Chapter 48

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Chapter 48: The Nest

The Scottish Highlands were battered by wind that wailed like a grieving beast for its offspring. Isla stood on the verge of a rolling path that vanished into mist. Ethan pulled up behind her and exited the car, caution etched on his face.

"This place doesn't exist on any map," he whispered.

"That's the plan," Isla replied, clutching the envelope Maris had given her. The coordinates led them to this trail—no signals, no beacons, nothing but quiet and that unnerving sense of being observed.

"You sure about this?" Ethan questioned.

"No," she whispered. "But I need to know."

He nodded once and followed behind her as they started out. The ground was rough, littered with rocks and roots that were waiting to catch them at every step. Trees leaned in, as if to listen. And then the fog lifted, just enough to reveal something ahead of them.

A house, or rather, a fortress disguised as one. Constructed of stone from top to bottom, with no windows. Iron bars ensnared within the wood. Ivy climbed up the walls, but none of it was inviting in appearance.

The Nest, Ethan explained. Exactly as she had told him.

They circled the house. There was only one door visible, covered with metal and bearing the same mark Isla had seen on Christopher's chest.

She touched it.

The metal was hot. Alive.

“What is this symbol?” she asked.

“It’s Victor’s brand,” Ethan said, voice tight. “He used it to mark what he believed he owned.”

“And now it’s on Christopher.” Her voice broke slightly. “He didn’t escape.”

“No one really does.”

Isla turned to him. “Then we change that. Starting now.”

—

They entered through the side. The door creaked open with a reluctance that suggested it had not been opened in months—or maybe Victor never opened it. The house inside was colder than the wind outside. Every inch was measured—sterile, controlled, quiet.

No photographs. No personal belongings. Only shelves of books, files, sealed drawers, steel filing cabinets, and one endless corridor to a door with a solitary red light over it.

"There's where he kept her," Ethan whispered.

"Her?"

"Your mother."

Isla's heart lurched into her mouth. "She was here?"

Ethan nodded. "When she attempted to escape him the first time. He brought her here to be reconditioned."

Isla's stomach churned.

The door was heavy but not locked. It opened with a creak. There was a room that was chilly in there—gray walls, one cot, bed restraints. But on the back wall, there was a mirror. Isla walked over and placed her hand on the glass.

She spoke suddenly.

Words had been scratched into the glass with some kind of sharp tool. Scratched, not written.

> "If anyone ever reads this, know that love isn't the solution. It is the tool. Use it."

Signature was just: L. M.

Nothing else.

Isla let out a breath, her eyes stinging with tears.

"She never gave up," she breathed.

"No," Ethan replied softly. "She gave you everything she couldn't keep to herself."

—

They searched the house for hours, discovering rooms packed with monitoring equipment, dossiers on people Isla had never met but whose lives had been charted with accuracy. There were dossiers on her too—her schooling, injuries, conversations, even photos taken in the distance.

It was as though he'd been watching her from the moment she was born.

In a locked drawer, Ethan found a vial.

"What is it?" Isla asked.

He had learned about it. "Memory suppressant. He dosed his subjects with this when they got too close to the truth."

"He used it on my mother?"

"Likely."

"He likely used it on Christopher as well." Her voice was shaking now. "That's why he has gaps. That's why his emotions feel… fractured."

Ethan nodded sternly.

Isla sank down onto the floor, among proof of a life she never consented to lead.

"How do I fight a man who's been writing my story before I ever knew I had one?"

Ethan knelt down beside her. "You don't fight him on his territory. You entice him in. You become the danger. The wildcard."

"How?"

"By recalling who you are—not what he rebuilt you to be."

She looked at her shaking hands. "I'm afraid.".

"I know," Ethan replied. "But that means you still feel. That means he hasn't won."

---

---

That evening, Isla sat alone in the surveillance room. She looked at the screens, all but one of them blank. One flickered. A corridor. Shadows moved.

She crept closer.

And then she saw him.

Victor.

Not in the house—but on the feed. Walking quietly through another home. Not the Nest. Another home. He stared directly into the camera, as if he knew she was there.

He smiled.

He winked.

Then the feed went dead.

Isla leaped up too quickly, upsetting the chair. Her heart thudded against her chest.

He knew she was there

.

He wanted her to see him.

Or worse—he was already close.

She ran to find Ethan, but the hall lights dimmed when she opened the door.

The Nest had been triggered.

Something was coming.

—