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.

The afternoon dragged. I spent most of it staring at the ceiling, waiting for the door to open. 

In this house, you don't wait for things to happen; you wait for people to let you exist.

The lock eventually turned with a heavy thunk.

It wasn't Anya. Three people in white coats walked in and they didn't look like the friendly nurses at the community clinic. They looked like they belonged in a high-end tech lab. They were carrying silver cases and tablets.

"Good afternoon, Liora," the man in the lead said. He didn't offer a name. "We are here for the initial baseline. We need to establish your physical stats before the next phase."

"I did the vitals this morning," I said, sitting up. I felt a little defensive, but I tried to keep my voice steady. I didn't want to give them a reason to call Marcus.

"That was a surface check," the woman said. She was snapping on blue gloves. The sound was sharp. "This is about biology. We need blood work, a full physical, and a nutritional panel."

They didn't even wait for me to agree. They just started setting up on the marble vanity. It felt weird seeing medical equipment next to my hairbrush.

"Sit on the edge of the bed, please," the lead doctor said.

I did what I was told. I felt like a kid at the school nurse, except the stakes were a lot higher. I watched them pull out several small glass tubes.

"What's that for?" I asked.

"Hormonal mapping," he replied. He wasn't even looking at me; he was looking at his screen. 

"Mr. Volkov wants a clear picture of your health. We need to know exactly how your body reacts to the supplements."

"It reacts fine," I muttered. "I've never even had a cavity."

The doctors didn't laugh. They didn't even crack a smile. They just worked in silence. The woman wrapped a cuff around my arm to find a vein.

"I want to see my mom," I said. It wasn't a scream or a demand...Just a statement. "Xavier said she was stable, but I want to see the monitor. Just for a second."

The lead doctor paused. He tapped a button on his tablet. "I'll check the permissions."

I waited. My heart was thumping a little harder, but I stayed still. I didn't want to be "difficult." I just wanted to see my mum.

A moment later, he turned the tablet toward me. It was a live video feed. It was grainy and the colors were a bit washed out, but I saw her. She was lying in a hospital bed, her eyes closed. There were wires and tubes, but the machine next to her was showing a steady green line.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The sound was faint, but it was there.

"She's sleeping," the doctor said.

"She looks peaceful," I whispered. I felt a lump in my throat, but I swallowed it down. I couldn't afford to get messy right now.

He turned the tablet away. "Ten seconds. That's the limit for now. Now, let's get this blood draw over with."

I held out my arm. I looked at the window while the needle went in. I watched a bird land on the stone wall outside. It looked at the barbed wire and then flew away. I wished I could do the same.

The woman drew four tubes of blood. It felt like a lot, but I didn't complain. I just wanted them to finish and leave.

"Your iron is a bit low," she noted, looking at a quick-read sensor. "We'll adjust your morning drink. Make sure you finish the whole glass tomorrow."

"It tastes like a lawnmower," I said.

"It's a requirement," she replied.

They spent another twenty minutes checking my reflexes and my breathing. They treated me like a car getting a tune-up and they didn't ask how I was feeling or if the room was comfortable. They just gathered their data.

When they were done, they packed everything back into their silver cases.

"The results will be sent to Mr. Volkov's office tonight," the lead doctor said. "Try to get some rest. Your body needs to stay relaxed for the process to work."

"I'll try," I said.

They walked out, and I heard the lock engage again.

I was alone. The room felt even bigger than before. I walked over to the vanity and moved my hairbrush back to where it belonged. I hated that they had touched my things.

I went to the bed and pulled my father's blue sweater closer to me. I didn't put it on yet; I just held the sleeve but It felt real. The doctors and the silk and the cameras felt like a fever dream-a weird, expensive dream that I couldn't wake up from.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Darian: The doctors say you were cooperative. Good. It makes things easier for everyone.

I stared at the text.And no,I didn't feel good about it. I felt like I had just passed a test I didn't want to take.

I laid back on the bed and looked at the camera. I didn't glare at it this time. I was just tired.

"I saw her, Dad," I whispered to the empty room. "She's okay for now."

I closed my eyes. The house was quiet. No sirens, no rain on the city streets, no chatter from the diner. Just the hum of the air conditioning.

I thought about the list of rules. I thought about the "dead zones" Anya mentioned.

Tomorrow, I would go to the garden. I would walk the paths and count the steps. I would be the perfect asset on the outside, but on the inside, I was going to keep my father's secrets safe.

I drifted off to sleep with the taste of that green juice still in the back of my throat. It was a long way from the life I knew, but as long as Mom's heart was beating, I could handle the white coats.

I just had to keep playing the game.