Page 42 of Vows of Silence

Every muscle in my body locked tight as the heavy door slowly opened and measured footsteps crossed the floor beyond it.

Fear rooted me in place whilst my pulse hammered painfully against my ribs. The silver mask stared back at me from across the room, and every ounce of air seemed to leave my lungs at once.

He looked worse here, somehow. Larger. More unnatural. The fitted black suit clung perfectly to his broad frame, his gloves spotless despite the blood I had seen splattered across them before everything went dark. Or maybe that had beenyesterday. I had no idea how much time had passed since the crash.

The mask tilted slightly as he looked me over.

Watching.

Assessing.

“Why the fuck are you always looking at me?” I spat out before I could stop myself. I hated it. I always had. It was the thing that unnerved me the most about him.

I could handle him being in the background. I could handle him hovering somewhere near me. I couldn’t handle the attention he always gave me, seeming to focus on nothing other than me.

It scared the fucking shit out of me.

He didn’t move closer, didn’t speak, didn’t acknowledge the terror practically pouring out of me. Instead, he crossed the room with that same eerie stillness and placed a tray down onto the small table tucked beside the bed before stepping back once more.

All the while, he continued watching me.

My breathing turned shallow beneath the weight of that silver stare. It was impossible to read anything from him. There were no expressions to latch onto, no visible emotions behind the dark hollows of the mask. No humanity at all. Just cold silver reflecting the dim light back at me.

My eyes dropped reluctantly toward the tray. A bowl of soup sat beside slices of bread and a bottle of water, with painkillers carefully placed beside the plate.

The sight of them made something twist uncomfortably inside me.

He noticed.

Of course he had.

The bruising across my ribs, the way I struggled to stand properly, the blood dried near my temple. His gaze flickedbriefly towards my side before returning to my face, and once again I got the horrible impression that he was monitoring me rather than simply looking at me. As though he were checking for something only he could see.

The panic clawing at my chest slowly curdled into anger.

“You killed Frank,” I whispered, my voice cracking.

The mask didn’t move.

“You shot him in front of me,” I continued, louder this time, hating how tears were beginning to burn my eyes again. “You murdered him and then dragged me here like some fucking animal!”

Still, he said nothing. Not a single word.

The silence was unbearable. It filled every corner of the room, pressing down on me until my skin felt too tight for my body.

“I hate you,” I whispered shakily. “Do you hear me? I fucking hate you.”

For the first time, something shifted.

Not much. Just the slightest tightening of his gloved hand at his side, subtle enough that most people probably wouldn’t have noticed it at all.

But I noticed.

I’d seen it that night in the office when he’d been displeased with the conversation between my dad and Rafael, and I saw it again now.

The silver mask remained fixed on me for another long moment before he finally turned towards the door again.

Fear surged instantly through my chest.