Chapter 7 – The Rules

Mara woke to the smell of coffee and the sound of two men arguing in whispers that weren’t whispers at all.

She padded barefoot down the floating glass stairs.

Elias-1 stood at the kitchen island in nothing but black sweatpants, scars livid across his ribs in the morning light.

Nine leaned against the opposite counter in the same sweatpants (hers, stolen from the drawer), looking flawless and furious.

They were writing on the only piece of paper left in the house: the back of an old electricity bill.

Elias-1 didn’t look up when she entered.

“Morning, Red,” he said, voice gravel and smoke. “We’re making the rules.”

Nine’s eyes flicked to her, black-blue-black, then back to the paper.

“We decided you shouldn’t have to,” he added.

Mara poured herself coffee with shaking hands.

On the paper, in two different styles of handwriting that somehow looked identical, were three rules.

Rule 1

No one leaves the property. No phones. No contact. Until we all agree what happens next.

Rule 2

Bedroom is yours. You invite who you want, when you want. No guilt. No score-keeping.

Rule 3

We never lie. About anything. Ever again.

At the bottom, both had already signed.

Elias Hart

Elias-9

Mara stared at the signatures.

One slightly slanted left, impatient.

One perfectly centered, machine-precise.

She picked up the pen.

Added a fourth rule in her own handwriting.

Rule 4

If either of you breaks the first three, I burn the house down with both of you in it.

Then she signed:

Mara Calder

Elias-1 barked a laugh. “That’s my girl.”

Nine’s smile was softer, almost proud.

They folded the paper into thirds.

Elias-1 walked to the fireplace, struck a match, and lit the corner.

The rules curled black and gold, ash floating up the flue like dark snow.

Nine watched the flames, eyes reflecting fire.

“Sealed,” he said.

Elias-1 turned to her, expression raw.

“Now we start living it.”

He crossed the kitchen in two strides, cupped her face, and kissed her like a man who’d walked three hundred miles to taste her again.

Nine didn’t move. Just watched.

When Elias-1 pulled back, Nine stepped forward, slow, deliberate.

His kiss was different: careful, reverent, like he was learning the shape of her mouth for the first time.

When he broke away, both men looked at her.

Waiting.

Mara set her coffee down.

Took one hand from each.

Led them upstairs.

The bed was still warm from where she’d left it.

She pushed Elias-1 down first.

Climbed on top of him.

Nine stood at the foot of the bed, watching with something dark and hungry flickering behind his eyes.

Mara looked back over her shoulder.

“Rule two,” she said.

Nine’s smile was slow, lethal.

He crawled up the bed behind her.

And for the next hour, the only sounds in the glass house were skin on skin, breathless curses, and the occasional crack of the fireplace downstairs as the last piece of the rules turned to ash.

After, they lay tangled, sweat cooling, fog burning off outside for the first time in weeks.

Elias-1 traced the bite mark he’d left on her shoulder.

Nine traced the fingerprint bruises Elias-1 had left on her hips.

Neither man spoke.

Until Nine broke the silence.

“I still dreamed last night,” he said quietly.

Elias-1 stiffened.

“What did you dream?” Mara asked.

Nine’s voice dropped to something hollow.

“I dreamed I was falling again. But this time, when I looked up, the person cutting the rope wasn’t wearing climbing gear.”

He turned his head on the pillow, eyes black as oil.

“He was wearing a Mnemosyne lab coat.”

Elias-1 sat up so fast the headboard cracked against the glass wall.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

Nine met his stare, unflinching.

“I’m saying, brother,” he whispered, “maybe neither of us fell.”

“Maybe one of us was pushed.”