"Don't move a muscle, or I'll see if your throat opens as easily as a vein."
Sloane's blade pressed hard into the soft skin under my jaw. I froze. The steel was ice; the air in the Eternal Night Capital was a humid, suffocating blanket. I could smell ozone and old blood clinging to her leather armor.
"I'm not the one who called the bounty, Sloane," I choked out.
The Truth-Binder collar around my neck pulsed a dull, warning violet. One lie and my windpipe would collapse.
"You think I believe that?" She leaned in. Her breath was warm against my ear, her voice a lethal whisper. "You're a human shrink in a city of monsters. You're a walking gold mine. Who did you leak your location to?"
"Nobody!" I snapped.
The collar gave a sharp, corrective tug. I winced, gasping. "I mean... I haven't told anyone. I can't even walk ten feet without you dragging me by the neck."
Sloane didn't pull away. She shifted her weight, pinning me harder against the damp stone wall. I felt the curve of her thigh against mine, the raw power in her stance. She wasn't just threatening me—she was hunting for a crack in my expression.
"The Overlord is... different since you touched his mind," she murmured. Her eyes scanned my face, searching. "He's not screaming. He's not burning the curtains. He's actually sleeping. That makes you dangerous, Julian. Not just to the Order, but to the balance of this whole damn city."
"I'm a therapist, not a weapon," I said, trying to keep my voice from shaking. "I just gave him a place to put the noise. That's all."
"Noise." She scoffed, pulling the blade back an inch, but her grip on my shirt tightened. "You call the madness of a god 'noise.' You're either the bravest man I've ever met or the most delusional."
"Probably the latter," I whispered. "Now, are you gonna kill me, or are we gonna talk about why the Order is suddenly obsessed with a disgraced doctor from the suburbs?"
Sloane's expression darkened. She stepped back abruptly. The sudden loss of her heat left me shivering. She paced a small circle, her boots clicking sharply on the obsidian floor.
"The Order doesn't care about psychology," she said. "They care about control. If the Overlord becomes stable, he becomes predictable. And if he's predictable, they can't manipulate him through his rage. You're a threat to their leverage."
I let out a dry, breathless laugh. "So I'm a political prisoner now? Great. Just another Tuesday in hell."
"Shut up," she snapped.
But the venom was gone. She looked at me—really looked at me—and for a second, the lethal commander vanished. I saw it then. Exhaustion. A bone-deep noise of her own that she was fighting to keep down.
*Clang.*
The heavy iron doors at the end of the hall groaned open. Shadow guards marched in, armor absorbing the dim light. At the center was a messenger in charcoal robes, holding a scroll sealed in black wax.
Sloane stiffened. Her hand flew to the hilt of her sword. "What is this?"
The messenger didn't even look at me. "Commander. A directive from the High Circle. Immediate and non-negotiable."
Sloane snatched the scroll. Her fingers trembled. As she broke the seal, her face went from pale to ghostly. She gripped the parchment so hard it crinkled.
"Sloane?" I stepped forward.
She didn't answer. Her breathing became shallow, jagged.
"What does it say?"
"Get back," she spat. No heat. Only panic.
I didn't. I stepped closer, trying to catch a glimpse of the ink. "Sloane, talk to me. What's the problem?"
She spun, slamming me back against the wall with a force that knocked the wind out of me. Her eyes were wide, pupils blown. She wasn't seeing me anymore.
"They want you," she whispered, her voice shaking. "They didn't just put a bounty on your head, Julian. They've issued a purge order. If you aren't delivered to the spire by dawn..."
"What?" I gasped, clutching my chest.
"They'll execute the entire Shadow Legion," she finished. "Every soldier. Every scout. All of them. Including me."
Silence fell. Heavy. Suffocating. The power dynamic just flipped. She didn't just hold my leash; she was tied to me by a death sentence. I could feel her heart racing—not from anger, but a raw, visceral fear that mirrored my own.
She let go so suddenly I nearly fell. She looked at her hands, then at the messenger, then back at me.
"I can't let them take you," she said, her voice barely audible.
"Wait, you just said they'd kill everyone if I don't go," I pointed out, rubbing my wrist. "So... you're handing me over?"
"No," she snapped, the commander returning. "I'm not giving you to those bastards. But I can't keep you in the barracks. The guards are already whispering. One of them will sell you for a promotion before the sun sets."
"So what's the plan? We can't exactly go for a stroll in the park."
Sloane looked toward the Overlord's inner sanctum. A calculated look crossed her face.
"The Overlord is obsessed with you," she noted. "He's never had anyone talk to him without screaming or begging. He likes the way you... dissect him. He's developed a fixation."
"A fixation? Great. I love being a god's new favorite toy."
"It's the only place you're safe," Sloane said, stepping back into my space. She didn't pull a knife this time. She reached out, her gloved fingers brushing the Truth-Binder collar.
A jolt of electricity ran up my spine.
"If you're under his direct protection, the Order can't touch you without starting a war with the throne."
"And where does that leave me?"
"In a gilded cage," she whispered. "His private garden. You'll be his personal physician. His... mental companion."
"And you?" I looked up at her. "You'll just be the jailer?"
Sloane's gaze lingered on my lips for a fraction of a second too long. Longing. Guilt. Something shared in the wreckage of the last hour.
"I'll be the one making sure you don't try to run," she said, her voice dropping an octave. "And the one making sure the Overlord doesn't decide to eat you when he has a bad day."
I opened my mouth to argue, but a heavy bell began to toll across the city. The Hour of Shadows. The time when the monsters came out to hunt.
"No time to negotiate," Sloane said, grabbing my arm and hauling me toward the spire's entrance. "The Overlord just sent word. He wants you back. Now."
Shadow guards parted for us, their eyes lingering on me with greed and hatred. I felt like a piece of meat being carried to a feast.
We reached the massive, gold-leafed doors of the private quarters. Sloane paused, her hand on the handle. She turned to me, her expression unreadable.
"Once we go in there, Julian, there's no coming back. You're not a guest anymore. You're a possession. Understand?"
I looked at the doors, then at the woman who had spent three days trying to break me.
"I think I'm already a possession, Sloane. I just didn't know who owned me until now."
She didn't smile. She didn't push me away. She opened the doors, and the scent of heavy incense and ancient decay flooded my senses.
At the end of the room, sitting on a throne of floating obsidian shards, the Overlord waited. He looked tired. Broken. And he looked at me with a hunger that made my skin crawl.
"My doctor," the Overlord purred, his voice vibrating through the floorboards. "I've decided. I cannot have you leaving. Ever."
Sloane stepped aside. The doors slammed shut behind us with a final, echoing thud.
"The Garden is ready for you, Julian," the Overlord continued, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across his face. "Shall we discuss the terms of your permanent stay?"