8

Liam’s been in the library for what feels like forever. I pace the corridor, the soles of my flats scuffing the polished marble.

Forward. Pivot. Back again.

That closed door taunts me. I don’t know how much time has passed. Ten minutes? Twenty? Regardless, every second drags, stretching my nerves to the breaking point. My thoughts spiral through the worst possibilities…

Oliver Whitney’s expectations.

The details Liam might be sharing.

And the looming threat of the dungeon.

The toast and eggs I forced down this morning want to make a reappearance. I hug my rebellious stomach and turn on my heel once more, and that’s when the door creaks open.

Liam steps out, followed by Oliver, who’s even taller than I remember, easily clearing six feet. The precision of his tailored suit clashes with the unruly fall of midnight hair grazing his ears. His brown eyes, lighter than Liam’s by several shades, sweep over me.

“I’ll give you a minute to say your goodbyes.” Oliver strides toward the elevator and stops a few feet away, allowing us space to breathe.

As Liam closes the distance between us, a strained silence lingers. He clears his throat, as if he’s trying to dislodge something heavier than words. “I don’t know what to say.” His hands slide into the pockets of his light grey trousers, shoulders stiff. “I’m not ready for this.”

My gaze lowers to his rustic brown shoes. “Did you tell him about last night? I mean the cliff.”

“He’s aware. We also came to an understanding.”

“What kind of understanding?”

“We agreed that you need to see Dr. Price.”

“Who?”

“Dr. Sullivan Price, from the House of Pisces. He’s a psychiatrist.”

“I don’t need a shrink.”

“Oliver disagrees. So do I.”

“You can disagree all you want.” I fold my arms, the picture of petulance. “You might be able to drag me there, but you can’t make me talk.”

“Then you’ll be very bored.” He lifts his chin. “Because you’re not leaving Sully’s office until you cooperate.”

“You can’t do this!”

“You’re right. I can’t. But Oliver can.” Liam’s stare is unwavering. “He’s also assigning someone to watch you.”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” I snap.

“Your stunt on the cliff says otherwise.”

“I said I wouldn’t do it again.”

“I know what you said.” He scans my face, studying me as if I’m a puzzle he can’t quite solve. “And I believe you meant it, but I have to be sure. Until I know you’re not a danger to yourself, the babysitter, as you called her, stays.”