Page 138 of Sins of the Hidden

"I can't hurt you," I said again, my voice cracking. "But I can't forgive you either. Not yet. Maybe not ever."

His eyes drifted, locking onto mine. "I'll wait forever for you, kardia pou chtypa."

The promise held only the terrible certainty that he would still be watching when the world burned to ash around us.

His eyelids grew heavy, the drugs pulling him under despite his resistance. He fought it visibly now, head dropping before jerking back up, struggling to stay conscious.

"If you killed me..." his voice dropped to a whisper, words heavily slurred but still lucid, "Maybe I'd finally be okay."

His body began to shake, the drugs taking full control despite his resistance. His eyes rolled back momentarily before focusing again with obvious effort, pupils so dilated I could barely see the iris. His breathing became erratic, chest heaving unevenly as he fought to remain upright.

"V-V?" My voice came out as a squeak. Panic flooded my system as I watched him deteriorate. What should I do? What if something was wrong? What if he took too much?

"Please… don't leave…" The words tumbled out, disconnected and fragmented, his speech completely transformed, no longer the measured, controlled V I knew. His eyes weren't seeing me anymore. His voice cracked, high and childlike, completely unlike his usual cold tone. His hands clawed at the air. "J-Just stay until I stop shaking."

His body pitched forward. He hit the floor hard, the impact echoing through the apartment like thunder. From my position against the wall, I watched helplessly as he rolled onto his side.

"Oh God, oh God," I whispered, my hands pressed against the wall behind me, not knowing what to do, how to help from this distance. "V, are you okay? V?"

The blade lay a few feet away on our living room floor, untouched. V's body was completely limp now, his breathingdeep and uneven. His head lolled against the hardwood several feet away from where I sat pressed against the wall.

"They're coming," he mumbled, voice slurred almost beyond recognition yet flat, his eyes staring at the ceiling without seeing. "Have to hide. Have to?—"

I watched from across the room as his hand moved slowly across the floor, fingers scraping against the hardwood like he was searching for something that wasn't there.

"V, no one's coming," I said softly, my own voice shaking. "You're safe."

His eyes weren't seeing me anymore. They remained fixed on some point above him, unblinking and vacant. "She's bringing them again." His breathing remained steady despite the words, no change in rhythm or depth. "Don't let them come into my room. Please."

The flatness in his voice made my stomach turn. This was the most dangerous man I knew—reduced to a drugged state where fragments of his past spilled out like facts from a file, spoken with the same detachment he used for everything else.

"No one's taking you anywhere," I whispered from my position against the wall. "You're here with me. Just me."

"They're coming up the stairs," he said, head turning slowly on the floor toward where I sat. "Can't you hear them?"

He began to move. Dragging himself across the floor, his massive frame scraping against the hardwood with wet, grinding sounds. Each inch of progress was agony to witness—fingernails clawing for purchase, leaving pale scratches in the carpet, his powerful body reduced to this broken crawl. His leather cut bunched and twisted beneath him, the material catching and releasing with each desperate pull forward.

His breathing never changed—still that same steady rhythm—but his body betrayed the monumental effort. Muscles thatcould snap bones strained just to drag him forward, tendons standing out like cables under his skin.

When his strength gave out halfway across the room, he didn't stop. He used his elbows, then his chin, anything to keep moving toward me. His movements were deliberate despite being uncoordinated, driven by some calculation I couldn't understand—like his broken body was following orders from a mind that still functioned in the past.

He didn't stop until he reached me, his body collapsing against mine. His arms came around me, pulling me close as his head found my chest. The weight of him was overwhelming, his massive frame pinning me against the wall. I couldn't breathe, couldn't move, trapped beneath him as claustrophobia clawed up my throat.

"V, what are you—" My voice climbed higher, panic threading through every syllable.

His hold tightened, desperate and clinging, like I was the only thing keeping him from drowning in whatever memories the drugs had unleashed.

"She said it made me prettier," he continued, the words barely coherent through the slurring and the fabric. "For when they came. Five was always enough." My breath caught in my throat, bile rising sharp and acidic. His fingers dug into my back, holding on like I might disappear. "Don't let them come tonight, Oakley."

Not knowing what to do, my hands shook as I reached for my phone. Maybe I could call Nyla or Joslyn. Or even my father. Someone who could help me make sense of what was happening, someone who would know what to do because I was drowning in panic and couldn't think straight.

V's eyes widened with genuine terror when he saw the phone in my hand.

"Don't," he begged.

My finger stopped, hovering over the screen. I'd never seen V look scared before—not even when he was bleeding or fighting. But now his eyes held pure panic, pupils dilated not just from drugs but from absolute terror. My own fear spiked in response, feeding off his terror until my whole body shook.

"I-I need to call someone. I can't—" My voice cracked completely. "I don't know what to do. What if you die? What if?—"

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