protests with a wave of dizziness so intense the room tilts sideways. I grip the sheets until it passes. I need to get out. Now. Not because I’m afraid of him. I’m not... Not exactly. Fear is too simple a word for whatever Nicholaus is. He’s a storm made flesh, all cold shadow and controlled violence. I’ve only known him for minutes, but I can already tell that nothing in his world moves without his permission. And right now, I am in his world. That alone is reason enough to run. I swing my legs over the edge of the bed. My feet hit the floor, and my knees wobble, but I stay upright. Barely. I scan the room. There are no chains, no guards, no locked cage, no witches lurking in the shadows. Just an oversized door with iron handles. I take one step toward it. Bad idea. White-hot pain shoots through my side. I stagger, catching myself on a dresser. Bottles clatter, and one falls to the floor, rolling away.

“Great,” I mutter. “Announce your escape. Good job.”

I push myself upright again. The room spins violently and then settles. Whatever those witches did to me, whatever runes they burned into my skin, the damage is still there, but I’ll move through it. Pain is nothing compared to captivity. I manage three more steps before the door opens and I freeze.

Nicholaus fills the doorway the way a storm fills a horizon, inevitable, dark, impossible to ignore. He’s changed into a black shirt, the sleeves rolled to his elbows, exposing his strong forearms, marked with faint silver scars. His hair is damp from a shower. His jaw is shadowed with stubble. He looks less monstrous like this. Which somehow makes him more dangerous. His eyes land on me instantly, swaying on my feet like an idiot who thought she could slip past a creature built for hunting.

His voice is silk wrapped around a blade. “I see you’re awake.”

I swallow the instinctive flinch, straighten my spine, and lift my chin.

“Move,” I say.

Amusement flickers across his face. “No.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

“And I wasn’t negotiating.”

My hands curl into fists. “I’m leaving.”

“You’re barely standing.”

“Watch me.”

He steps fully into the room, closing the door behind him with a quiet click. I track the movement, forcing every muscle to stay still even as my pulse thunders wildly.

“Where would you go?” he asks, tone almost conversational.

“Anywhere but here.”

“You can’t outrun me.”

“Try me.”

He studies me with infuriating calm.

“You’re in no condition to run,” he says. “Or fight. Or stand, apparently.”

I grit my teeth. “Let me go.”

“No.”

My jaw clenches. “You can’t keep me.”

“I can,” he says softly, “and I will.”

The room feels smaller. The air is thicker. Heat blooms under my skin, coiling into something sharp and reckless. My magic flickers with faint sparks of fire dancing along my fingertips. Nicholaus notices immediately. His gaze drops to my hands, then lifts slowly back to my face.

“Be careful,” he murmurs.

“Of what?” I snap.

“Burning yourself out.” His voice lowers. “You don’t have enough magic left to light a candle without blacking out.”

Anger surges through me. “Then maybe I’ll burn you instead.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Defiant even half-dead. You’re consistent.”

I try to shove past him, but that's a mistake. My legs buckle halfway there. I gasp and collapse forward, right into him. His hands catch my arms, steadying me before I hit the floor and electricity shoots up my spine at his touch. Not magic...Something worse.

“Let go,” I hiss.

“No.”

I try to twist away, but I’m too weak. My limbs shake with the effort, and He sighs, actually sighs, like I’m a stubborn child, and lifts me effortlessly, carrying me back toward the bed.

“Put me down!”

“I am.”

“Not on the bed!”

“Where else?” he asks calmly. “The floor?”

“Yes!”

He laughs and sets me on the bed anyway.

I shove at his chest. “Don’t touch me!”

“You walked yourself into my arms.”

“Because I tripped!”

He raises an eyebrow. “Of course.”

I glare harder. The air around us warms, reacting to my temper. Sparks dance across my palms. The fire wants to answer me, even now. He notices. Of course he does.

“Your magic is unstable,” he says. “If you keep pushing, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

“I’d rather die than let you keep me.”

The words slip out before I can stop them, and his expression changes. Something dark coils behind his eyes; it's not anger or amusement, it's... something colder.

He leans in, lowering his voice. “You don’t get to die. Not now. Not ever. Do you understand?”

Ice trickles through my veins.

“You’re insane,” I whisper.

He smiles, a terrible yet soft and beautiful smile.

“You have no idea.”

His hand lifts, slow enough for me to pull away if I want to, and I hate that I don’t. He brushes a strand of hair from my face, careful not to touch my bruises.

“You are not a prisoner,” he says quietly. “You are protected.”

“I don’t want your protection.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

I suck in a breath, shaking with fury. “Why? Why won’t you let me go?”

His eyes burn into mine, black and endless.

“Because,” he says, voice almost a whisper, “I’ve been searching for you longer than you’ve been alive. And now that I have you, Echo—”

My name on his tongue hits like a shockwave.

“—I am never letting you out of my sight.”

My heart stutters.

He rises slowly, stepping back from the bed.

“You will stay,” he says, final and absolute. “And you will heal.”

“And after that?” My voice is barely a whisper.

A shadow falls across his face.

“After that,” he murmurs, “we’ll see.”

He leaves before I can respond, the door shutting behind him with a soft click. Only when he’s gone do I let out the breath I was holding. Only then do I whisper the truth, horrified through my teeth: “I have to get out of here.”