The knock came at dusk.
Three sharp raps on the chamber door—no pause, no explanation.
Maryna sat up from where she'd curled on the settee near the window, knees hugged to her chest, breath still fogging the cold glass.
She hadn't slept.
Not after that dream.
Not after feeling Rick's hands—real or not—on her skin again.
She didn't answer.
She didn't have to.
The door creaked open on its own, revealing one of the silent ones. A man—or what used to be a man—draped in silver and black, with eyes like dull coins. He said nothing. Only extended a hand toward the hallway.
She didn't ask where they were going.
She already knew.
The corridors of the estate were quiet tonight.
Candlelight flickered against dark stone. Heavy paintings watched her as she passed—eyes that seemed to follow, mouths just shy of smiling.
No music.
No voices.
Just the echo of her own steps… and the hollow thud of her heart.
When they reached the study, the silent guard bowed his head and turned away.
She stood at the threshold for a moment, her hand on the carved iron doorknob, willing her spine to straighten.
Then she pushed it open.
The room was warm.
Too warm.
Vasilios sat in a high-backed chair near the hearth, one leg crossed over the other, a crystal glass in hand. The fire crackled softly beside him, painting gold across his angular face.
He didn't look up.
Not at first.
Just gestured once with his fingers, a lazy flick of command.
"Close the door."
She did.
"Sit."
She obeyed.
The chair across from him was low and narrow—intentionally so. She sat with her hands in her lap, spine straight, pretending she didn't notice that he was looking at her over the rim of his glass like she was something caged and delicate.
His eyes slid down her body once, then returned to her face.
"Did you sleep?"
Maryna swallowed. "No."
"Dreams?"
Her jaw clenched. "Yes."
A slow sip from his glass. Then silence.
"I told you protection comes with a cost," he said finally.
She tensed. "And now you've come to collect?"
His smile was faint. Pleased. "Not yet."
She hated how that relieved her.
"I summoned you," he said, standing now, "because there is something you should know."
He walked to the fireplace, setting his glass down on the marble mantle. The fire made the edge of his coat flicker like smoke.
Then he picked something up.
A book.
Thick. Heavy. Bound in dark leather. Its spine gleamed with embossed gold letters, ancient and foreign.
Seductio Tenebris.
The name hit the air like a whisper and a warning.
He didn't hand it to her.
He didn't explain it.
He simply set it down on the table between them.
Maryna stared at it.
Something about it felt… alive.
"I won't offer this to you," he said. "Not yet."
Her eyes narrowed. "Why show it to me at all?"
"Because one day you will beg for it."
She stiffened.
He sat again, crossing his legs, and looked at her with quiet amusement.
"You want answers," he said. "About why you're here. About who I am. But mostly—about him."
Her breath caught.
"My father," she whispered.
At last, Vasilios's expression shifted.
Softer.
More dangerous.
"I knew him," he said. "Briefly. But I remember him well."
Maryna leaned forward, heat flaring in her chest.
"What do you mean? What was he like? Is he—"
"Alive?" Vasilios's lips curved. "That is not the question you should be asking."
She faltered. "Then what is?"
"The question," he said slowly, "is who he was. And why someone like me would care."
Her mouth went dry.
She looked at the book again.
Her voice dropped to a whisper. "What do you want from me?"
Now, he leaned forward.
So close she could smell the wine on his breath.
"I want obedience," he said. "But not blind. I want loyalty. But not born of fear. I want you to listen. Learn. Pay attention."
"To what?"
He sat back, smile fading.
"To everything. Because nothing here is what it seems. And the ones who survive… are the ones who learn the rules before they're punished for breaking them."
Silence stretched.
The fire crackled.
Maryna's heart thudded behind her ribs.
"I'll give you what you want," he said finally. "In pieces. When I choose. If you earn it."
She stared at him.
This wasn't a deal.
It was a leash.
But for a single breath, she felt something in her chest spark.
He knew.
He knew about her father.
And in this place, where her body was owned and her voice quieted, knowledge was the only thing left she could reach for.
She didn't speak.
She simply nodded.
Once.
Firm.
And his expression—cold, unreadable—shifted just enough to show approval.
"Good girl."
Maryna flushed.
Not from shame.
From anger. And something else she couldn't name.
He stood and walked to the door.
Before he opened it, she spoke again.
"The book…" she said, nodding toward Seductio Tenebris. "What is it?"
He glanced back over his shoulder.
"A mirror."
Then he was gone.