Page 80 of Vows of Silence

I crouched down low, resting my wrists on my knees, the knife dangling between them.

Rafael looked up at me, and I slowly reached up, removing the mask. For the first time in years, he saw me for who I was. Saw the monster lurking beneath the silver.

“Y-you’re r-revolting,” he cringed.

I gently stroked the knife up his face, and he curled tighter into the foetal position.

I leaned in closer, bringing my scarred face up close to his. “And so are you,” I whispered with a chuckle.

And then I drove the knife up through his jaw and out of his eye.

Chapter 26

The Flame

The door was bothering me.

After Silas had left last night, I hadn’t heard the door click behind him. I’d tested it almost immediately and found the handle twisted easily in my hand.

I’d let go and stepped back before I even thought about opening it.

I tried to explain to myself that this was a test. That there must be cameras in here, and this was just another one of Silas’s games—one that he probably wanted me to lose so that he could punish me in his own sadistic way.

But that version of events didn’t line up with the Silas I currently knew. Yes, he played games with me. Yes, he ran his tests. But my punishment for failing these things was never violent. The punishments simply meant I stayed where I was, never making progress.

Since being in this house, Silas had given me no reason to believe he would hurt me, so there was no reason to believe leaving this room would come with physical punishment either.

And yet, for some reason, I wasn’t able to bring myself to open the bedroom door and step out—even if I was dying to explore this huge mansion.

When my eyes grew heavy and it became painfully obvious that Silas wasn’t returning tonight, I’d climbed into bed and fallen into one of the best nights’ sleep I could ever recall. It was like sleeping on a cloud—a huge improvement from the mattress in the basement.

Upon awakening, I’d taken a leisurely bath, pouring more products than was necessary into the water, relaxing in mountains of bubbles and perfumes until my skin had wrinkled and I resembled a prune.

I had been able to not only wash my hair, but also blow-dry and curl it. I’d been able to apply moisturiser to my sun-starved skin and gloss to my chapped lips. I’d been able to change into fitting jeans and a nice top, instead of the loose, comfortable joggers I’d grown so accustomed to.

Looking in the mirror afterwards, there was no indication I’d spent the past however many weeks a prisoner.

I looked like Isabelle. Young, fresh, and thriving.

Which was concerning, really. This was Falcone Manor, and nothing came here to thrive. You were either born and raised here, haunted by the stories the walls had seen, inevitably adding your own chapter to the book. Or you came here to die.

And yet I looked… almost glowing. Better than I had in months, actually.

Which felt like its own kind of sickness.

Now I found myself sitting on the bed, chewing my lower lip and staring at the door.

I must have passed through thousands of doors in my life. But this one seemed so huge. So consequential. I’d even crossed the room twice already, my fingers curling around the handle before my brain caught up with what I was doing. But I could never bring myself to pass through it. To open it and step out freely.

“Get a fucking grip of yourself, Isabelle,” I muttered to myself.

It was just a door. Silas would obviously have the main door locked. Hell, the main doors were probably swarming with armed guards. He knew I couldn’t escape, so what harm was there in leaving and exploring?

With my mind made up—or at least half made up—I jumped off the bed before I could talk myself out of it and slipped my feet into the black ballet pumps Silas had provided.

Just as I was smoothing down my hair, the door opened and there he stood.

Silver mask donned, same as always.