Liora's POV

I woke up because the sun was being too loud...

Yeah I know that sounds stupid. But that is exactly how it felt.

A single, sharp beam of light was hitting me right in the eye...

I tried to roll over, but the bed was too soft. I felt like I was being swallowed by a giant marshmallow.

I forgot where I was for a second. I thought I smelled the grease of the diner.

Then I felt the silk.

Oh Right. I'm a prisoner.

I sat up too fast. My head spun. The room was exactly as it was last night.

Perfect....Cold.

The little red light on the camera was gone. Now it was just a dull black eye watching me.

"Asshole," I muttered.

I looked at the nightstand. There was a piece of heavy paper sitting next to the black phone.

The handwriting was sharp and It looked like the person who wrote it didn't have time.

Rules for the Estate:

1. 07:00: Breakfast is served in the West Dining Nook.

2. 08:00: Medical vitals and nutritional intake.

3. 09:00 – 12:00: Personal time (West Wing Gardens).

4. 12:00: Lunch.

5. No contact with the Main Wing.

6. No contact with staff beyond basic requirements.

I looked at the clock. 7:15. I was already late for his stupid list.

I scrambled out of bed. I didn't even have my own clothes, so I went to the closet...

Everything was cream, beige, or green.

I grabbed grey leggings and a sweater that felt like it was made of foam...I felt like a fraud wearing it.

I walked out of the room and followed the smell of coffee.

The Dining Nook was all glass. It looked out over a garden that was so green it looked fake.

A girl was there. She looked about my age. She was setting a silver pot down.

"You're late," she said. She didn't look at me.

"I'm Liora."

"I know. I'm Anya." She scowled at a spoon. "I'm the one who gets in trouble when you sleep in."

"Sorry. The bed is... a lot."

"Is he here?" I asked. "Darian?"

Anya snorted. A real, human sound. "Mr. Volkov left at five. He doesn't eat with people like you."

"People like me?"

She stiffened. She realized she'd said too much. "Drink the green stuff. It's a requirement."

I took a sip of a glass filled with swamp-colored liquid. It tasted like grass and dirt.

"This is disgusting. I want a donut."

Anya let out a tiny laugh. Then she killed it.

"No donuts. Your body is a temple now. Or a greenhouse. Whatever he calls it."

"A greenhouse," I said. My chest felt tight. "Grow the plant, take the flower, throw away the dirt."

Anya gripped her silver tray. Her face softened for a split second.

"Just eat the fruit, Liora. Save your energy for the big things."

"What big things?"

"The Obsidian Circle," she whispered.

She turned and marched out before I could ask what that was.

I sat alone. The silence was so heavy it made my ears ring. "What the fuck the Obsidian Circle"I whispered

I reached for my father's journal. It was the only thing I had left that wasn't "V" branded.

I opened a random page. The ink was faded.

"The air in the city is getting thin, Lio. But as long as you can breathe on your own, you're free."

I touched the words. My eyes stung.

I can't breathe on my own here, Dad. He bought the air.

I tried to read more, but my mind was messy. I kept thinking about the camera.

Was he watching me read this? Was he looking at my father's secrets?

I slammed the book shut.

I walked out to the garden. It was beautiful, but there was a ten-foot wall beyond the trees.

I saw the silver wire at the top.

I wasn't a guest. I wasn't even a vessel.

I was a prisoner in a very expensive cage.

I walked back inside just as the doctor arrived. He didn't say hello.

"Sit. Vitals."

I let him take my blood. I felt like a ghost watching a movie of my own life.

When he left, I went back to my room.

The silence started to feel like a weight on my chest. I needed to move.

I walked to the door. I wanted to find a library. Or Anya. Or anyone.

I turned the handle.

It didn't move.

I turned it harder. I pulled. I pushed.

Locked.

"Hey!" I shouted. I banged my fist against the wood. "Open the door!"

No one answered.

I slumped against the door and slid down to the floor.

He hadn't just bought my time. He had bought my air.

"I'm still here," I whispered.

I reached for the black phone in my pocket. My hand was shaking.

I looked at the only name in the contacts.

Darian.

I pressed the button. I didn't care if he was busy. I didn't even care about the rules.

The phone rang. Once. Twice.

I held my breath, waiting for the monster to answer.

Liora's Pov

The phone kept ringing.

Each tone felt like a hammer against my ribs...

I held the device to my ear, waiting for his voice. Waiting for the monster to explain why I was locked in a room like a piece of evidence...

Pick up. Pick up, you coward.

The line went dead.

No voicemail. No answer. Just a cold, digital click.

I stared at the screen. He didn't even care enough to tell me no.

Suddenly, I heard the lock turn.

I scrambled to my feet, dropping the phone into my pocket.

The heavy doors swung open.

It wasn't Darian.

It was a woman who looked like she was made of iron and vinegar. Her hair was a tight, grey knot. Her eyes were like two cold coins.

Behind her stood the two statue maids from the night before.

They were carrying empty plastic bins.

"I am Mrs. Gable," the woman said. Her voice was sharp. It cut through the quiet. "The head of the household."

"You locked me in," I snapped. My heart was still hammering.

"The West Wing is secure for your safety," she said. She didn't even blink. "Now, step aside. We are here for the intake."

The maids pushed past me. They didn't ask and didn't even bother to say excuse me.

They just went straight for the pile of my old clothes on the bathroom floor.

The pink uniform. My socks. Everything.

"What are you doing?" I lunged toward them.

"Discarding the waste," Mrs. Gable said. "Mr. Volkov was clear. Nothing from the outside enters this ecosystem. It is a bio-risk."

"It's just clothes!" I shouted.

They threw the pink dress into a bin. It looked pathetic. It looked like a dead skin.

Then they moved toward the bed. Toward my father's satchel.

Not that. Not that.

My brain screamed. I felt a cold chill wash over me.

I stumbled toward the nightstand. My hands were shaking.

The journal was sitting right there. It was wide open.

I grabbed it and shoved it under the heavy silk duvet.

I did it just as one of the maids reached for the satchel.

"Wait!" I recoiled, grabbing the bag first.

I pulled out a thick, navy blue sweater. It was old. The elbows were thin. It smelled like peppermint and old books.

It was my father's favorite.

"You can't have this," I said. I clutched it to my chest.

Mrs. Gable stepped closer. She smelled like bleach.

"That is a rag, Miss Hayes," she said. "It is unhygienic. Give it to me."

"No."

"Sentimental value is a weakness in this house," Gable said. She reached out. Her fingers were like claws. "It clutters the mind. Mr. Volkov wants you focused."

"I don't care what he wants!"

I lunged away from her and backed into the corner, clutching the wool.

It was the only thing I had left that felt like love...

The maids stopped and looked at Mrs Gable.

"Mr. Volkov did say she could keep the bag," one whispered.

Gable's eyes narrowed. She looked at the sweater. She looked at me like I was a bug she wanted to squash.

"The bag. Not the filth inside it."

"He said everything in the bag stays!" I lied. I hoped Xavier hadn't told her the truth.

Gable stared at me for a long time. The silence was violent.

"Keep your rag for now," she spat. "But if I see it outside this room, it goes in the incinerator."

She turned to the maids. "Finish the purge. Search the drawers. Anything not issued by the Volkov Estate is to be burned."

They tore through the room. They checked the closet. They checked the bathroom.

I sat on the edge of the bed, my heart in my throat.

The journal was inches away from their hands.

Don't look. Don't look under the blanket.

I felt sick. If they took the journal, I would have nothing.

They finished with the bins. The room felt even emptier now.

"Lunch is at twelve," Gable said. She walked to the door. "Do not be late again. The schedule is not a suggestion."

They walked out. The door clicked.

Locked again.

I waited until their footsteps faded.

I lunged for the duvet and pulled the journal out.

I hugged it along with the sweater. I was shaking so hard I couldn't breathe.

They're going to take everything.

I realized then that Darian didn't just want a baby.

He wanted a blank slate.

He wanted to erase Liora Hayes until there was nothing left but a body.

I walked to the window and looked at the wire.

I felt a sudden, sharp realization.

I wasn't just staying here to save my mother.

I was staying here to survive him.

The phone in my pocket buzzed.

A text message.

Darian: I am busy.Follow the schedule.

I stared at the words.

My grip tightened on the journal.

I wasn't going to be a blank slate...

I was going to be his worst nightmare.

I looked at the navy blue sweater. I pulled it on over my expensive grey one.

It was too big. It was ugly. It was "waste."

But it was mine.

I looked back at the door.

I needed a plan. I needed to know what the Obsidian Circle was.

And I needed to find a way to make Darian Volkov look me in the eye when I talked.

The sun went behind a cloud. The room turned grey.

I sat on the floor, hidden from the camera by the bed, and opened the journal to the last page.

There was a name written there. 

Someone my father knew.

Someone who might still be alive.

The name in the back of the book was simple.

Elias.

No last name. Just a phone number with an area code I didn't recognize.

I stared at it until the ink blurred.

Who are you? I wondered. And why did Dad keep you hidden on the very last page?

The lock clicked again.

I shoved the journal under my mattress. I kept the blue sweater on. It was bulky and hot over the other one, but I didn't care. It was mine.

Anya stood in the doorway. She looked at my sweater. She looked at the way I was breathing too fast.

"You look like a crazy person," she said.

"I feel like a crazy person," I snapped. "Are you here to take my shoes now? Maybe my hair?"

Anya rolled her eyes. She stepped into the room and signaled for me to follow.

"Mr. Volkov wants you to acclimatize. That's rich-person talk for looking at all the stuff you can't touch."

"I thought I was locked in."

"You are. But I'm the one with the key for the next hour. Come on. Move."

We walked out into the hallway.

The mansion felt bigger than it did last night. It was all glass and stone. It felt like walking through a giant's ribcage...

Everything was too clean. Too quiet.

"Why is it so empty?" I asked. My voice echoed off the marble.

"Mr Volkov doesn't like people," Anya said. She walked fast. I had to jog to keep up. "He says people make noise  and people leave fingerprints."

I looked up. In every corner, there was a camera.

He's watching. He's always watching.

"Does he see everything?" I whispered.

Anya slowed down. She stopped in front of a massive painting of a storm at sea. She didn't look at the painting. She looked at the floor.

"Not everything," she said softly.

She pointed to a small alcove behind a marble pillar. The lighting was dim there.

"The architecture is old in some places," she said. Her voice was barely a breath. "The cameras are new. They can't see around corners. And they don't see shadows."

My heart jumped.

A dead zone.

I looked at the alcove. It was small. Just a spot to hide for a second. But it was a start.

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked.

Anya straightened her apron. She went back to her grumpy mask.

"Because you look like you're going to scream if you don't find a place to breathe. And if you scream, I get yelled at. Move."

We kept walking.

I started to count...

Ten steps from the bedroom door to the first camera.

Turn left. Fifteen steps to the glass gallery.

I was mapping it because I wasn't a guest anymore. I was a prisoner planning a break.

Door. Camera. Pillar. Dead zone.

We passed a room with floor-to-ceiling windows. I could see the driveway. I could see the gates.

"That's the Main Wing," Anya said, pointing to a dark hallway. "Don't go there. Ever. Marcus handles that side. He's not as nice as me."

"Marcus is the brick wall, right?"

Anya almost smiled. "Yeah. The brick wall"

We reached the library. It was two stories high. Thousands of books lined the walls.

"Can I come in here?" I asked. I reached for a leather-bound book.

"No," Anya said. She grabbed my wrist. "Rule number six. You stay in the West Wing. This is the border."

I looked at the books. They were so close.

"He has all these books and he doesn't read them?"

"He reads numbers, Liora. He reads contracts."

I looked at the hallway leading to the Main Wing. It looked like a tunnel into a mountain.

Elias.

I needed to know who that was. I needed to know if he could help me.

But I needed a phone that wasn't tapped. A way to talk without Darian listening.

"Anya," I said. My voice was shaky. "Is there a phone in the kitchen? A landline?"

Anya stopped. She looked at me like I was an idiot.

"There hasn't been a landline in this house for ten years. Everything is digital. Everything is logged."

"What about yours?"

"I don't have one," she said. She looked bitter. "Staff phones stay in the lockers at the gate. We're in the bubble, too."

I felt the walls closing in again.

We turned another corner. I saw a small door tucked under a staircase.

"What's in there?"

"Storage," Anya said.

I looked up. No camera. The ceiling was too low for a dome.

Another dead zone.

I memorized the location. Under the stairs. Near the library border.

"Okay," I said. "I've seen enough glass. Take me back."

Anya looked at me. She saw the change in my eyes. I wasn't slumped anymore. I was thinking.

"Don't do anything stupid, Liora," she warned. "He's smarter than you think."

"He thinks I'm an asset," I said. "He thinks I'm a greenhouse. He's the one being stupid."

We walked back to the West Wing.

The silence didn't feel heavy anymore. It felt like an opportunity.

Anya locked me back in my suite.

"Lunch in ten minutes," she said through the door.

I didn't answer.

I went straight to the bed and pulled out the journal.

I stared at the name Elias.

If there were dead zones, there was a way to move.

If there was a way to move, there was a way to find out the truth about my father.

And if Darian was watching the cameras, I just had to make sure I wasn't where the cameras were.

I looked at the black phone on the nightstand.

His said he is busy.

"Fine," I whispered.

I looked at the red light on the camera. It was back on.

I stood up and walked right to the center of the room.

I pulled off my father's navy sweater. I folded it neatly.

Then I looked at the lens.

I didn't say a word. I just sat on the bed and started to read a book I didn't care about.

I was playing the part.

But in my head, I was counting the steps to the door.

One. Two. Three.

I wasn't going to be his masterpiece.

I was going to be the glitch in his perfect system.

The phone buzzed again.

I didn't pick it up.

Let him wait.

I felt a cold, sharp spark of hope.

It was dangerous. It was probably a mistake.

But it was the only thing keeping me from screaming.

I looked at the door. I knew the schedule now.

I knew the layout.

Now, I just needed to know who Elias was.

And I needed to know why Darian was so afraid of a dead man's daughter.