Ren lay in the center of Vane's massive bed, the charcoal silk sheets feeling abrasive against his skin. He hadn't slept in his own room for three days. He was a scavenger, hunting for the lingering scent of cedarwood on the pillows, for a stray hair, for anything that proved the man who had dismantled his life still existed.
It's been eight days vane left him in silence.
He counts days anticipating Vanes return.
Ren stared at the ceiling, his mind a feverish loop of Vane's voice. He missed the weight of the man's gaze. He missed the way the air in the room seemed to vibrate when Vane was angry. Without the Master, Ren was just a boy in a house he couldn't afford, married to a boy he couldn't love.
A floorboard creaked in the hallway.
Ren bolted upright, his heart leaping into his throat. "Vane?" he whispered, his voice cracking with a week's worth of desperation.
The door pushed open, but the silhouette was wrong. It was too thin, the shoulders too narrow. It was Julian.
He was holding a candle, the flame flickering in the draft, casting long, weeping shadows across his face. He wasn't wearing his soft sweaters anymore. He was in his wedding tuxedo, the ivory silk stained and wrinkled, as if he were trying to crawl back into the moment before his life fell apart.
"He's not coming back tonight, Ren," Julian said, his voice eerily calm. He walked into the room, setting the candle on the obsidian nightstand.
"Julian, go back to bed. You're not well."
"I've never been clearer." Julian sat on the edge of the bed, looking at Ren with a terrifying, hollow pity. "I watched you all week. I watched you walk through these halls like a ghost. I watched you sit in his chair. I watched you touch that earring he gave you as if it were a holy relic."
Julian reached out, his hand cold as ice as he brushed a stray hair from Ren's forehead.
"I tried, didn't I? I brought you tea. I showed you the flowers. I gave you the chance to be human again. But you don't want to be human. You want to be his."
"Julian, please—"
"No." Julian stood up, his eyes snapping to the door. "He's out there somewhere, playing god with people's lives. And you're here, praying for him to come back and chain you again. It's a sickness, Ren. And I'm the only one who can cure it."
Julian walked to the window, looking out at the dark, jagged cliffs. "If I can't have you, and he won't let you go... then there is only one way to end the debt."
Julian turned back, and for the first time, Ren saw the Blackwood blood in him. It wasn't the strength of Vane, but the madness of the lineage. Julian pulled a small, silver vial from his pocket—one of the "relics" from the attic.
"The First Debt," Julian whispered. "I read the ledgers while he was gone. I know what that man in the attic was. He was a warning. My father didn't buy your father's debt, Ren. He stole it from a family even older and darker than ours. And now they want payment."
"Don't blame me, you shouldn't have borrowed a huge loan from a dangerous organization you knew nothing about."
Ren felt a cold dread settle in his stomach.
"Julian, put that away."
"He thinks he's protecting you by being away," Julian laughed, a jagged, broken sound. "But he's left the door wide open. If I can't be your husband, I'll be your martyr. I'm going to the gates, Ren. I'm going to meet them. I'm going to give them the one thing Vane Blackwood actually values."
Julian stepped toward the door, his eyes burning with a suicidal light. "I'm going to give them you."
Ren scrambled out of the bed, but Julian was faster. He slammed the bedroom door and turned the heavy iron key—the key he had stolen from the attic.
"Julian! Open this door!" Ren screamed, throwing his weight against the wood.
"Stay in his bed, Ren!" Julian shouted from the other side, his voice retreating down the hall. "Wait for him! Wait for a man who isn't coming! By the time he gets back, the debt will be paid, and you'll be gone!"
Ren heard Julian's footsteps racing down the grand staircase. He heard the heavy front doors of the estate groan open, then slam shut.
Ren was locked in the Master's wing. He was trapped in the very room he had craved, while the boy he had betrayed walked out into the night to hand him over to a scarred ghost.
Ren ran to the balcony, screaming into the wind, his eyes searching the dark drive for a pair of headlights—for a savior, for a monster, for anything.
But there was only the sound of the sea, the smell of sulfur, and the terrifying realization that Julian had finally found a way to make Ren choose.