| 9 | The Master's Domain

The name echoes in my mind like a long-forgotten melody. “Alaki...?”

My breath catches, a lump forming in my throat as our eyes meet. I move towards the glass door, my fingertips barely grazing its cool surface. Words fail me, trapped behind the shock of seeing him.

This boy—no, this man—was once my best friend.

When I finally find my voice, it’s barely a whisper. “I thought you were…”

His muscles tense at the sound, his gaze lingering on me before dropping to the monitor on the tall podium in front of him. The familiar beeping pierces the silence, and suddenly the glass begins to slide open. I jolt back, but my eyes refuse to leave Isaak.

He's not the teenager I remember from seven years ago. His once-thin arms are now muscular, his chest rippling beneath his shirt with each breath. I have to tilt my head back to look at him fully, taking in his messy light brown hair and towering height.

“How are you here...?” My voice quavers, betraying my inner turmoil.

For a fleeting moment, surprise flashes across his face before a mask of indifference slips into place. “How are you here?” he echoes, his tone flat.

I hesitate, suddenly feeling like I’m talking to a stranger. “He... Efrem saved me, or is keeping me. I don't know…” I press on, desperate for some hint of the boy I once knew. “But you..?”

“It's a long story,” he says, his voice trailing off. After a long pause, he nods towards the door. “Follow me.”

I’m skeptical. Cautiously, I ask, “Are you here to help me?”

I've already stepped out of the cell when he pauses. “Escape?” he muses, glancing back. “No. He asked me to show you to your room and take you to him.”

He? Efrem..?

As we walk, I keep my distance, the air between us heavy with unspoken words. His irritation is palpable, and I find myself drifting further away with each step, afraid to provoke him further. Suddenly, he grabs my wrist, pulling me closer. I gasp, my head snapping to the side, noticing a small coffee table with a glass vase I would have collided with.

“Can you pay attention to your surroundings?” he mutters, annoyance lacing his words.

His coldness cuts deep, erasing the warm memories of my old friend. I try to understand, to rationalize his behavior, but my mind races with dark possibilities.

Has he become like that soldier, Corvin?

“What’s on your mind?” he sighs, breaking through my spiraling thoughts.

I realize I’ve been staring blankly at the coffee table. Our eyes meet, and for a moment, I see a flicker of the old Isaak in his curious gaze.

Shaking my head, I fall into step beside him. We ascend the grand staircase I first saw upon entering the mansion with Efrem. At the top, the large windows reveal the first hints of dawn. My eyes widen, realizing with a start I was sitting in that cell for hours, lost in my own hopelessness.

How long has it been since I last slept? Is this even real? Or am I… hallucinating?

I trace the intricate patterns on the stair rails, searching for something familiar in this alien world. As we reach the final step, Isaak casually turns into the west wing hall. I follow, observing how at ease he seems in this place.

“You live here?” I ask softly.

He gives me a sidelong glance, holding my gaze for a beat before nodding reluctantly. The hesitation in his eyes speaks volumes.

Sensing his discomfort, I change tack. “What happened?”

His muscles tense visibly, but when he speaks, there’s a hint of vulnerability in his voice. “After I was caught, like you, I was taken to court, and...he agreed to allow me to work for recruitment.”

The way he refers to Efrem, never by his name, plants a seed of unease in my mind. I don’t know a lot about this world, but I know plenty of their laws. I know that unless your blood is pure, “recruitment” isn’t an option.

“You can’t. You’re not a—”

“I'm not here to explain things to you,” he cuts me off sharply. “That's his job.”

My thoughts remain sharp, but the words die on my tongue—something that seems to happen far more often than I’d like here.

Well, he's doing a poor job because he hasn't told me anything.

As if reading my thoughts, Isaak mutters, “Whenever he feels it's the right time.”

There is is again: Efrem remains nameless to Isaak.

Why..?

We stop in front of a door, and Isaak pushes it open, flipping on the light switch. “Here is where you will be staying.”

“Oh? Not the lovely cell?” I can't help but quip.

His defensive response catches me off guard. “He kept you there until he could get a room fixed up for you.”

Now he’s defending him?

I arch a brow, turning to face him fully. The light from the room illuminates my face, and I catch a glimpse of pity in his eyes as he remarks, “Maybe you'll be able to sleep a little better in here.”

As I take in the luxurious room, I’m momentarily stunned. Unlike the dark, oppressive colors of the rest of the house, this room shimmers with beige and cedar green walls, the carpeted floor a soft almond with delicate white figures.

“Do you like it?” Isaak asks, a hint of the old warmth in his voice.

It’s beautiful.

I nod, unable to form words. He flips the switch off and closes the door, glancing down the hallway before motioning for me to follow.

As we walk, fatigue begins to weigh heavily on me. My feet drag, and I struggle to keep up with Isaak’s long strides. Then, to my surprise, as he notices my struggle, he slows his pace.

“You've grown taller since the last time I saw you,” I mumble, looking up at him.

A smirk plays on his lips as he teases, “You haven't. Not even an inch.”

The sudden, familiar banter warms my heart, a welcome reprieve from the tension.

“You remember?” I whisper, hope creeping into my voice.

“How could I forget?” he says, arching a brow. I feel heat rise to my cheeks and look away as he sighs.

Memories of our teenage years flood back, and I can tell he’s affected too. But before I can dwell on it, he clears his throat. “Don't worry. I've had time to get over the little crush I had on you when we were, what? Fifteen? Sixteen?”

I nod, feigning nonchalance, but his words sting more than I care to admit. I had always thought his care for me ran deeper than a simple crush.

Desperate to change the subject, I ask, “Why did you seem so surprised to see me?”

Disappointment colors his voice as he admits, “You were the last person I expected to see.” He swallows hard before adding, “I always thought that if I ever saw you again, you'd be dead.”

His words hit me like a physical blow, but I understand. In this world, being given the chance to kill someone like me—a half-blood, an abomination—is a source of twisted pride.

“Well, I’m not dead,” I tell him, my voice stronger than I feel. “So what does it mean?”

He doesn't seem eager to answer, and I realize that his loyalty lies with him.

His silence speaks volumes. It’s clear his loyalty now lies with Efrem, and he won't share anything he shouldn't—not even for me.

As we near the end of the hallway, Isaak’s pace slows. He turns to me, his eyes searching my face. “Anything else you’d like to ask?”

I bite the inside of my cheek, my mind racing with a thousand queries.

Why are you here? What happened to you? How can you work for them?

The words crowd behind my lips, desperate to break free. But as I look at Isaak—at the guarded expression in his eyes, the rigid set of his shoulders—I know better.

My gaze drops to the intricate pattern of the carpet beneath our feet. I trace the swirls with my eyes, buying time as I wrestle my curiosity into submission. When I finally look up, I school my features into a mask of indifference.

“Nothing you’ll answer,” I reply, my voice cold and flat.

A flicker of emotion—regret? pain?—crosses his face. He opens his mouth, then closes it, swallowing hard. His hand twitches at his side, as if he wants to reach out but thinks better of it.

“I'm sorry,” he says at last, his voice soft and sincere. “It's just... it's not my place, and this is my job.”

Yeah, I got that.

My eyes roam over him, taking in his well-fitted clothes, his healthy complexion. So different from the gaunt, desperate boy I remember from the tunnels. He's found comfort here, security.

Who wouldn't want that? Who wouldn’t want this? He won a chance the rest of us never will.

I think of the life we left behind—the constant hunger, the fear, the struggle to survive each day. Here, Isaak has everything he needs, everything he wants. All he has to do is follow the rules, play his part in this gilded cage.

As we come to a stop near the guarded double doors, I can't help but wonder: at what cost did this comfort come? And more importantly, what would it cost me to gain the same?

The questions burn in my throat, unasked and unanswered. But as Isaak introduces me to Matvey, the guard at the door, I push them down. There will be time for answers later. For now, I need to keep my wits about me and my cards close to my chest.

I straighten my spine, lift my chin, and prepare to face whatever—or whoever—waits behind those imposing doors.

A silent exchange passes between Isaak and Matvey. Isaak’s eyes narrow slightly, his jaw tightening. Matvey’s hand drifts up to his shoulder-length brown hair, fingers combing through it nervously.

Matvey turns to the doors, knuckles rapping against the wood. He grips both handles, pushing them inward. “Sir,” he calls, stepping inside.

Isaak’s hand finds my upper back, guiding me forward. As we enter, my eyes lock onto Efrem. He’s leaning back in a chair behind an imposing desk, one elbow resting on its surface. His hand shields his mouth, eyes closed. For a brief moment, they flutter open, meeting my gaze before shutting again.

I stand rooted to the spot, unsure of my next move. Efrem’s chest rises and falls with deep, rhythmic breaths. At first, I think he might be napping. Then, a muffled gag emerges from beneath the desk, followed by a low groan from Efrem’s throat.

No way…

My eyes widen as realization dawns. Heat creeps up my neck, flooding my cheeks. I glance back at Isaak, catching the hint of a smirk playing on his lips. Matvey raises his eyebrows, a quiet snicker escaping him.

Is this seriously happening right now?!

Another groan, louder this time, draws my attention back to Efrem. His head is thrown back against the chair, knuckles white as he grips the edge of the desk. I shift my weight from foot to foot, gaze darting around the room, searching for anywhere else to look.

I don’t know who feels more uncomfortable right now…the desk or me?

My eyes can’t find what to look at anymore–not that it matters. The noises are enough. .

A moment later, the sound of a zipper cuts through the air. A woman rises from beneath the desk, movements fluid and graceful. Her hair, a vibrant red, cascades down her back, the ends brushing against her waist.

Efrem’s hand finds her cheek, thumb tracing her jawline. She leans into his touch, a giggle bubbling from her lips. “You are a very talented woman, Ciana,” he murmurs, voice low and husky.

The woman, Ciana, smiles with a sparkle of mischief. “Anything else, Master?” she asks, the words dripping with suggestion.

Efrem stands, guiding her to the side with a hand on her hip. His fingers dig into her flesh, eliciting a soft gasp. He leans in close, whispering something in her ear that makes her breath catch.

“Mmm... where to?” she breathes, barely audible.

Efrem’s voice carries a hint of amusement. “Kane and Nana are hosting this time. Wen’s headquarters.”

Ciana’s fingers play with the fabric of Efrem’s shirt, tugging lightly. “Okay, Master Efrem,” she purrs, leaning in closer.

Efrem’s gaze suddenly snaps to me, as if remembering our presence. He clears his throat. “I have work to do.” His hand connects with her backside in a light slap as he motions towards the door.

As she turns to leave, her eyes land on me. Her lips curl into a sneer, nose wrinkling as if she's caught a foul scent. She tosses her hair over her shoulder with a huff, brushing past me. Matvey follows, presumably to escort her out.

“Isaak,” Efrem’s voice draws my attention back to him. He approaches, stopping mere inches away. His eyes bore into mine as he nods towards the doors. “Leave us.”

Finally, he acknowledges me, "Take a seat, Miss Alaki."

The sound of Isaak's retreating footsteps is punctuated by the soft click of the closing doors. Efrem's hand finds the small of my back, but I step away from his touch. After what I’ve witnessed, the way he didn’t care that we stood here, watching that…perversion, I don’t want his hands anywhere near me.

I make my way to one of the chairs across from his desk, lowering myself into it. My arms cross over my chest, a clear sign of the barrier I intended to keep between us.

Efrem settles into his chair, hands clasped atop the desk. His face is a study in nonchalance, as if the previous scene never occurred. “I expect that Isaak has already shown you to your room. Do you find it comfortable and suiting?”

I press my lips together, holding his gaze but offering no response. The ticking of a clock on the wall fills the silence between us.

After a moment, he continues, “I'll be gone for three days. I expect you to behave and follow Isaak's orders. It shouldn't be difficult. You may do as you please, so long as you don't step foot out of this house.”

His eyes roam my face, searching for a reaction. But I keep my expression carefully neutral, even as I feel the corner of my mouth threatening to twitch.

Finding no response, he adds, “Until I assign you a personal guard, you aren’t to leave Isaak's sight unless it's to utilize the restroom, bathe, or sleep. Do I make myself clear?”

The silence stretches between us, a palpable thing. But his gaze remains steady, unwavering. The minute hand on the clock completes a full revolution before I finally speak.

“Why am I here?”

Efrem leans back, the leather of his chair creaking softly. A long exhale escapes him as he studies me. Finally, he says, “Your questions will be answered once I return. Until then, don't do anything you may regret.”

Touché.

The unspoken power struggle is clear, and the game he’s playing at isn’t hard to discern. He assumes that I’ll attempt to escape, and by withholding information, he can stop me.

He underestimates me.

I’m curious, not stupid.

Escaping isn’t something I’ll regret, I promise you.