Chapter Six
I wake to sunlight streaming across the floorboards. For a moment I forget where I am, expecting to see the familiar ceiling of my old bedroom. But the walls here are white stone, the air too quiet, too heavy. Black Ice.
I roll out of bed and pull on black jeans and a sweater. My body feels restless, tight with leftover frustration from last night. I’d barely slept after the guards dragged me back, and Viktor’s calm lecture about “coordination” still echoes in my head.
When I pad downstairs, he’s already in the kitchen. Coffee mug in one hand, sleeves rolled up, every movement neat and deliberate.
“Morning,” he says, not looking up at once.
I reach for toast. “Morning.”
For a while, there’s only the sound of dishes and the scrape of my knife over bread. The silence feels
