Elara kept her breathing steady, but inside, her mind raced. I don't kill ghosts. What did he mean? She had spent her entire life avoiding the empire's gaze, keeping to the shadows. And yet, here she was—on her knees before Ryan Calderon, the man who ruled with an iron fist.
His words lingered in the air, thick with unspoken meaning.
Ryan returned to his throne with slow, deliberate steps, every movement a display of absolute control. He didn't just command power—he was power. And yet, despite the weight of his presence, Elara refused to look away.
He studied her again, his sharp gray eyes searching for something she wasn't sure she possessed. Then, with a flick of his fingers, he dismissed the guards.
The moment they left, the atmosphere changed. The air grew heavier, charged with something neither of them acknowledged.
"You're remarkably calm for someone in chains," Ryan remarked, his tone almost curious.
Elara scoffed. "Would you rather I beg for mercy?"
Ryan leaned back in his throne, a ghost of a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "No. I rather like your fire."
She clenched her fists, the iron cuffs biting into her skin. "Why am I here?"
Ryan's expression darkened slightly. "Because you shouldn't exist."
There it was again. That phrase.
Elara narrowed her eyes. "Then kill me."
Ryan exhaled through his nose, amused. "If I wanted you dead, you would be."
She hated the way her pulse quickened. He was right, of course. Men like Ryan Calderon didn't hesitate. They didn't keep prisoners unless they were useful.
And that terrified her more than death itself.
"What do you want from me?" she demanded.
Ryan tilted his head, considering her. Then, in a voice smooth as silk, he said, "I want the truth."
Elara went still.
"I—"
Ryan cut her off. "Not the truth you've rehearsed in your mind. Not the clever lies you've prepared in case you were ever caught." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I want your truth, Elara."
Her breath hitched. He knows my name.
She swallowed hard. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Ryan's smirk returned, colder this time. "You were found near the ruins of Veridion—the very place that was burned to the ground over a decade ago." His voice was sharp, precise. "And yet, no records of you exist. No birth certificate. No family registry. Nothing."
Elara remained silent, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Ryan stood again, descending the steps until he was right in front of her. He crouched, gripping the chain between her wrists and twisting it slightly—forcing her closer.
"I have conquered entire kingdoms," he murmured, his voice low. "I have crushed armies that defied me. But you? You are a ghost, Elara. And I do not believe in ghosts."
A shiver ran down her spine, but she refused to show weakness. "Maybe I'm just a nobody."
Ryan's grip on the chain tightened.
"No." He tilted his head, eyes glinting like steel. "You are something far more dangerous."
Elara clenched her jaw, refusing to let the fear seep into her voice. "And what exactly do you think I am?"
Ryan studied her for a long moment, then released the chain. He straightened, turning away.
"Time will tell."
Elara scowled. "That's it? You drag me here, accuse me of being some kind of phantom, and now you're just going to—what? Keep me locked away?"
Ryan stopped at the foot of the throne. "No."
She stilled.
His next words sent ice through her veins.
"You're going to prove to me exactly what you are."
Elara's fingers curled into fists. "And if I refuse?"
Ryan's smirk returned, sharp as a blade. "Then I suppose I'll have to find other ways to make you talk."
Elara lifted her chin. "You can torture me if you want. I won't break."
Ryan chuckled—low and dark. "Who said anything about torture?"
A cold dread settled in her stomach.
Ryan Calderon was a monster. But monsters didn't always need knives and chains to destroy you.
Sometimes, they only needed time.
And something told her—she didn't have much left.
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