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Ella knew it was a gamble.
But after the sketches, after the way Vinci’s eyes glossed over when she said she wanted space, she had to try.
This time, she set the stage herself.
A chair. A recorder. Dim lighting. Minimal sound. She closed the door behind her and sat opposite Vinci—already sedated with the same breathing exercises she’d used before.
“Vinci,” she said, low. “I need to speak to Eon.”
He blinked. Once. Twice. His body slackened, and then—
Smile.
Not Vinci’s.
Eon’s.
“Why do you keep summoning me like a bad genie?” he drawled. “You’re braver than I gave you credit for.”
“I need answers.”
“You need a therapist.”
She pressed record.
“Eon,” she said, steadying her breath, “why did you draw me in the book? The one with the wire?”
He cocked his head. “Because it’s the only way he listens. When I warn him.”
“Warn him of what?”
“That you’ll run.”
Her hands clenched. “Are you planning to hurt me?”
He laughed—sharp and childlike. “Why would I hurt my muse?”
“You killed three men.”
“No,” he corrected. “I killed monsters. Vinci only remembers the pieces. I remember the screams.”
Ella’s heart pounded. “You said you protect him.”
“I do.”
“But he’s spiraling—he’s terrified of himself!”
Eon leaned forward. “Because he still wants to be good. He thinks you’ll save him. I know better.”
“What do you know?”
“That everyone leaves. Everyone betrays. Even you.”
“I haven’t left.”
“Yet.”
She reached for the table, flipped a photo forward.
“Do you know this man?” she asked. It was Victim #4—a recent sketch she hadn’t dared show Vinci.
Eon blinked, slowly. “He touched him when he was little. Paid to be silent. I cut out his tongue.”
Ella flinched. “You remember everything, don’t you?”
He grinned. “Every bone. Every whimper.”
She stood to turn off the recorder.
He stood too.
Suddenly the room felt wrong.
“Ella,” Eon said quietly, “do you think you’re safe just because Vinci loves you?”
Her throat tightened. “I never said—”
“I know. But I hear him. Crying at night when you pretend to sleep.”
She stepped back. Her heel hit the chair leg. She stumbled.
He caught her wrist—too tightly.
His breath on her cheek. “Don’t lie to me again.”
Then—just as fast—he blinked, swayed, and collapsed back in the chair.
Vinci gasped awake.
“Ella?” he rasped. “What… what just happened?”
She didn’t answer.
She couldn’t.
The marks on her wrist were already blooming purple.
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