Chapter 52

FIFTY-TWO

AMETHYST

Isabel puts me through a detox that takes twice the amount of time that I spent as Dolly and Delta’s prisoner. Every morning, she draws blood to check my system’s levels of foreign substances. She connects me to an IV filled with fluids and nutrition because my stomach keeps rioting. I alternate between vivid nightmares and daytime hallucinations as my mind tries to work out what’s real.

When I’m not hallucinating, I dream about being admitted to the asylum as a little girl, under the care of a red-haired doctor with piercing gray eyes.

He would loom too close as orderlies in white strapped me down to a metal bed, and then he’d inject me with a drug to make the room dissolve into a kaleidoscope of colors and shapes.

The doctor’s voice would drone on, repeating the same words until they seeped into my consciousness. Those words built a brick wall around my memories until I didn’t even know my name.

They kept the lights on in my room and kept me awake with hot and cold baths. If I screamed for Mom and Dad, then he moved me to a room and attached electrodes to my temples. The pain was unbearable, and I would return from those sessions blank. The moment I begged to go home, the torture would start all over again.

Xero gave me a phone so I could dictate my memories and work out what’s imagined, recent, and old. They’re easy to tell apart, based on who’s in them and what they want. The present-day Delta wants me to remember, while the red-haired doctor wants me to forget. In between are fractured scenes with nurses, orderlies, and patients staring into nothingness through dead eyes.

Throughout this, Xero watches over me like a sentinel. Sometimes he’s clad in the tuxedo, other times wearing black. Both versions of him offer silent support as the drugs leave my system and memories trickle back to me like sludge.

One afternoon, I wake up to the absence of pressure. The bands keeping me tethered to the hospital bed are gone.

Xero stands over me, the sunlight streaming through his platinum hair, casting a halo that makes me think I’m hallucinating an angel. His black shirt and leather jacket break the illusion, but there’s a rugged beauty to him that makes my heart race.

I glance down at his hand, where intricate tattoos peek out from under his sleeve, dark ink against pale skin. He’s reaching for my hand, his fingers tentative and hesitant, as if afraid of my reaction to his touch.

My pulse quickens, and my fingers curl into fists. It’s strange how I draw comfort from the version of him I hallucinate, yet the real Xero makes me jumpy. The sunlight catches on his pale eyes, ringed with shadows, as though he’s been trapped in nightmares as dark as mine. His features flicker with pain when I don’t immediately respond to his touch. The expression is fleeting, but even I can see he’s upset.

“Isabel says your toxicology report is clear. Are you up for a walk in the garden?” His voice is a low rumble, laced with concern.

My chest lifts with hope at the prospect of going outside. “Yes…” I rasp, my voice barely a whisper. “I think I can manage that.”

As I sit up, swinging my legs off the edge of the mattress, Xero drops to his knees. His hands are gentle as he helps me slide my feet into the same slippers as before. The brush of his fingers sends shivers up my spine. I place a hand on his broad shoulder to steady myself as I stand. The room rocks sideways, and my knees buckle.

Xero catches me instantly, his strong arms wrapping around my waist, pulling me close. His eyes lock onto mine with an intensity that makes my insides tremble, a storm brewing in those pale depths. His scent, a mix of leather and something uniquely him, fills my senses.

For a moment, I can’t help but notice how he looks a lot like how I imagine Delta might appear if he bleached his hair blond, shaved off his beard, and smothered his face in my collagen cream.

A memory bubbles up of the time Xero scooped handfuls of my expensive face serum and stuck it up my ass. The absurdity of the thought makes me bark out a laugh.

“Are you alright?” His voice softens, concern etching his handsome face with a frown.

“Yes,” I manage to say, a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. “I mean... thank you.” I flick my gaze down to the slippers, trying to hide the warmth flooding my cheeks.

Cracking a tiny smile, he releases his hold around my waist. There’s a reluctant loss in his eyes as he steps back and holds up the robe like a gentleman. The simple gesture, combined with his intense presence, makes my heart flutter in ways I can’t explain.

“Put this on. It’s chilly outside,” he says, his voice so gentle that my throat thickens with emotion.

I slide my arms into the plush robe, the heavy fabric barely brushing against my dressings. When Xero’s fingers brush against mine, heat rises to my cheeks and creeps up my neck. I dip my head, hoping to disguise the flush.

My first steps are shaky, my legs weak from days of being confined to the bed. Isabel told me I tried to run away the first time she released my restraints to let me into the bathroom. I’d even torn some stitches on the back of my legs. Since then, she’s restricted me to a bed pan.

I shuffle out of the room with Xero at my side. His presence is steadying, his gaze never leaving me. Each time I stumble, his hands hover close, ready to catch me if I fall. I can’t remember the last time anyone cared so deeply for my wellbeing or even showed me this level of concern.

“Give me your arm,” I say.

He hesitates for a heartbeat before offering me his elbow. I grip his biceps, feeling secure in the strength beneath his leather jacket.

The walk through the house is silent, the air thick with unspoken words. I barely remember running through this hallway, thinking the Xero running beside me was a hallucination.

My most intense memory is the overwhelming surge of euphoria at discovering Xero was still alive. It even overshadowed the relief I felt at being free. As much as I hated being Delta’s captive, thinking that I had murdered Xero was far worse.

We descend the stairs at a gentle pace, with Xero taking care to support me with each downward step. My heart flutters at the attention, my chest filling with warmth. He’s treating me like I’m fragile, even precious. Each touch, each glance, feels like what I’ve missed for a lifeline.

After passing through a short corridor to a side door, Xero pushes it open to reveal a vast garden bathed in the golden afternoon light. The sight steals my breath. We step out onto a lawn resembling a green carpet, edged by vibrant flower beds and low shrubs.

Sunlight warms my skin, and I inhale, savoring the freedom and the beauty. The air is filled with the scent of fresh grass and blooming flowers, a welcome change from the sterile infirmary.

A shudder runs down my spine at the thought of how this garden would look after a decade of neglect.

“Are you alright?” he asks, his voice edged with worry.

“It reminds me of the asylum.”

He turns to me with a frown. “That forest of weeds?”

“It wasn’t always like that,” I murmur, struck by the irony that my hallucinated Xero reminded me of what the asylum gardens looked like when I was little. “Its lawn and flowerbeds were well maintained once, just like this.”

“You remember that much of the time you spent there?” he asks, his voice softening.

“Enough of it,” I reply with a shiver, the memories flitting through my mind like dark shadows. “I’m almost grateful for the memory loss.”

“Want to talk about it?” His concern wraps around me like a warm blanket.

“Not yet.”

“Just know if you need a sounding board, I’m here. Or a shoulder to cry on, I’m here. If you need a valet to hold your weapons while you tear through the city on a violent rampage, I’m here,” he says, his voice lightening with amusement.

I turn to meet his eyes. Eyes that gaze down at me like I’m the only woman in the world. Eyes that belong to the man who captured my heart with his letters, phone calls, and unwavering devotion. Eyes that never stopped searching for me, even when I thought all was lost.

Tension builds between us, the air thick with unspoken words. I forget about the garden, and the entire world narrows down to Xero. I don’t know if I’m ready to talk about what happened at the asylum, or even share my feelings. I’m certainly not ready to lash out at my attackers.

“Thank you,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.

Eyes softening, he steers me back toward the house. We walk around its perimeter, passing flower beds that fill the air with their sweet scent. The house’s brick facade gives way to a large patio with a fire pit at its center, surrounded by comfortable seating.

My legs tremble, and I point at a bench that curves around the pit in a semicircle. Xero guides me to sit on its cushioned seat, his touch lingering on my arm. I gaze out onto the grounds, the lush greenery calming my racing heart.

The garden is not as regimented as the one Mom kept at the house in Alderney Hill. This one blends into small trees and larger shrubs carpeted with wildflowers. Taller trees frame the background, their canopies forming the beginnings of a forest. The tranquil surroundings, the distant bird calls mingling with the rustle of leaves, form a sanctuary that makes the asylum feel like a distant dream.

“We bought this safe house before I went to prison.” His posture straightens, his gaze sweeps across the grounds. “It’s going to be one of many halfway homes for children we rescue from the academy and the underground facility.”

“You wouldn’t take the older ones to the catacombs?” I ask.

He shakes his head, a lock of platinum hair falling across his brow. “Everyone who defects from the Moirai gets a choice on whether they want to join us or have a normal life.”

“Is there such a thing as normal if you’ve spent years training to be an assassin?” I murmur.

When he doesn’t answer, I turn to stare at his profile. His eyes are focused on the distant trees, seeming lost in the implications of my question. I take in the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the strength in his jaw, and the tension around his eyes and mouth. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

“Some have been through so much, we don’t even remember normal,” he replies, his voice heavy with the weight of his words. “Most stay with us for protection, because defying the Moirai means constantly looking over your shoulder.”

My brows pinch in concern. I was expecting him to lead with something more optimistic.

“That’s why we plan on taking out its leadership, starting with him,” he snarls.

Delta.

The name hangs between us like a specter.

Xero turns to meet my gaze, his eyes blazing with barely restrained fury. “He’ll pay for what he did. Him and his accomplices.”

I fidget on my seat, looking everywhere but at him. Twin worms of guilt and shame wrestle in my belly, making me squirm under the spotlight of his attention. No matter how much I try, I can’t shake off the unease.

This version of Xero is more like the one I’ve known—ruthless, vengeful, never letting a slight go unpunished. No one has betrayed him recently except me. It’s unsettling that he’s being so nice when I don’t deserve this care. Yet there’s a part of me that will die if it ever goes away.

The silence stretches until it squeezes my lungs. I fight against the suffocating urge to speak, wanting to stay in this peculiar bubble of peace where Xero is too preoccupied with finding Delta to confront me about trying to burn him alive. Clenching my teeth, I try to force my mouth to stay closed, but the words spill from my lips.

“When are you going to bring up the fire?” I clap a hand over my mouth, wanting to stuff that question down my throat.

My breath stills as I wait for his response. If he haunted and tormented me for leaving him at the altar and writing a book about our relationship, then what I did to him before I ran away should earn me a death sentence.

“Look at me,” he commands.

I shake my head, fixing my gaze on my lap. Unease squeezes my chest, tightening its grip on my heart.

“Amethyst,” he growls, his voice a mix of frustration and something deeper.

Dipping my neck, I peer up at him through my lashes. The intensity in his eyes is almost too much to bear, but I can’t look away. Breathing hard, my heart thrashes against its cage like a trapped bird. His gaze holds mine, as if he can see into the very depths of my soul.

“I watched that video.” He pauses, his features flickering with emotions I can’t pin down. There’s frustration, rage, sorrow, and even pride. His lips tighten as if he’s choosing his next words with the utmost precision. “If I thought something like that had happened to my sisters, I would also set the man responsible on fire.”

“That wasn’t me,” I murmur, my voice barely audible.

“I know it was Dolly.”

My head snaps up, and I finally look him full in the face. “How do you know about her?”

“We abducted nearly everyone connected to your disappearance and uncovered a few secrets about your past. I know you have a twin who went missing when you were nine or ten. I know you were sent to that asylum to erase your memories.”

My breath shallows, each revelation hitting me like a blow. I stare at him, my eyes widening with disbelief and a flicker of hope.

“What else did you discover?” I whisper, my voice trembling.

“Your mother left a diary that can fill in the gaps. Would you like to read it?”

My throat thickens, and the grief I suppressed rises to the surface. There was a window of time when I thought Mom was the monster behind the polaroids. She was a lot of things, but she didn’t deserve to be hunted and killed.

“I didn’t kill her. Or my uncle,” I say, my voice cracking.

“I know,” he responds, his eyes never leaving mine.

“How?”

“From the start, I knew whoever did it had connections. They took out two operatives I sent to watch over your mother’s house.”

My throat tightens, and I swallow hard. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for their actions.”

We sit in silence, and I sag under the weight of our unspoken words. Tears spring to my eyes, and I wipe them away with the back of my hand. Xero turns toward me, his eyes softening with compassion, but I shrink to the other side of the bench, creating some distance.

“Sorry,” I mutter, trying not to sound so small and fragile. “Sometimes I can’t believe it’s really you.”

He nods, his shoulders sagging, making my heart squeeze with guilt at having caused him even more pain.

His phone buzzes, breaking the heavy silence. “Are you ready for a surprise?” he asks with a hint of a smile.

“What kind?”

“Myra just arrived at the gate.”