Crack.
"Twenty-three."Her voice breaks on the number.
I lean forward, elbows on my knees, watching the screen with the same clinical focus I used to dissect case files at Wharton.
But this isn't a case file.
This is me.
And I barely recognize myself.
The memory surfaces unbidden.
Cold night. Junior year. Auggies, dead of February.
Lorcan and I, standing deep inside the woods, shovels in hand, breath fogging in the winter air.
The ground was frozen. Iron-hard. We took turns with the pickax, hacking through soil that didn't want to give.
She was already cold by the time we buried her.
We didn't speak. Didn't pray. Just dug until the hole was deep enough, then covered her over and walked away.
The dog story.
Theotherdog story.
I shove the memory down before it takes root.
On the screen, I'm still whispering.
"You're going to thank me for this. One day. When you understand."
Emmaleen's head drops forward, hair falling across her face. I don’t think she even hears me.
We’re on twenty-six now. The footage continues. Strike after strike. Her voice growing weaker. My expression growing stranger.
Then I stop.
I set the crop down on the floor beside her and kneel. My hands cup her face, tilting her head up so she has to look at me. I'm whispering something.
The audio is too low to catch it clearly, but I see my lips form the words.
"You're mine. You'll always be mine. No one else gets to break you. No one."
She's crying. Silent tears streaming down her cheeks.
And I'm... smiling. Not the controlled, calculated expression I wear in meetings. Not the smirk I use to unsettle people.
Something worse.
Something raw.
I look like a man who's finally found what he's been searching for and doesn't care that it's broken.
I take her into the dungeon bedroom, bathe her, dress her, put her to bed. All the while, talking. Not to her. Not to myself. To the monster.
I fast-forward, looking for what I know comes next. Jino enters the frame.