BLOOD IN SILK

Alina waited until the silence became suffocating.

Cassian hadn't returned in over an hour.

Her wrists throbbed from the rope burns, but she didn't care. She was free—sort of. Still locked in a room with no windows, but her hands were no longer tied, and that was something.

She scanned the room. A rusted shelf. Broken tools. A crate. Pipes overhead. Her heartbeat drummed in her ears as her eyes settled on a jagged piece of metal sticking out from under the crate.

She grabbed it.

Not sharp enough to kill. But sharp enough to threaten.

Sharp enough to run.

She crept to the door, tested the handle. Locked. But the hinges were old. The screws rusted. Her mind worked fast. She jammed the metal into the weakest one and began to twist.

Minutes dragged. Her hands bled, her body trembled. But the screw gave.

One hinge. Then the second.

She was pulling at the third when—

Click.

The lock.

She froze.

The door creaked open, and Cassian stepped inside. He froze too—his eyes flicking from the loose hinge, to the metal in her hand, to the blood on her fingers.

"Smart," he said coolly. "Stupid, but smart."

Alina didn't move. "Let me go."

Cassian walked in slowly, shutting the door behind him. "And then what? You run to the police? To your father? You think he'll let you live if he knows what you know?"

"I don't care," she said. "As long as he burns."

"You'll burn with him."

"Maybe I already am."

Her voice cracked—not from fear, but fury. Her eyes shined, not with tears, but fire.

Cassian took another step forward.

She raised the metal. "Don't come closer."

He didn't. But his expression darkened.

"You think I'm the enemy?" he asked. "You think I'm the one you need to fight?"

"You kidnapped me."

"I saved you."

"You tied me to a chair."

"I could've left your body in that penthouse," he snapped. "You don't get it, do you? Your father didn't just want you dead—he wanted it to be public. Bloody. A warning."

Her chest tightened. She tried to keep her voice steady. "Why are you telling me this now?"

"Because I don't know what the hell I'm doing," Cassian admitted, his voice lower. "I've never hesitated. Never questioned orders. Until you."

Alina stared at him. "Why?"

He looked at her then—not like a captor, not like a killer—but like a man who had seen something he couldn't unsee.

"Because I know you," he whispered. "Or I did. Years ago. Before I became this."

Her grip on the metal loosened.

"What are you talking about?"

He exhaled hard. "I don't know. Just pieces. A hospital room. Blood. You were crying. I remember your voice."

She staggered back, confused. "That's impossible."

"Is it?"

Silence fell again, thick with everything unsaid.

Finally, Alina tossed the metal to the ground. It clanged softly, useless now.

"I don't trust you," she said. "But I believe you're not lying."

"That's a start," he said.

She crossed her arms. "But you don't get to play the savior, Cassian. You still kidnapped me. You still kept me like a prisoner."

"I know," he said. "But I didn't kill you. That has to mean something."

"It does," she said. "It means I'm a pawn. Same as you."

His jaw clenched.

But he didn't deny it.

Then, with something cold and final in her voice, Alina added, "The difference is—I plan to break the board."