Chapter 1

The first thing I registered was the white. It was a blinding, aggressive white that seemed to hum against my retinas. The second thing was the sound—a rhythmic, steady *beep... beep... beep* that tethered me to the waking world.

I tried to move, but my body felt like it was filled with lead shot. My left leg was heavy, elevated on a foam wedge and encased in thick plaster.

"Easy, Chloe," a voice soothed. It was deep, calm, and familiar. "Let the anesthesia wear off."

I blinked, fighting the fog in my brain. Dr. Hale was sitting in the chair beside the bed. He was reading a hardcover book, his legs crossed at the knee, looking as pristine as he always did at my annual physicals. His white coat was starched, his stethoscope draped around his neck like a piece of jewelry.

"Dr. Hale?" I croaked. My throat felt like sandpaper. "What... what happened?"

He closed his book and set it on the side table, right next to a tray of surgical instruments arranged in perfect, gleaming rows. He smiled, and it was the same warm, professional smile he gave my mother when he told her my iron levels were fine.

"You had an accident, Chloe," he said, reaching out to check the pulse at my wrist. His fingers were cold. "A bad fall during training. I warned you about pushing that ACL, didn't I? You track stars never listen."

"I fell?" I tried to remember. I remembered the track. I remembered the heat of the sun. Then... nothing. Just darkness. "Where are my parents? Did they call you?"

"Shh," he hushed me, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin on the inside of my wrist. "Your parents are outside handling the paperwork. It’s a mess of insurance forms. You know how the system is."

"I want to see them," I whispered. Tears pricked my eyes. I felt small, broken. I just wanted my mom.

"In time," Hale said. He stood up and adjusted the drip on my IV bag. "For now, you need to focus on me. On us. I’m the only one who knows your history, Chloe. The only one who knows how fragile you really are."

Something about his tone made the hair on my arms stand up. It was too soft. Too intimate. Doctors were supposed to be busy, rushing in and out. Hale was looking at me like I was a rare painting he had just hung on the wall.

"I’ve watched you run," he murmured, his eyes tracing the line of my jaw. "At the district meets. I stood by the fence. I saw how they pushed you. Your coach. Your father. They were grinding your bones to dust for a cheap trophy. I couldn't watch them ruin you anymore."

My heart rate spiked. The monitor beside the bed sped up—*beep-beep-beep*.

I looked around the room. Really looked.

There were no windows. Just smooth, seamless drywall. The door wasn't the heavy wood of a hospital room; it was a slab of gray steel with a heavy slide-bolt on the inside. And the noise... the background chatter of nurses and gurneys... it sounded tinny. Looping.

It was a recording.

"This isn't the hospital," I breathed. The panic hit me like a physical blow. I tried to sit up, to yank my leg, but I couldn't feel my toes. I couldn't feel anything below my waist. "Where am I?"

Hale sighed, a sound of disappointment. He sat on the edge of the mattress, invading my space. He brushed a stray hair from my forehead, tucking it behind my ear.

"You’re home, Chloe. My home. I have a private facility in the basement. State of the art."

"You kidnapped me," I gasped. I tried to pull my arm away, but his grip on my wrist tightened—not painful, but absolute.

"I rescued you," he corrected gently. "I saved you from the stress. From the fractures. From the boys who look at you with dirty thoughts." His eyes darkened, scanning my face with a terrifying, possessive hunger. "Here, you don't have to run. You don't have to perform. You can just... exist. Perfect and still."

"Let me go!" I screamed, or tried to. It came out as a slur.

I looked at the IV bag. The fluid dripping into my vein wasn't clear saline. It was milky. Heavy.

"My leg," I slurred, the room starting to spin. "I can't... feel..."

"A spinal block," Hale explained, his voice sounding like it was coming from underwater. "To manage the pain. And to keep you from doing anything foolish, like trying to leave."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a syringe. He uncapped it with a practiced flick of his thumb.

"Please," I wept, the tears hot and useless on my cheeks. "Dr. Hale, please."

"It’s Julian," he whispered, leaning down. His breath smelled of peppermint and madness. "Call me Julian."

He inserted the needle into the IV port.

"You're fighting the rest, Chloe. Don't fight. The world out there is messy. It breaks things." He depressed the plunger. "I fix things."

The darkness rushed in from the corners of my vision, black and suffocating. I tried to keep my eyes open, tried to hold onto the image of the steel door, but my eyelids were too heavy.

"Shh," he cooed, kissing my forehead as my head lolled back against the pillow. "Sleep now. I’ll be right here when you wake up. I’ll always be right here."

The last thing I heard was the steady, artificial beep of the monitor, counting down the seconds of a life that was no longer mine.