The pen sits on the table between us. Silver, cold, expensive enough to pay my groceries for a week. Maybe two. It gleams under the overhead lights like an object with its own pulse, steady and patient.
Damian watches me, quiet and still.
I feel his gaze like a pressure against my skin. Not forceful, not aggressive, but unavoidable. He knows this moment belongs to him. He knows I would not have returned here with the contract unless I was already breaking.
My fingers curl against my knees.
The room seems too bright, the air too thin, every breath too loud. I stare at the pen, and for a moment it feels like the world has narrowed into that single object. That single choice.
Sign, and step into his cage.
Refuse, and let him destroy me.
I close my eyes briefly, and my mind flashes to t
