Ch.26: The Double Agent

The scent of lavender and starch was suffocating. I pressed my back against a stack of folded sheets, my ears ringing with the echo of Thorne’s footsteps. Each second felt like an hour.

The closet door creaked open just a fraction.

"He's gone," Isabella whispered.

I stumbled out, my knees nearly giving way. I stared at her—this woman I had spent weeks hating, the one I thought was the reason my daughter was being drained of life. She stood under the dim hallway light, her skin appearing even more translucent than before, like wax.

"You lied for me," I said, my voice a jagged wreck. "Why?"

"Because Julian is no longer keeping me alive," she said, her voice trembling with a cold, sharp clarity. "He is keeping me as a proof of concept. I am a trophy he polishes with the blood of children."

She stepped closer, her eyes darting toward the main foyer where the Gala's muffled music still thumped like a distant heartbeat.

"Isabella? Are you still out there?" Thorne’s voice boomed from around the corner. He hadn't left; he had circled back.

I backed into the shadows of the closet again, but Isabella stepped into the middle of the hallway, blocking his view.

"I'm here, Julian," she said, her tone suddenly shifting to a playful, weary pout. "I told you, I’m just feeling faint. Must you hover like a vulture?"

"You're acting strange," Thorne said. I couldn't see him, but his shadow stretched long and distorted across the marble, encroaching on her silk hem. "First the wine cellar, now this. You’re shivering."

"It’s freezing in this glass cage you’ve built," she snapped back. "Go back to your guests. I’m going to my room. Alone."

"I'll have Higgins bring you a sedative."

"No. I've had enough of your 'treatments' for one night."

A heavy silence followed. I could practically feel Thorne’s gaze dissecting her, looking for the lie. He was a man who lived by the scan and the blood panel; he didn't trust words. He trusted data.

"Very well," Thorne said, his voice dropping an octave—a sound that usually preceded a threat. "But don't think I won't check the logs, Isabella. I see everything that moves in this house."

His footsteps finally receded, this time with a finality that made the air feel lighter. Isabella didn't move until the sound died away. Then, she turned back to me, her face a mask of desperate resolve.

She reached into the folds of her midnight-blue gown and pulled out a slim, silver card.

"Take this," she hissed, thrusting it into my hand.

I looked down. It wasn't a standard keycard. It was embossed with a crimson seal.

"This is for the server room in the sub-basement," she whispered. "Julian doesn't just keep the blood downstairs. He keeps the records. The contracts. The names of the people who pay him to do this."

"Why give this to me?" I asked, clutching the cold metal. "You could go to the police yourself."

She pulled back her sleeve, revealing a series of small, electronic patches embedded directly into the skin of her forearm. They pulsed with a faint green light.

"He has me on a digital leash, Elena. These sensors monitor my vitals. If my heart rate spikes too high or if I leave the grounds, he can trigger a localized neurotoxin. He calls it a 'safety override.'"

She looked at the closet, then at the elevator that led back to the nightmare factory.

"I'm not the patient," she whispered, her eyes filling with a horrific realization. "I'm the hostage."