“Please, brother, just give me the key,” she insists. “Victor won’t hurt me. Not because he gives a shit, but because he knows”—she looks me right in the eyes, threatening me with her gaze—“that if he does, you’ll kill his precious little Mexican redhead.”

Against his concerns, Apollo sighs, reaches into his pants pocket and places the key to my cage into Artemis’s hand. Then he motions to his left and right, and seven other people leave their positions and walk forward; three stand behind Izabel, pointing their guns at the back of her head; the other four stand at the opening of the cage, guns pointed at me. Apollo unsheathes a knife from his belt and holds it to Izabel’s throat. “I won’t think twice, Victor,” he warns.

When Artemis feels that the message has gotten across to me, she walks around to the front of the cage and inserts the key into the lock. She turns it fully and it clicks; I notice the hands of those standing at the entrance, tighten nervously on their guns.

Artemis passes the key off to the nearest guard, and then the cage door opens with a creaking sound. She steps inside the cell with me, closing the door afterward; it automatically locks. Carefully, slowly, she approaches me—secretly I look for evidence of any weapons on her, but she has none so far as I can tell. That is a shame.

“Just kill her, Victor,” Izabel calls out from the chair; her voice is now smothered by Apollo’s hand; his other hand putting pressure against the knife at her throat. “Say another word,” he taunts her, pressing the back of her head to his midsection, “and the gag goes back on.”

As desperately as I feel I need to speak out against Apollo, I know that I cannot, or it will give him more power. Ignoring Izabel, as much as I possibly can, may be the only thing that saves her. At least for a little while.

“Tell me, Artemis,” I say, looking up at her. “Tell me everything you have wanted to say. I will listen. I owe you that.”

She steps right up to me, places her palm on my beating heart. And she smiles, softly, innocently, the way she used to. But behind it I sense the devil within.

“Oh, you owe me more than that.” She waits, allowing her words to sink into me.

“You didn’t kill me,” she finally goes on, speaking in a gentle tone, “because you thought I’d had an affair. You killed me because you were looking for a reason all along. I’d remembered what you told me about that woman, Marina. Of course, I didn’t know the story the way you told it here tonight—you kept things from me because of what you are—but still, you told me more than what you were supposed to.”

“Yes, I did,” I speak up. “There were many things I did and said that I should not have.”

Artemis’s hand slides down my chest and away from me.

“Yeah,” she says, agreeing with deep regret, “and because of that, because you loved me, and stepped in a hole so deep you couldn’t see over it, you knew the only way to pull yourself out was to end my life. You knew that if you didn’t kill me, that The Order would kill you. But most of all, Victor, more than anything”—she points her finger at me—“more than anything, you needed to kill me for yourself. Not because you worried about what Brant Morrison would think of you, or report about you; not because your life was hanging in the balance by The Order—you killed me because you needed to, because you hated what your love for me did to you.” My ears ring and my head snaps sideways as her full palm smacks against the side of my face; the skin burns like fire, but I resist the urge the reach up and touch it.

Artemis glares coldly, unforgivingly. She leans forward and says, “And just so we’re clear, I never had an affair. The baby I told you I aborted was yours, Victor.” She pulls away.

“I know,” I say, at first under my breath. Then I raise my eyes, and my voice. “I did not believe it then, because I had had a vasectomy, but—”

“You didn’t want to believe it,” she cuts in sharply.

I shake my head. “No. I did not want to believe it.”

I feel her fingers digging into the flesh of my jawline; her warm, sweet breath on my lips. “Thinking that it wasn’t possible I’d been carrying your child,” she goes on, squeezing, “making yourself believe that I’d cheated on you, it all made it easier to do what you would’ve done anyway.” I see her eyes sweep over my mouth. And then she touches her lips to mine. “You would’ve killed me that night no matter the situation—even if I was still carrying your child.” She squeezes harder, nearly breaking the skin with her fingernails, and then she releases me abruptly, pushing my head backward.

“Say it, Victor,” she demands. “You would’ve killed me even if I was still carrying your child.”

For the first time since I had forced myself not to, I look right at Izabel; my face full of regret and apology and shame. “Yes,” I answer Artemis without looking away from Izabel. “I still would have killed you.”

Tears seep from the corners of Izabel’s eyes. A suffocating silence blankets the room like a stifling heat.

It can’t be true…

It can’t.

I feel like I’ve woken from some strange dream, like one of those dreams that seem normal in the beginning, but halfway through, things begin to defy all sense of sanity and logic. Now I’m sitting here on this chair, awake, feeling out of touch and out of time, wondering what the hell just happened, as an uncomfortable feeling sweeps over me, and I never want to dream that dream again.

Was I right all along? Was I right to be afraid of Victor, to wonder if he could ever kill me if the situation were dire enough? Had Niklas been right in saying, ‘How long will he allow you to compromise him? Victor is experiencing his one moment of entitled weakness right now, just like I did with Claire. Just like Gustavsson did with Seraphina. And look at what love did to Flynn, right in front of your eyes. It’s my brother’s turn now, like a rite of passage, but how long will it last?’ Had Nora been right? ‘Anyone can be in love, Izabel, and I can tell by the look in that man’s eyes that he is in love with you. But a man like Victor Faust can’t stay in love forever. Like Fredrik’s type can’t live without love, Victor’s type can’t live with it. And the more that it gets in the way of his duties, and the more human you make him become, the closer you push him to his breaking point. He’s just like me. And one way or another, he’ll instinctively do whatever it takes to restore the balance to the only life he’s ever known.’

I feel like now I have my answers.

And I know…(a sob rattles inside my chest)…I know that not only will I die today, but also by whose hands.

Raising my head again, I look only at Victor; the tears streaming down my face are itching, and I wish I could move my hand to wipe them away.

“I still love you, Victor,” I tell him, not caring that Apollo has a knife against my throat; he doesn’t cover my mouth with his hand this time. “No matter what you’ve done, or what you will do, I’ll always love you.” The words are as true as they ever were, but this time they taste strange and final in my mouth.

But I need Victor to understand that I understand him. I need Victor to know that I’m more like him than he realizes, and that I’ve almost always been…

“Sarai, baby,” my mother whispered to me; her body odor, mixed with strong perfume and cigarettes, choked me as she laid next to me on the soiled bed. “You forgive me, don’t you? I never meant for any of this to happen. I just…wasn’t thinking straight.” I saw the whites of her eyes briefly in the darkness as the heroin began to swim through her bloodstream. She smiled euphorically as if she’d touched the Face of God. I set the needle down on the tray at the foot of the bed.