HOUSE RULES

TATIANA

Sleep is a traitor tonight, refusing to claim me even as exhaustion claws at my bones, my heart keeping up a frantic rhythm like a caged bird throwing itself against the fragile bars of my ribs.

I stand at the window with my back to the door, one hand resting on the cold latch like a promise I haven’t yet decided to break.

I imagine this is how Rapunzel felt, except I don’t have long hair, and instead of a false mother, I have a false brother.

A soft knock unsettles the silence.

“What is it?” I don’t need to turn to know who it is. Everyone else who has entered this room since I got here announces themselves with footsteps, no matter how light. I always hear them.

But not Kain.

It’s like he walks on air.

The door closes behind him with a quiet whisper, and my shoulders tense automatically, settling into that familiar, unwilling rigidity they seem to adopt every time he’s near.

“House rules,” he says, his voice low and matter-of-fact.

Of course it is.

What else do monsters offer their captives, if not rules?

I turn slowly this time, letting the lamplight catch him in sharp gold as he crosses the room and sets a single sheet of paper on the dresser, as though this is routine, as though this is reasonable.

I move before caution can catch up with me, snatching the paper and skimming the crisp lines.

“Bedroom only,” I read aloud, my fingers tightening slightly around the page. “Meals delivered. Windows remain closed. Good behavior earns supervised library access.” I lift my gaze to meet his. “Supervised by whom? You?”

“Or Dmitri.”

I crumple the paper in my fist. “Dmitri,” I echo, a faint, bitter edge slipping into my voice. “The same man who couldn’t catch me earlier. Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” A humorless smile tugs at my lips. “Dear brother, you are terrible at this kidnapping business. You should really just let me go.”

I throw the paper at him as hard as I can.

It does nothing.

Kain doesn’t flinch. He just stands there, still and unmoved, like something carved out of winter.

I turn away sharply, my fingers already finding the latch again. The metal clicks softly as I flip it open, and the night air rushes in, cool and sharp, tangling in my hair and stinging my eyes as I lean into it.

“Close it,” he says, quiet but commanding.

I don’t.

Instead, I push the window wider, letting the wind press harder against the room.

“Make me.”

He moves quickly, closing the distance in two strides, his arm brushing past mine as he shuts the window with firm finality.

Our skin touches, and for a fraction of a second, I forget how to breathe. The warmth lingers where we collide, unwelcome and impossible to ignore.

“Rule one,” he murmurs, close enough that I feel the words more than hear them. “You follow them, or you lose the few privileges you still have.”

Something tightens in my chest, and I step back, forcing space between us again.

“Fine,” I say, pushing lightly against him as I move away. “I’ll be your perfect little prisoner.” I give a small, mocking shrug.

For now.

Only because the way he looked a few hours ago in the garden still tugs at my heartstrings. I am the victim yet I felt like the bully in that moment.

I don’t look at him again. One glance, and I might give something away I can’t afford to lose.

“What exactly counts as good behavior?” I ask instead. “Sitting here like a doll while you rewrite my entire existence?”

“You stop trying to kill me,” he says simply. “You eat what’s brought to you. You don’t open that window again.”

A short laugh escapes me, sharp and brittle. “That’s all? I refrain from murdering my kidnapper and suddenly I’m rewarded with books? What a generous system.”

Kain’s response is to walk out.

I watch his back for a moment longer than I intend, something unsettled shifting beneath my anger, before I move.

My hand closes around the door, and I slam it shut behind him with more force than necessary, the sound echoing through the room.

I don’t forget to flip him off as he leaves.

Heartstrings be damned. He deserves every bad thing that happens to him.