Sergio isn’t laughing. He’s not distracted or uplifted. None of his tension has been released. I loathe him, but for this one reaction to this single moment, I respect him. He’s the only one of us who’s too focused to be amused, and the only one who can tell the difference between a fallen candlestick and danger.

“You may link your hands,” Father Martino says, holding the knife between his palms.

“You ready, snookums?”

I raise my hand. I am ready.

He links his fingers to mine. My skin curls away where we touch.

It’s okay. This has to happen. The benefits outweigh the pain.

The scars on my fingers are a broken line that can only be filled in by a free man.

It’s okay.

The knife is laid at the tops of our linked fingers. Father Martino makes the incantation from the far side of the universe. He lays the edge against the scar on my pinkie as if his goal is to slice open my marriage to Dario and replace it with this one.

Never.

It’s okay.

There are no replacements for perfection. But I close my eyes against seeing the attempt.

It’s okay. I tell myself that it’s fine. The plan works. The chamber is as silent as death, and in my mind, it’s okay. Over and over.

He can recut my body.

It’s okay.

My scars will only ever match one man.

“It’s okay!” The words are too insistent for my mind. They find a way out of my mouth and into the flow of echoes, where my consent doesn’t matter anyway.

“It’s okay,” I say to the priest more softly, ready to be cut into marriage to a man I despise.

Again.

Chapter 26

CHAPTER 26

DARIO

As the glass drops, I expect an alarm, but there is none. Wouldn’t want to alert the entire building that this prison even exists.

Barefoot, I step over the spray of glass. At the end of the hallway is a solid door with a biometric pad. Between me and escape, the hallway is lined with more windowpane cells exactly the same as mine.

“Dario!” Oria is closer than before. She’s two cells in front of me. I can’t leave her behind, but there’s no time to get her out.

“Oria!”

I find her crouching in front of her own glass. She bolts upright, as wiry and strong as ever, hair matted and eyes glowing with fury. She opens her mouth to ask a question, beg for rescue, maybe explain how she got here. There’s no time for it.

“Take this.” I drop the ring in the slit between her panes. “Corner. Apply pressure.”