I was exhausted from starvation. My body felt hollow, my muscles weak, and my vision blurred around the edges. It had been days—or was it weeks?—since I had eaten anything substantial. Every time they brought food, I turned it away, even as my stomach twisted painfully, begging for relief. I refused to eat anything they gave me. I knew I couldn't trust them. It wasn't easy, each rejection making me feel weaker, more vulnerable, but it's better to be safe than sorry, right?
What if it was poisoned? What if there was something inside that would make me comply with them, turn my mind into mush and force me to obey? I don't want to find out. The fear of losing control over myself, of becoming their puppet, outweighed the hunger gnawing at me. I held on to that fear like a lifeline, a reminder of why I had to stay strong.
As thrilling as this situation might seem in some twisted adventure story, the reality was far from exciting. The thrill of the unknown quickly faded into a dull, relentless terror. I just wanted it to end. I wanted to wake up in my own bed, safe at home, surrounded by familiar things, with sunlight pouring through the window. But that was a dream, and this… this was a nightmare.
How could this play out? How could this story possibly end well?
Will someone come for me? Will I be saved by a daring hero at the last minute? The thought seemed so distant, a fairytale solution to a brutal reality. Or would one of them—one of the people holding me here—realize the wrong they were doing? Maybe they'd deflect, turn on the others, and help me escape. It was a faint hope, but hope nonetheless.
Or… would it all be up to me? Would I have to find some hidden strength, some clever way out, and escape on my own? My eyes scanned the cold stone walls of the cell, the thick iron bars on the door, the ceiling too high to reach even if I could climb. No easy way out. No clear plan.
The silence of the room was broken by the sound of footsteps outside my door. My heart pounded against my ribs, the dull ache of hunger momentarily forgotten as fear spiked through me. The heavy metal door creaked open, the noise echoing in the small, enclosed space. Someone stepped inside. I forced myself to look up, even though I dreaded what I might see.
And there he was. To my dismay, it was Callum.
The sight of him sent a wave of nausea through me, though I wasn't sure if it was from hunger or disgust. His face was the last one I wanted to see, yet part of me wasn't surprised. I'd known for a while that he was involved in this. The moment I woke up in this cell, I figured it out. It wasn't much of a revelation when the creepy man confirmed it later.
"You look terrible, Lilien," Callum said, his voice almost too casual, as if we were having a normal conversation and not… whatever this was. His words twisted in my gut, filling me with revulsion. Was that concern in his voice? Or was it just more manipulation?
What does he want? What could he possibly want from me now?
I swallowed hard, trying to muster the strength to speak. "What do you want?" I asked, my voice scratchy from thirst and disuse. I tried to sound strong, but deep down, I was scared. I hated that he could probably hear the fear trembling in my voice.
Callum smiled, that same infuriating, smug expression he always wore when he thought he was winning. "My offer still stands, Lilien. Come with me and save yourself," he said, like he was offering some grand favor.
I almost laughed. After everything he'd done—after everything he'd put me through—he still thought I'd go along with him? The idea was so absurd it was almost funny.
"I'll pass," I said, struggling to sit up straighter. Every movement sent a wave of exhaustion through me, but I refused to show him how weak I truly was.
His smile faded, replaced by a look of condescension. He moved closer, squatting down to my level, his face inches from mine. His eyes held no warmth, only cold calculation. "You still don't grasp the situation you're in, do you, Lilien?" he said quietly. His voice was calm, measured, like he was explaining something simple to a child. "Let me make it clear for you. You are going to die. Your country will be destroyed. Kael will be killed. Your family will be killed," he said, each word landing like a punch to my already fragile heart.
'I won't let that happen,' I thought fiercely, my chest tightening. 'I'd rather die than let anything happen to them.'
"All of this could be avoided if you just listen to me," Callum continued, his voice dripping with false sympathy.
'Yeah, right.' I wasn't falling for that. Not now, not ever.
A part of me wanted to spit in his face, to declare that I'd rather starve to death than give in to him, but my throat was too dry, and it hurt too much to even try. I needed to save my energy. I glanced down at the dirty floor and sighed.
'I really don't understand what I could've done to make him so obsessed with me,' I thought bitterly. This fixation he had—it made no sense. If only I could ask the one person who might have answers, but she was locked away inside me. And even then, I doubted she'd know.
"Callum," I called, my voice barely a whisper. I hated the weakness in it, but I needed to speak. "I…" My throat was raw, the words struggling to come out. "I'll…"
His eyes lit up with anticipation. "I'm listening," he said, leaning closer.
"I'll make the wise decision," I croaked.
"Exactly," he said, a triumphant smile spreading across his face.
"I think I'd choose death over going with you," I finished.
"You…" He grabbed me by my collar. "You'll die."
"That sounds like a better offer," I muttered. "But are you really deranged? You kidnapped me, wiped my memories—not once but twice," I said, and from his expression, I knew it wasn't just twice.
"Wow," I exclaimed. "Are you really that delusional? In what world do you think I'd follow a maniac like you?" I asked. "Dying sounds like a better option than yours," I added, wishing my throat wasn't so dry. I'd love to shout that line one day.
He stared at me, shocked, then chuckled and let go. I watched as he walked quietly toward the door.
"Wallow in your ignorance for the rest of your short life," he said, opening the door. "I offered you an escape, but since you're so eager to die, then die. I'll even have a burial for you as a final act of kindness," he offered.
"I'd prefer to be fed to dogs than have you bury me," I spat, as loudly as my dry throat allowed.
"Is that so?" he asked. "I'll let you be, Lilien, but I won't return your memories. You'll die in ignorance, with no idea how much you've lost."
That's a decent threat, but the thing is, I have no intention of dying here. I will get out, no matter what.
"For the last time, Lilien—"
"Just leave," I shouted.
"Fine," he said. "But don't think you can escape. You'll only add to your pain. Just die quietly."