Page 165 of Mystic's Sunrise

“I don’t give a fuck,” he rasped. There was something different in his voice now. Less rage. More shame. “I can’t sit here and do nothin’ while you’re tied up beside me like a goddamn hostage. I’m supposed to protect you, Zeynep.”

“You are,” I said. “You’re here.”

His eyes finally slid to mine. “I should’ve known something was wrong,” he muttered. “Should’ve gone with you. Should’ve followed sooner. I heard your voice on the phone and—Iknewit wasn’t you. But I wanted it to be so bad…”

The raw truth in those words stole the breath from my lungs.

“I’m sorry,” he added, voice barely above a whisper.

“Don’t,” I said, shaking my head. “This isn’t your fault.”

“The hell it isn’t.”

“You think I don’t know what that guilt feels like?” I asked. “You think I haven’t lived with it every day since I was taken from my home? That feeling like you should’ve seen it coming, should’ve been smarter, faster, stronger?”

I shifted, the plastic biting into my wrists again, but I didn’t care. “This… you and me… we’re not alone in it anymore.”

His face changed. Just slightly. The fire didn’t die—but it flickered softer around the edges.

“You’re stronger than you think,” he murmured.

“No,” I said, almost a whisper. “I’m just done being afraid.”

He let out a sound—part breath, part pain, part disbelief—and let his head fall for a moment. When he looked back at me, something else was there. Something deeper.

“You know I love you more than my own life, right?” he asked.

The words weren’t wrapped in poetry or offered sweetly. They came out raw and exposed, like something torn out of his chest and handed over still bleeding.

I nodded slowly, the answer thick in my throat. “I know.”

“I ain’t ever said it to anyone before.”

“I know that too.” I smiled softly. “I love you so much.”

For a long moment, neither of us spoke. We just looked at each other, two people chained and bleeding on a concrete floor, hearts cracked open, nothing left but each other.

And even here, even like this...we would fight to be together.

CHAPTER EIGHTY-NINE

THE ROOM REEKEDof rot and old rage, mildew clingingto the cinderblock walls, rust bleeding from the ceiling pipes, and beneath it all, the sour stink of metal and sweat and something more feral. Like pain had soaked into the concrete and never left.

Zeynep sat slumped across from me, her back pressed to the wall, wrists raw and bleeding where the zip ties bit into her skin. Her lips were cracked, her breathing shallow, but her eyes… they never left me. Not once. Those dark eyes stayed locked on mine, a lifeline in a place built to break men. She watched me like I was still hers. Like if she didn’t, the whole world would tilt sideways again.

Then the lock clicked.

Her gaze snapped to the door. So did mine.

Two sets of footsteps approached. One light. One heavy. Each step closer wound something tighter in my chest until it felt like wire cutting into bone.

I pushed up as much as the chains would let me, every muscle taut, my hands clenched behind me, breath held like it might keep her safe.

The door creaked open.

And there she was.

Chelsea.

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