Page 46 of Captive Souls

“I’m going on a supply run today.” I hadn’t expected him to speak to me, his voice sending shivers up my spine. “I’ll get more food.”

“No meat,” I said once I’d swallowed my first mouthful. Again, flavorful, delicious. Different from last night. Cinnamon and cumin married perfectly in a balance of sweet and savory.

I didn’t look up at him, but there was a loaded pause. “No meat,” he conceded, a defeat of his own.

My mouth turned up at the corners as I ate. Victory. It was sweet.

“If there is anything else you require …” He put something on the table beside me.

A notepad and pen.

I stared at the innocuous items and what they represented. Autonomy. A little bit of it anyway. Was it an olive branch? Was it a shard of his shield that I’d managed to chip away at?

I mulled this over while I chewed, Knox walking away from me.

What would the power move be here? Write a long and complicated and obscure list?

No, that wouldn’t work. I didn’t think this new dynamic stretched so far as him going beyond the small store at the base of the mountain.

Would writing nothing at all be the bigger power move? Communicating I needed nothing from him. But that was a lie.

I chewed and swallowed the food, no longer tasting it.

This constant thinking about each decision, mannerism, how it might alter the situation was exhausting.

As if my decisions and mannerisms could alter Knox. That was like expecting water to alter stone.

Which it did.

Eventually.

After years.

Hundreds of them.

I didn’t have years with him. Maybe weeks. If I was lucky. Or unlucky, depending on how you viewed the situation.

Whatever time I had left, despite the company, it was likely the last of the tenuous freedom I’d ever enjoy in my life.

I had to make lemonade, I guessed.

So I wrote a list.

Knox

She was driving me insane.

I thought I’d done it. Scared her enough that she wouldn’t approach me. That she’d avoid me like her life depended on it.

Which it did.

Her life as she knew it depended on her staying as far away from me as possible.

But then again, her life as she knew it was over whether she stayed away from me or not.

Stone had made up his mind about her. He didn’t just want her. He already considered her his. And Stone didn’t give up what was his. Not until he’d squeezed every ounce of life, goodness and will from it. Until it was dead.

I cracked my knuckles, sitting at the rickety outdoor table, chain-smoking.

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