There was no clock ticking in the room, but Julian could feel time dragging like a knife against bone.
His head throbbed. Throat parched. Ankles raw from the rope that bound them. He tried to shift, but the chair beneath him groaned, metal, unforgiving, bolted to the ground. A blindfold blocked his sight, thick enough to render the room a void.
And the silence? It was the kind that hunted.
Then, a heel clicked. Once. Twice. Pacing.
A voice emerged, smooth as silk and sharp as glass. Feminine, but distorted. Something synthetic in the modulation, like a lullaby from a broken music box.
"Still alive? Shame. I was hoping you'd give up faster."
Julian coughed, trying to wet his lips. "Who the hell are you?"
"Someone who knows you're not half as clever as you think."
A pause. A breath. The scent of vanilla, smoke, and metal filled the air, unnatural and wrong.
She circled him. He could sense it. Her steps moved without haste, like a lioness studying her prey before the kill. Every so often, a nail would tap against the back of his chair. A reminder: she was there. She was in control.
"You're wasting your time," Julian said. "Grace won't believe you."
A breathy laugh. "Oh, Julian. You poor, deluded puppy. Grace already believes what she wants to. What she needs to. And you? You're just noise in the symphony she's composing."
"Silas did this, didn't he? Tell me. Just say it."
The voice leaned close, breath tickling his ear. "Maybe. Maybe not. But it's sweet, isn't it? That you think he pulls the strings."
Julian jolted. "Then who are you? Why me?"
"Because you poked too hard. Dug too deep. Played hero in a story that doesn't need saving."
She yanked his head back by the hair, and he gasped. The blindfold didn't budge.
"Let me go," he hissed.
"Let you go? No, Julian. You're exactly where you're supposed to be. You're not a threat. You're a lesson."
He clenched his fists, fingers curling into bloodied palms.
"She's not who you think she is," he whispered.
A sudden slap cracked across his face. A stinging, shocking burn.
"Neither are you," she spat.
Silence again.
He panted, rage and fear locked in a battle for dominance. Somewhere in the distance, he heard a drip. Water? Blood? He didn't know.
The voice returned, softer this time. Mocking. "Do you know what I love most about men like you? You think obsession is masculine. That protection is power. You want to save her, but you never ask if she wants to be saved."
Julian ground his teeth. "She's being manipulated."
"No, sweetheart. She's not a prey."
That silenced him.
The voice tilted.
"There it is. The fear. Delicious."
A hand touched his face, soft, tender, like a lover's. Then, a blade followed, pressed gently along his jaw.
"If you scream," she whispered, "make it pretty."
She walked away, leaving behind silence again. But now it wasn't empty. It echoed with a threat. With hunger. With answers, Julian didn't want anymore.
He was no longer the one asking questions. He was the example.
Just then, a second voice sliced through the dark.
Softer. Slower. And yet something about it was familiar.
"You talk too much," the new voice said, melodic, distorted by the same modulation but impossibly elegant. Velvet dipped in poison.
Julian's breath caught. There was something in the cadence, the rhythm, the unplaceable ache in the voice that stirred something in his memory.
"Who...?" he rasped, confused.
"Shh," the second voice cooed. "You're not here to question anymore. You're here to listen. To understand."
He tried to lean forward, tried to speak, but the words dissolved on his tongue.
"You're not the hunter in this game, Julian," the second voice whispered. "You're barely the bait."
His pulse thundered.
He knew this voice. Or thought he did.
But between distortion and dread, he couldn't tell why it felt like the past crawling back in silk gloves.
A soft laugh drifted, distant and chilling.
"I warned you once, didn't I? That curiosity kills more than cats."
And just like that, both voices disappeared.
Julian was left in silence again.
Except this time, it was louder than ever.