Page 122 of Emperor of Havoc

He lifts his arm, pointing at a smiling photo of Katarina.

“Like that,” he growls. “Katarina looksexactlylike her mother.”

It’s the last piece of a puzzle we’ve been dreading putting together.

I turn to Kolya, nostrils flaring. “Do you haveanyidea where Jin might be?”

He nods as he turns to me.

“He’s going to be at the only other place he’s ever called home.”

39

KATARINA

I siton the edge of the sheet-covered couch, my arms wrapped around me in an attempt to shield me from the terror clawing at my chest.

The room I’m imprisoned in still reeks. But at least I’m alone now. The man in theonimask left a while ago, telling me in his rough voice he’d be back with “presents” for me.

I hug my knees tighter to my chest, shuddering.

The past hours—days?—blur together in a confused haze. The living room feels like is a tomb, frozen in time. Cobwebs drape the corners. Outside, through the grimy windows, I can make out a tall, menacing hedge beyond the overgrown garden, a dark green wall further boxing me into this prison.

I’ve been trying to keep it together and focus on staying calm, but the fear inside me is a living, breathing thing, and Takeshi’s face keeps flashing through my mind.

His words.

Thatfuckingphone call.

The betrayal slices into me afresh every time I think of it, but, weirdly, alongside the heartbreak is the unshakable need for him to find me and prove me wrong.

Please. Tell me I was crazy. Tell me I heard incorrectly.

Even if that’s a lie.

The click of the lock snaps me to attention. My heart lurches and I jerk around, my muscles tensing. The door creaks open, and the masked man steps in.

“Marianna,” he murmurs in that raspy voice that sounds like it hasn't been used for years.

Why does he keep calling me that?

He doesn’t approach. He watches me like I'm fragile and could break or bolt at any second. I lift my hands, signing sharply and frantically.

“What do you want from me?”

It’s futile. I quickly realized the last time he was here that he doesn’t understand sign language. Just like last time, he doesn’t respond to my question. His head tilts slightly, his features hidden behind that grotesque mask.

“Your voice will return, Marianna,” he says gently, almost reassuringly. “You’ve just forgotten how to use it. I almost forgot how to use mine for a long time, too.”

It hits me.

He thinks I’m my mother.

This man isn’t just insane. He’s delusional.

“But all that matters now, my love,” he murmurs, “is that I rescued you from that monster.”

My stomach knots.

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