Page 84 of Ruthless God

“Maybe.” She tilts her head toward Polina, who is still quietly crying. “But at least here, I don’t have to worry about who will hurt me next.”

Her voice is steady, resolved. She looks at Polina again, something sharp flashing in her eyes.

“She cries for a home where we were rounded up and sold.”

A slow chill creeps down my spine.

“I tell her we’re safe, but she doesn’t understand.”

I swallow, my thoughts racing. This girl—this fifteen-year-old girl—she’s not grateful. She’s not brainwashed. She’s practical. Hardened. She’s seen too much to believe in anything but survival.

“Don’t you want to go home?” My voice softens. “To your family?”

She doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t blink.

“No.”

Her voice is final. Like it’s already been decided. Like nothing I say will change it.

“This is my home now.”

And the worst part? I think she believes it. A terrible thought hits me. Claudius is involved in trafficking. What if he plans to do something to me? To sell me… and the baby he has no idea about?

I keep my voice calm, though everything inside me is raging. “Tell Polina that she’s safe. That I will find a way for us out of here.”

Leyla’s eyebrow lifts, curiosity flickering for just a second before she turns, speaking rapidly to Polina in their language. The words don’t soothe her. Polina still sniffles, still looks like a caged bird with clipped wings. But it’s all I can offer her.

For now.

I inhale slowly, meeting Leyla’s gaze once more.

“Tell her I’m just down the hall. The room with the big door. If she gets scared, she can come to me.” I pause. “You can come, too, Leyla.”

She huffs, arms crossing over her thin frame. “I do not want to risk angering Agnes.”

The name alone makes my jaw tighten.

“But,” she adds, almost reluctantly, “I will tell the crybaby what you said.”

Her words are sharp, but her voice isn’t cruel. More… resigned. She thinks Polina is weak. That hope is a luxury they can’t afford. But me? I’m about to prove her wrong. Because Agnes may run this house. But she doesn’t own me. And she sure as hell doesn’t own them.

“I should get back to my room.”

Leyla barely acknowledges me, dipping her head as she drifts to the window. But then she makes a sound. It’s a small huff in the back of her throat. Something between intrigue and knowing.

“Mr. Irons is in the cemetery.”

My stomach tightens. I cross the room, standing next to her, peering out into the blazing sunlight. Sure enough, it’s Claudius. His large frame is shadowed against the morning glare, standing still, a dark silhouette beside the solitary tombstone. I watch, my pulse picking up.

“Does he go out there a lot?”

Leyla doesn’t look at me. “All the time. When he’s here.”

Something about the way she says it makes my skin prickle. I wait for her to go on.

“Agnes usually brings him in when it gets dark.” Her fingers grip the window frame. Like she’s remembering something that’s wrong. “She says she doesn’t like it when he talks to ghosts.”

A slow chill curls down my spine, and I exhale softly. But I don’t move. Because now, I can’t shake the feeling that Claudius isn’t out there alone. That maybe, just maybe, Gabriel is still listening.

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